Janice Johnson - Between Love and Duty

“Apparently no one is represented by an attorney today,” the judge observed, continuing after everyone shook their heads in agreement. “Ms. Salgado, do you speak English?”

“Sí. Yes, but not…” Lupe hesitated.

“Fluently? Perhaps we need a translator.”

“I’m happy to translate anything Señora Salgado doesn’t understand,” Jane offered.

He determined that Jane was acceptable to Lupe as an interpreter and they moved on. He questioned her first. Was she able to keep Tito in her home if necessary? How did she feel about her brother returning to the custody of their father?

She explained that Tito could stay with her if necessary, but that it was difficult, given that she had three young children of her own, that she worked nights, that he had to sleep on the sofa.

“Yes,” Jane translated faithfully, “I am happy if my brother can live with Papa again. I have tried to make sure they saw each other often enough so that they still know each other.”

She heard a sound from her right that she strongly suspected was a snort from Captain MacLachlan, pitched low enough to escape being heard by His Honor.

The judge transferred his gaze to Tito’s father, a short, sturdy man who she suspected might have Mayan blood. There was something about his face—the breadth of his cheekbones—perhaps, that made her think of statues she’d seen at a traveling exhibit of Mayan antiquities at the Seattle Art Museum.

Interestingly, Hector spoke better English than his daughter did. He’d been in this country longer, he explained; initially he had left his family behind in Mexico and come up here for work, then brought them when he could. He was an automobile mechanic. Lupe was his oldest child, and she’d found the language difficult and had left school when she was fifteen.

“I have already talked to the man I worked for, and he wants to hire me again,” Hector told the judge. “He liked my work.”

“So you do have employment.” Lehman made a note. “Where are you currently living?”

He was staying with a friend, sleeping on the floor. The apartment was small and cramped, he admitted; two men shared it, and another was currently living there, as well. He would get an apartment or small house once he’d received his first few paychecks, but no one would rent to him until then.

Jane all but quivered, waiting for another snort—which didn’t come. Apparently Captain MacLachlan had more self-control than to indulge himself a second time.

The judge talked to Hector at some length, and finally seemed satisfied. He flipped through papers in the file open before him and peered at one for a moment, then looked up.

“Ms. Brooks, appointed by this court as Guardian ad Litem to represent the interests of Tito, believes those interests may be best served by living with you, Mr. Ortez, once you’ve found steady employment—which it sounds as if you’ve done—and established a stable living environment, which may be weeks to months away. She feels it would be best for Tito to remain close to his sister, as he’s been living with her for so long now, and to stay if possible in the same school. Ms. Hesby, do you disagree?”

The caseworker shook her head. “I’m fully aware that Señora Salgado has done her best, but I, too, believe Tito would benefit from more attention from a parental figure than she has been able to provide.”

The judge addressed Hector. “Will you be living here in Stimson?”

“Yes,” Hector said firmly. “This was my home before. My job is at Stan’s Auto Repair on Tenth Street. Tito could walk there from school.”

“Very good.” He looked toward Duncan, which gave Jane an excuse to swivel slightly in her seat and do the same. “Mr. Ortez, are you aware that Captain MacLachlan has been mentoring your son?”

Jane thought there was some tension in Hector’s nod even though he was smart enough to keep his thoughts hidden.

“The captain has expressed concern about the possibility of Tito living with you. He feels your conviction for a violent crime makes you an unsuitable role model for a young boy.”

Streaks of red now slashed across Hector’s high cheekbones. “I was defending myself only. I didn’t mean to kill anyone. I don’t usually fight. I’m not that kind of man.”

Duncan said, “And yet you didn’t deny, even in your trial, that you had stabbed Joseph Briggs. That he’d made you, I quote, very mad.”

Hector’s brown eyes were hot now. “I served my time. I shouldn’t lose my family, too.”

“Can you keep your temper with a teenage boy who doesn’t think he has to listen to his father?”

Hands planted flat on the table, Hector half rose. “I have other children. Ask Lupe! I have never hit my children.”

“But you had a wife then.” Duncan’s tone was barely shy of badgering. “You earned the money and she raised the children. Isn’t that right, Señor Ortez? But now you find yourself a single…”

Judge Lehman cleared his throat loudly. “Captain, Mr. Ortez, you may recall that this is a courtroom, not a forum for open debate.”

Flushed, Hector sank into his chair. Duncan MacLachlan’s expression didn’t change. Jane could swear, even so, that he was basking in satisfaction because they had all—the judge in particular—seen the flare of rage on Hector’s face. The captain glanced at her, and there it was in his eyes, unmistakable. He thought he’d introduced enough doubt in the judge’s mind to swing the decision away from Hector.

“Captain, you’re aware, I’m sure, how difficult it can be to find appropriate foster care placement for a teenage boy. Particularly if we insist that he stay within this school district.” Judge Lehman’s voice was ever so slightly sardonic. “Have you considered becoming licensed so that you could offer a home to Tito?”

It was all Jane could do not to applaud—or to laugh out loud. Instead, she turned a pleasantly interested face to Duncan, whose eyes had narrowed.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said. “You’re aware, I’m sure, of how long and erratic my working hours can be.”

The judge nodded. “I assumed as much. Very well. At this point, I believe our goal should be to reunite Tito Ortez with his father.”

A broad grin broke on Hector’s face. Duncan stiffened.

“However, I’d like to see the transition take place slowly. For the present, Tito shall continue to live with his sister. Mr. Ortez, I’m granting you generous visitation rights. However…” He paused, leveling a look over the glasses that had slid down his nose. “For the present, all visitation will be supervised. Ms. Brooks, are you available to do that supervision?”

She’d done that once before, in a contentious custody case involving two preteen children. “Evenings and weekends,” she said, ignoring MacLachlan’s incredulous stare.

The judge did the same. “Good. Mr. Ortez, I’m going to rule that you can see Tito only when Ms. Brooks is present, or in your daughter Lupe’s home when she is present—if, for example, you were to join your family for dinner. However, I ask that you not spend the night in your daughter’s home.”

Jane murmured a translation to Lupe, who listened intently.

“Do you understand?”

Hector nodded somewhat unhappily. He was no longer smiling.

“Tito cannot live with you until you have a suitable home in any case. This will give you an opportunity to build a relationship with your son. Let’s reconvene in one month and at that point I’ll speak to Tito, as well. I’ll consider then whether you might be allowed unsupervised visitation or even whether Tito feels ready to live with you.” He lifted his gavel and brought it down on the table with a brisk whack. Without ceremony, he gave a friendly nod, stood and strode from the room.