Chapter 56
Fifty-Six
T he day of the custody hearing arrives, and I drive to the Richmond courthouse.
Adrenaline spikes as I walk toward the imposing structure that looks a century old.
Pushing myself through the doors is akin to steering your ship into a hurricane, knowing you can’t avoid it, so you put your head down and blindly hope everyone comes out unscathed.
I go where directed and spot Butch first, huddled with his parents and sister in the corridor outside one of the smaller rooms designated for family court. Tension radiates from the group, even from a distance. As I hug each of them tightly, I try infusing positive energy from my body to theirs.
There’s scant conversation as we wait, and really, what is there to say? By the way Butch yanks at the knot in his tie, I can tell he’d like to rip it off—and probably the whole suit. He’s too antsy to even hold my hand.
His attorney arrives, briefcase in hand, and pulls Butch aside for a private discussion.
It’s obvious when Darlene shows up because Liz mutters “bitch” under her breath.
Never seeing her before, I’m riveted, sizing her up while she speaks to the man at her side.
Her face is plain but pretty with round features, her mousy brown hair badly permed into too-tight coils.
She’s average height and wears a navy V-neck dress with shoulder pads and two rows of white buttons down the front.
Scuffed vinyl pumps complete the ensemble.
She’s accompanied by a short man whose belly threatens to pop through his starched shirt underneath a brown suit that screams polyester. An oily sheen coats his face, obvious even from twelve feet away. There is nothing attractive about him.
He waddles over to Butch’s attorney, and I’m dismayed when the pair shake hands even though they’re about to do battle. The man extends his hand to Butch next and is met with a stony stare. Yeah, buddy…that’s not happening.
Butch strides back to our group, not even sparing Darlene a glance, but I don’t miss how she glares at him. He takes my hand, and I return a firm, reassuring squeeze.
Sweat trickles from my armpits as we wait.
It’s incredibly awkward hanging out in the hallway with his ex-wife.
There is zero acknowledgement of Darlene by any of the Hamiltons, and it’s no surprise.
Her abandoning both Butch and Emmy is unfathomable.
I wonder if Darlene truly understands what she lost, how deeply she hurt them, and how much strife her current actions are causing.
My criticism of her is harsh. Even as a relative newcomer, I’ve come to adore this family and all they stand for. I can’t imagine blowing it all up like she did. Nor can I fathom ever abandoning my own child, but clearly my judgments are born from my own unfortunate personal experience.
The bailiff opens the door and calls our names, and we file into the small courtroom. Two tables are placed in front of the elevated bench for the plaintiff and the defendant. A half-dozen rows of seating are set up on either side of the aisle .
It’s seems ludicrous that Butch is the defendant in this case—defending his position when Darlene is the one who did something indefensible, but she’s the one who filed the petition for custodial rights.
Butch, Darlene, and their respective attorneys take their seats. The Hamilton posse and I sit directly behind Butch.
Please let this man keep custody of his daughter.
My mind skirts to Emmy at school, none the wiser that an event of tragic magnitude—affecting her fate and those in this room—is about to go down.
Maybe she’s at recess, swinging from the monkey bars, or playing hopscotch with a rock to mark her place.
Maybe she’s working out a simple arithmetic problem, face scrunched in concentration.
Her grandmother will be waiting when she gets off the bus if this runs longer than predicted.
An officer calls the court into session, and we all rise as the judge enters the courtroom. He addresses us all, introducing himself and the official case. Tension remains thick.
I listen with growing indignation and outright fury as Darlene’s attorney lays out their case, making her sound like a model fucking citizen who realizes— now —how much she has to offer her child and why, as her biological mother, she’s owed it…especially with the father labeled “uncooperative.”
I force my breath to slow. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Then it’s Butch’s lawyer’s turn, and she makes an excellent argument why that’s not in the child’s best interest, providing the details of Darlene’s abandonment and the ideal life Emmy leads now in the care of not only Butch, but his extended family.
The judge checks his watch three times, giving me the vibe he’s more concerned about his lunch break than the heart-wrenching case before him.
It’s a big fucking responsibility and it hits me how ludicrous this whole thing is.
What a farce. How can a stranger decide something so pivotal, affecting precious lives for years to come, based on thirty minutes of attorney jockeying?
With each minute that passes, I become more appalled, more worried, more livid.
The arguments end, scads of important information left unsaid. The judge looks at his watch again , then steeples his hands.
I hold my breath as I’m sure every Hamilton does.
The judge prefaces his decision with a long string of court-speak, Virginia Code citations, and how he’s prioritizing the best interests of the child. Finally, he says the magic words.
“The father has taken sole responsibility for the upbringing and care of the child and there is no indication that Emmaline’s mother has contributed in any form since voluntarily abandoning the child.
As she is essentially a stranger to the child, the court believes awarding any custodial rights would only be confusing and potentially damaging to the child.
The court finds in favor of the defendant, who will continue to have sole custody. ”
Our collective cries of relief rise on our side of the courtroom.
Butch turns in his chair and our eyes lock.
We share a quick smile before his gaze lands on his parents and sister.
His attorney leans in to talk with him, and I glance at Darlene, who’s slumped forward with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she succumbs to tears.
I’m happy about the judge’s decision but still have a smidgeon of empathy for her. Regret is a powerful emotion.
We surround Butch, sharing fierce hugs and congratulations. He throws an arm around me and our posse heads for the exit.
“Butch, wait!” Darlene calls out.
He swings her direction .
“Please let me see her. Get to know her. Please.”
A look of incredulity crosses his face. He shakes his head, not bothering to answer, and we keep walking.
“The Butch I knew would never do this!” she shrieks.
He stiffens beside me but pushes through the door.