Chapter 12. Libel and Liability #2
I wasn’t needed on any projects for Whitaker Woodworking today, so after Gail and I ended our call, I sat down on the couch with Eenie Meenie Miney Mine.
Unfortunately, my mind refused to concentrate on the book.
Instead, it wondered about the status of the defamation suit Senator Kingsley Atkinson had filed against his brother Randolph and Tyler Yee.
I knew lawsuits were public record, and the article I’d seen online had noted that the suit had been filed in Nashville, so I decided to make a trek to the county courthouse to see what I could find out. I could knock out another of Tyler’s podcasts on the drive over.
An hour later, I sat in the court clerk’s office at the middle of three computers provided for the public to access court records.
The place was bustling, and dozens of people milled about behind me.
Some were filing court documents. Others needed copies of documents that had already been filed.
A woman requested directions to the court where she’d been summoned for jury duty.
I typed Tyler Yee’s name in the search bar, and up popped a case. Kingsley Atkinson, Plaintiff vs. Randolph Atkinson and Tyler Yee, Defendants. The system listed the names of Kingsley’s and Randolph’s attorneys, but in the space for Tyler’s attorney’s name it read prose.
I turned to the woman sitting next to me. She wore a gray suit over a white blouse, along with a striped scarf and a studious expression. A briefcase sat at her feet.
“Excuse me,” I said. “You look lawyerly. I’m hoping you can explain something to me.”
The woman turned to me and cocked her head. “I ‘look lawyerly’? I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Sorry,” I said. “All I meant was that you look like you know your way around this legal stuff. I’ve got pregnancy brain and things don’t always come out the way I intended.”
“I remember those days. Ugh.” She put her hands to either side of her head. “Total brain fog.” She removed her hands and gave me a patient smile. “Don’t worry, hon. You’ll get your brain back once you deliver. What can I help you with?”
I pointed to where it said prose on the screen. “What does prose mean?”
“That’s a typo,” she said. “It should read as two words, pro se. That’s what it’s called when a person represents themselves in court rather than hiring a lawyer.”
I wasn’t surprised Tyler hadn’t hired an attorney. The retainer alone would have probably been several thousand dollars. Judging from his well-worn clothing and old, cheap car, he didn’t make big bucks as a journalist.
The lawyer held out her hand. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars for the consultation.”
“What!?”
“Gotcha!” She laughed and mimed shooting me with dual finger pistols, like an Old West gunslinger. “Has the doctor told you the baby’s sex?”
“No,” I said. “My husband and I decided to keep it a surprise until birth.”
She lowered her hands and glanced down at my belly. “You’re carrying low. That means it’s a boy.”
I smiled. Collin and I had come up with some possible boy names last night. Colton. Easton. Sawyer. For a girl, we were thinking Aubrey, Ainsley, or Courtney.
The woman logged off of the computer she’d been using, retrieved her briefcase from the floor, and stood. “Enjoy those slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails.”
“Thanks. I will.” The cats might have something to say about us adding a puppy to the family, but if my child wanted one, they’d get one. I planned to spoil my kid rotten.
As the woman left the room, I clicked on the link to the petition and read it on the screen.
Kingsley Atkinson alleged that his brother Randolph had provided false information about him to Tyler Yee, that Tyler Yee should have known that the information was false yet nevertheless published it in both a news article and a podcast, and that, as a result, Kingsley Atkinson suffered intense humiliation, as well as the loss of his reputation, Senate seat, and many lucrative business opportunities.
I wondered if he also suffered embrittlement.
Ha! I did manage to use the word in a sentence, even if only to myself.
The petition alleged that Kingsley had incurred damages to the tune of six million dollars.
Wow. Randolph Atkinson might be wealthy, but I had to wonder how Kingsley thought he’d collect much from Tyler.
I’d gotten the impression Tyler wasn’t making a ton of money.
A quick search of my phone told me that the average reporter made less than the average public-school teacher.
Tyler must have considered his work a public service, a calling.
Randolph Atkinson’s attorney had filed a response denying his brother’s allegations, and claiming all information he provided to Tyler Yee was truthful and accurate.
Tyler, too, had filed a response denying the accusations, though he’d filed it himself.
An entry in the online records said that the trial was scheduled for two weeks from tomorrow.
Trials were generally open to the public.
If the murder case wasn’t solved in the next two weeks, my butt would be on a bench in that courtroom.
My mother called with her daily check-in as I was leaving the courtroom.
I assured her the baby and I were doing well.
I didn’t tell her I’d spent the previous day at a murder scene.
She’d lose it. Even so, I could use the comfort just being with her provided.
“I’m free today,” I said. “Want to get lunch? My treat.”
She squealed in delight. “Let’s meet at the mall. I want to pick out some things for the baby.”
A short time later, we met at the Cheesecake Factory in The Mall at Green Hills. Both of us ordered salads. While we waited for our food, I told her about Gail’s barn and the design I’d come up with for the loft apartments.
Her reaction was mixed. “Your ideas for the remodel sound fabulous, but I worry that the strain of a new project will be too much for you.”
“I’ve warned Gail that things might move slow. She’s in no hurry. The barn has sat unused since the eighties.”
“Good. Being pregnant is difficult enough. You don’t need any extra pressure.”
I told her about Gail, Deborah, the barista, and the lawyer guessing the baby’s sex. “The current tally stands at two guesses for a boy and two guesses for a girl.”
“There’s an old wives’ tale that says you can determine the sex of a baby by urinating on baking soda.”
My nose crinkled in disgust. “Ew, Mom.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “You peed on a stick to find out you were pregnant, didn’t you?”
“True.” My OB-GYN also performed routine urine and blood tests, not to mention all the poking and prodding of my private areas. Being pregnant came with many indignities.
“If the baking soda fizzes,” Mom said, “it’s a boy. If it doesn’t fizz, it’s a girl. It has something to do with pH levels in the urine. Of course, your dad claims it’s a bunch of bunk.”
“He’s a doctor,” I said. “He should know.”
“Well, I tried it when I was pregnant with you, and it was accurate.”
There was a fifty-fifty chance the test would be right, I supposed, but there was no sense in arguing with her. “We’re going to keep the sex a surprise until the baby is born.”
“Really? I didn’t think anyone did that these days. I’m always seeing gender reveal posts on Facebook. All of my friends knew what their grandchildren would be before they were born. It helps with planning.”
I recalled what Collin had said about my callouses, that women could be strong, not soft. “We don’t want to impose any gender norms on our child. We want them to decide who they are going to be without any pressure from us.”
“You’ve been reading too many books.”
“One can never read too many books.”
“All I’m saying,” Mom said, “is that I dressed you up in pink and gave you dolls and a tea set to play with, and look how you turned out. Your kid is going to do what they want no matter what you do or say.”
I raised my water glass in toast. “I certainly hope so.”
Mom laughed and shook her head. “I hope you have a little girl just like you. It would serve you right.”
Our salads arrived, and we dug in. Afterward, we cruised the mall.
Despite her comment earlier that I read too many books, Mom bought a dozen children’s books at the bookstore.
We went on to Crate & Barrel, where she bought an adorable crib quilt set that featured woodland creatures.
At Macy’s, she purchased a fancy reclining swing seat with an intricate safety harness and five different motion and speed settings.
The thing had more controls than the Space Shuttle.
When we returned to our cars, I opened my cargo bay so she could put the things inside.
“Nope.” She popped her trunk open instead. “These things are going home with me. They’re for when the baby comes to visit Grandma and Grandpa. You’ll get plenty of things at your baby shower.”
It warmed my heart to see her so excited about becoming a grandparent. “So that’s what you and Dad want to be called? Grandma and Grandpa?” Many of my friends’ parents had opted for more modern monikers, like Gigi and Pop-Pop.
“Can’t go wrong with the classics.”
We shared a hug and she gave me a peck on the cheek. “We should do this more often, especially after the baby comes.”
My child had already replaced me as my mother’s favorite. Funny thing was, I didn’t mind at all.