Chapter 21: The Hearing

I didn't put the invitation in the trash.

I put it on the fridge upstairs, under a magnet shaped like a cupcake, next to Clara's clinic schedule.

Every morning for ten days I looked at both.

On Tuesday, June 9, I wore the navy dress from the mom across the hall's sister.

The courtroom was on the fourth floor downtown, with wood paneling and a ticking ceiling fan.

My lawyer sat beside me with a legal pad and a cough drop.

"Whatever he does," she said, "you don't react. You're the calm one. You're a baker."

"What does a baker look like?"

"Like you've got a cake in the oven and nothing he says matters as much."

I looked back at the benches.

The dad with the toddler was there in a tie.

The grandmother from the end of the hall was there in her church hat.

Matt was in the back row in a gray suit that didn't quite fit in the shoulders, his reading glasses on his head.

He gave me one nod.

Two rows in front of him sat Tasha.

Cream blazer, gold hoops, a tissue already in her hand.

She'd come to hear Brad fight for her.

Brad sat at the other table with his lawyer.

He'd had a haircut. He wasn't wearing a watch.

He didn't look back at her once.

The judge was a woman in her sixties with half-glasses and no patience.

"Mr. Sorensen's motion," she said. "Every other week, at the marital home. Paragraph six names a Ms. Lyons as residing there. Counsel?"

Brad's lawyer stood up.

Brad put a hand on his arm.

His lawyer sat back down.

"Your Honor," he said, "my client wishes to testify."

Brad took the stand and swore on nothing in particular.

My lawyer stood up for cross with her cough drop still in her cheek.

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