Chapter 12: The Wooden Bench in the Hallway
The double doors at the back of the courtroom didn't slam. They just eased open and the air changed. The warm, close air of the courtroom mixed with the cooler hallway air, and the bailiff held the door with his hand flat against the wood and said we would take a twenty minute recess while the judge stayed in chambers.
I didn't move right away. The wooden bench I had been sitting on was hard against the backs of my legs and my hands were clasped in my lap the way they had been in the hearing. I could feel my breathing again, the small in-and-out that I'd been trying to keep quiet. My sweater sleeves were pulled down over my wrists. Everyone stood up around me and chairs scraped and papers were gathered, but I stayed seated until Ms. Rivera, my advocate, touched my shoulder lightly and said, "We can wait out here, okay?"
The hallway was long and paneled in the same warm wood as the benches inside. There were two more wooden benches out there under the high windows, and a water fountain that hummed faintly. The light was the same tungsten color, soft and a little yellow. Mom was already out there. She was standing by the far window near the restrooms, not close to me at all. She had her purse held in both hands in front of her and she looked at me and gave me a small nod, but she didn't come over. She didn't wave me to her. She just stayed where she was.
Ms. Rivera sat with me on the bench. She didn't put her arm around me or pull me in. She just sat at the end, close enough that I could feel she was there, with her clipboard on her knees. She said quietly, "You're doing fine. You can just sit. You don't have to talk to anyone."
I nodded and kept my hands clasped. My fingers were laced tight and I watched my thumbs.
Dad came out a minute later. He had his hands in his pockets and then out again. His light blue shirt was untucked a little in the back where he'd been leaning forward at the table. He looked down the hallway once toward where Mom was standing, then he looked at me. I saw him make a decision and start walking toward our bench.
He stopped about three feet away. He crouched down a little so he wasn't standing over me. His voice was low and he tried to make it sound calm.
"Hey, bug," he said. "Can I just talk to you for a second? I want to say I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to get loud. I just want us to be okay after this, you know? I promise if we go home together, things will be different. Just you and me."
Ms. Rivera shifted forward before I could answer. She didn't stand up all the way, she just moved between us, her shoulder angled toward him so she was looking at him but I could still see her face.
"Mr. Davis," she said, evenly. "I need you to direct any communication through counsel. She's represented by the court today. If you want to make a statement for the record, you can do that through your attorney when we go back in."
Dad's mouth tightened. He glanced at me past her. "I'm her father. I'm just trying to apologize to my daughter."
"I understand," Ms. Rivera said. She kept her voice low and steady. "And the court has set the boundary that there be no private conversations with her during recess. I'm going to have to ask you to step back to the counsel table area. Your attorney is right there."
For a second I thought he wouldn't move. His hands flexed at his sides and his breathing was faster than mine. But Ms. Rivera didn't move either, and one of the bailiffs down the hall looked over. Dad exhaled through his nose and took a step back, then another.
"I was just trying to talk to her," he said, quieter, to no one in particular.
I hadn't said anything yet. I felt my heart beating in my sweater. I made a choice to stay where I was. I didn't stand up and I didn't lean toward him. I kept my hands clasped in my lap and I pressed my feet flat against the linoleum and I breathed. In, out. The same small breaths I'd been doing on the bench inside. It was the only thing I knew how to control.
Ms. Rivera looked back at me after he stepped away. "You good staying here?" she asked.
I nodded. "I want to stay here," I whispered. It was the first thing I'd said out loud in that hallway, and my voice was small but it was my choice.
She nodded. "Then we stay here."
Down the hall, Mom was still by the window. She had heard him, I knew she had, but she didn't come over to add anything or to tell me what to say. She kept her distance the way the advocate had asked her to, holding that space without coaching. She just watched to make sure I was okay and let Ms. Rivera hold the line.
Dad went back to where his attorney was standing by the water fountain, and his attorney put a hand on his arm and said something low that I couldn't hear. Dad nodded once, sharp, and stared at the floor.
A few minutes later the bailiff stepped to the middle of the hallway and raised his voice just enough to carry.
"Parties for the Davis matter, please come back inside," he said. "No further contact in the hallway, please. We'll be going back on the record. Counsel and parties to your tables."
May you like
Ms. Rivera stood and then looked at me. "Ready? We go in together."
I stood up. My legs felt stiff from sitting. I kept my hands clasped until we reached the big doors, and then I let them go just enough to push through. The courtroom was waiting, the same wood, the same flag behind the bench, the judge's chair still empty. The doors were open again, and we walked back in to wait for the ruling.
