Chapter 3: The Flag Behind Her Shoulders
The clerk's voice cut through the quiet and I flinched. She said we were back on the record, and the sound of her stamp echoed off the wood. My father's hand was still on the bench beside me, not touching me but close enough I could feel the heat of it. I kept my hands clasped the way they had been all morning, my pink sweater sleeves pulled down over my knuckles. The judge hadn't moved much. The flag behind her right shoulder hung straight down, and the warm light from the ceiling made the wood of her bench look darker than the benches we sat on.
She looked at me first, not at my dad. That was new.
She said, "I'd like to talk with you for a little while, if that's okay. Is that okay?"
I nodded. My throat was still tight from crying and I had to swallow before I could say, "Yes, ma'am."
Her voice was lower than I expected. She didn't smile in a big way, just softened her mouth a little. "I'm going to ask you some easy questions. There's no wrong answer. You just tell me what's true for you. Can you do that?"
I nodded again and said yes.
She asked me about school first. What grade I was in, what my teacher's name was, what I liked to do at recess. I told her I was in first grade and my teacher was Ms. Alvarez and I liked the swings. Those answers came out quick. My breathing had steadied a little but my hands wouldn't stop twisting.
Then she shifted. "Tell me about bedtime at your dad's house. Who helps you get ready for bed?"
I felt my father's knee shift beside me. I didn't look at him. I stared at the grain in the wooden table in front of us.
"At dad's, I brush my teeth by myself," I said. My voice was small. "I get my pajamas from the drawer. Sometimes I wait."
The judge tipped her head just a fraction. "Wait for what, honey?"
"For him to come home," I said. "He says to stay in my room. The door clicks."
I heard my father inhale sharp next to me. The judge's eyes flicked to him for half a second, then back to me. She was watching my face the whole time, not writing, just watching the way my mouth moved and how my eyes kept darting to the flag and back down.
"And who reads to you? Or tucks you in?" she asked.
"No one," I said. "I turn the lamp off myself. The hallway light stays on."
That was not what my dad had told her before the recess. When she'd asked him how evenings went, he'd leaned forward on that same table and said he did bath and books every night at eight thirty, that we had a routine and I never cried at his place. I remembered because he'd squeezed my shoulder when he said it, like I was supposed to agree.
My dad couldn't hold it anymore. He leaned forward again, hands flat on the wood, and said, "Your Honor, that's not— she forgets, she gets confused when she's tired, I told her—"
The judge raised one hand, palm out, and her voice got firm without getting loud.
"Mr. Henderson, stop," she said. "You will not interrupt her. This is her time to speak. I am noting for the record that you interrupted the child's answer." She turned to the clerk. "Please note the interruption."
The clerk nodded and typed. The only sound was the keys clicking and the hum of the air vent.
My dad sat back slow. His jaw was tight. He didn't look at me now, he looked at the judge, and his hands kept opening and closing.
The judge turned back to me like nothing had snapped. Her tone went gentle again.
"Thank you for telling me," she said. "You did good. Can you tell me one more little detail for me? In your room at your dad's, what's by your bed? Like, is there a nightlight, a stuffed animal, a chair?"
I thought about it. The room was cold. There was a mattress and a folded blanket that smelled like laundry detergent. The lamp had a wobbly switch.
"There's a blue lamp," I said. "No toys. Mom lets me keep Bunny, but dad says Bunny stays at mom's."
"Where does Bunny stay?" she asked.
"On my pillow at mom's," I said. I felt tears start again but I didn't wipe them.
She let a pause sit there. She was still studying me, the way my lip trembled before I spoke, the way I clasped my hands tighter when I said door clicks. She finally looked down and made a short note on a pad.
"Thank you," she said, to me and then to the room in general. "Based on the contradiction between the father's statement regarding a consistent bedtime routine and the child's description of self-directed bedtime and being alone in the room, I find there is enough to require further inquiry. I'm going to order a home study by the county caseworker. We'll continue this hearing after that report is complete."
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She told the clerk to set a date and told my dad in plain words that the interim arrangement would keep me with my mother until the study was done, and that he was not to discuss testimony with me.
I stared at the flag behind her shoulders while she stamped the paper. The red and white didn't move at all, and I focused on that so I wouldn't look at my dad's hands.
