Wendell had not liked being in court the first time, just a few weeks ago. He liked being there even less that morning. But he wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Judge Bartlett got right down to business. “Good morning, everyone. I have a full docket today, so let’s get started.” He looked up. “Since our last meeting in the petition for emancipation for Ms. Julia Lancaster, the girls have split their time between the home of Mr. Combs and their family home with their aunt, Ms. Lancaster. I want to hear how that has gone. Ms. Blake has been assigned by the court to report on the children’s behalf.” He looked up at the GAL and removed his glasses. “Ms. Blake, would you please share your findings with the court?”
As Katy Blake stood before them, sharing the details of her interviews with everyone involved, Wendell’s ears burned. He listened with an intensity that belied the calm look he knew he wore. And as he listened, memories pulled at the corners of his mind. Wendell thought about the kind of parents his own had been. About his childhood with Wesley and how much had changed at the loss of their mother. How Alder, a man of such physical fortitude and moral direction, had been reduced in both size and capacity. As a first selectman to Saybrook. As a father to Wendell and Wesley. And later, to just Wendell. He watched the blond back of Julia’s head as she sat listening in the seat just in front of him, beside her attorney. He noted the erectness of her posture. The rigidity of her gaze when she turned to whisper to Jamie or glance at Candace, several seats over. Wendell wondered how she could sit there knowing that everything said in this room on this summer morning would make up the next few years of her young life. It was these thoughts that kept him glued to his seat when every other fiber in his being told him to run. Wendell cared too much, he realized. He was here not just out of duty to a man who’d taken him under his wing and hired him. Nor out of a sense of longing for the family he had lost. He was here because of what the girls meant to him. For the first time in years, Wendell was doing something for himself.
“Will you please show the court?” the judge asked.
Wendell watched as Katy Blake stood before the room holding two pieces of paper, one in each hand. He squinted. They were drawings.
“I asked Pippa to illustrate two pictures: one of her and Wendell Combs, and one of her with her aunt, Candace Lancaster. This is the result.”
In one picture were two stick figures, standing apart. The larger one’s arms draped by its sides. The smaller one held a flower. There was a blue sky.
In the second picture were the same two stick figures, large and small. There was also a third figure, medium-sized. And what looked like a big brown dog but Wendell realized was a horse. A rainbow streaked overhead. The hands of all three stick figures were linked.
As Katy Blake sat down and Jamie Aldeen stood to speak, Wendell found himself unable to hear. He was too busy trying to swallow the hot tears that were spilling down his cheeks. He swiped at them, trying to focus. Jamie was saying something about the wishes of the children. Wendell already knew those wishes as if they were his own.
When Candace was questioned, Wendell felt his insides simmer as they did before an episode. He cleared his throat and made two strong fists. He had to keep the panic at bay.
At some point, Wendell heard his name. By then, sweat was seeping through his button-down shirt, drenching his underarms. He shook his head, collecting himself. “Excuse me, Your Honor?”
Judge Bartlett was staring at him. Candace and Jamie Aldeen had turned to look at him, too. Julia did not.
“I asked, Mr. Combs, if you have anything you’d like to add.”
“To add, Your Honor?”
“Yes. Is there anything you’d like to tell the court about the custody arrangement this past week?”
Wendell cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Honor.” He looked at the back of Julia’s head, then at Judge Bartlett. “Both Julia and her little sister did very well at my house, I thought. The first night was a little bumpy, as Pippa felt homesick. But each day was easier. We set up a bedroom for them, and they decorated it nicely. They slept and ate well, as far as I could tell. They seemed comfortable, and we spent a good deal of time together.”
“Very good. How was your time spent?”
Wendell thought of all they’d done. “During my days off, the girls spent time outside, hiking the property with me. We went to the county fair. As you know, Julia’s horse is on the property. We finished building an enclosure and stall for him, and the girls seemed happy to participate in that.” As the words tumbled from his dry mouth, Wendell realized how clinical this all sounded. A list of things done. Nowhere in there was how he or the girls felt.
“Thank you, Mr. Combs. The court appreciates your investment of time and energy in helping to decide the best course of action.” Judge Bartlett riffled through papers, and Wendell caught his breath. It seemed his role was done. At that point, Julia turned around. “Thank you,” she whispered. Wendell nodded. For the first time, his breathing steadied.
“The court would like to take a short recess while I confer with the guardian ad litem. I ask everyone to remain close by.”
Unlike the others, Wendell remained in his seat. Jamie ushered a very worried-looking Julia out, assuring her this was all normal. Candace and Geoffrey stood and conferred quietly in the corner. Despite the air-conditioning, the room was suffocating, but Wendell feared if he got up to leave, his legs would be jelly. He stayed put until the judge returned and everyone was called back.
“All right,” Judge Bartlett began when everyone had been seated. “The court has heard a number of compelling accounts regarding the emancipation case for Julia Lancaster.” He looked directly at Julia, and Wendell felt his heart rate increase, as he was sure hers had. “You are a remarkable young woman who has proved herself to be bright, determined, and capable, despite a shattering hardship that has fallen on you this year.
“That hardship is what I believe has propelled you to file for emancipation. A serious decision with serious consequences. That said, you are a unique young woman with a unique set of circumstances that afford you the financial security to care for yourself.”
Wendell felt the air in the courtroom shift. Why couldn’t the judge just announce his verdict?
“While I empathize deeply with your plight, and while I understand your wishes to emancipate yourself, I cannot discount the nature of your situation. You have just lost your parents. A difficult loss for any adult, let alone a child. And for the intent of this proceeding, you are still recognized by the state of Connecticut as a child.
“You are grieving, Ms. Lancaster. As you have every right to do. That is a healthy course of things. But given your recent loss and the depth of what I imagine your grief to be, this court cannot in good conscience saddle you with the responsibilities of adulthood at the tender age of fifteen and especially during this difficult time. Nor can it consider your further request to take on the additional responsibility of raising your sibling, who is significantly younger and will, as a result, require significantly more care.”
Wendell’s eyes flashed from the judge to Julia’s back. She remained in her seat, but he could see the shaking of her shoulders. “With that in mind, unless another opportunity for guardianship is presented to the court, it is my recommendation that you return to your family home with your sister and reside with your aunt. While your trust will remain as deemed by your parents’ estate to both you and your sister, your custody will remain, as they set forth, with your aunt.”
The judge drew a deep breath, looking pained. “Please know the court sympathizes with your situation. Deeply. But as such, I’m afraid the petition for emancipation of Julia Lancaster is denied.”
Wendell did not hear what was said next. Nor could he have recalled, if asked. There was the whoosh of air moving around him. The rising of Julia in front of him. All eyes turned as she leaped up, her skirt billowing. And then there was silence. What Wendell would remember was that nothing came from her mouth. She simply sank to her knees.
And then there were hands. Jamie Aldeen’s, reaching down to her. Candace, who came to stand beside her, speaking with her hands. Geoffrey Banks, who jammed his hands in his pockets, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. And Wendell’s. His hands reached for Julia, past all the others who’d come to stand around her. And when he made contact, she spun around and fell into his arms.
It had been years since he’d pulled in at the Spigot. Since the night Alan had sought him out and sat down on the stool beside him. Wendell was not an alcoholic so much as he was turning to drinking to numb himself. He could handle a beer, as long as he was in therapy and managing his PTSD. That was what he told himself as he parked the truck and pushed the door open.
Nothing had changed. Not the darkness or the stale murky air. In the corner, three guys stood around a pool table. An old jukebox blinked uncertainly in the corner, the music flickering on and off, though no one seemed to mind. He sat down on a spare stool, not far from the ones where he and Alan had talked, and ordered a beer. It would be just one. He needed to think about the hearing.
Down the bar, someone raised a hand. “Combs. Where you been?” Wendell looked over. It was Ronny Perkowski, whom he’d grown up with; Ronny now did caretaking for the Dunhams. Wendell raised a hand in greeting and kept his head down. He wasn’t here to socialize.
The first beer went down too quickly, and he felt an actual thirst. So he ordered another. By then a couple guys he recognized from the town works department had come in. Bill Hardings was nice enough, but he was with another guy Wendell didn’t particularly care for, Owen Miller, who was a bit of a blowhard. “Wendell, good to see you,” Bill said. Wendell nodded and kept to his beer.
He tried not to listen as the guys talked about their work week and who was leading the men’s softball league that summer. None of it mattered to him. But his ears pricked at the mention of Scooter Dunham. Ronny Perkowski was talking. “He’s buyin’ the Lancaster place. All of it. Going to turn it into a subdivision.” He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Big money.”
“No way, I heard it was going to be open space for the town.”
“Nah, that sister came over from London and took over. It’s hers to do with what she wants. Ain’t that right, Combs?”
He could feel their heads turn in his direction.
Wendell shrugged. “I don’t know anything about it,” he said.
“That’s not what I hear.” Ronny Perkowski slid off his stool and came around the side of the bar. He was smiling, but Wendell didn’t like his tone. “I hear you’re still working up there. You must see and hear all kinds of things. What’s that Brit got you working on these days?”
Wendell took a swig of his beer. “It’s just business, Ronny. Why don’t you mind yours.”
Ronny came up beside him. “Didn’t I hear you’ve got a horse now?”
The hair on the back of Wendell’s neck prickled.
“Yeah, I think I did hear that. Wasn’t that the older girl’s horse?”
The men started to snicker behind him. Ronny leaned in close. “What’d she do for you to get that horse?”
Wendell was off his stool before Ronny could finish his sentence. The first punch landed on the bridge of his nose. When Ronny regained his balance and popped back up, the next punch went to his gut and sent him sprawling backward to the ground. He lay on the filthy floor, holding his face, and cursed.
“Don’t you mention those kids ever again!” Wendell shouted as he stood over Ronny. He spun toward the others, who’d moved closer and now stepped back.
Bill Hardings held up his hands. “Easy, Combs. Nobody wants to fight.”
Wendell stared down at Ronny. “What about you? Anything else you want to say?”
Ronny’s nose gushed behind his hand. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed as Owen Miller helped him up.
Wendell took another step at him, and he jerked back. “Nothing else?” Wendell said between his teeth.
Ronny shook his head and leaned on the bar. “Get me some ice, dammit.”
Wendell threw two twenties down on the bar and got the hell out of there. His hand throbbed, and outside, he examined it in the growing darkness. Nothing appeared to be broken, but his knuckles were an angry color and scraped. He sure hoped he’d broken Ronny’s nose.
On the way back, he drove straight past his house. He didn’t slow until he turned sharply into Roberta’s narrow driveway, gravel spitting beneath his tires. She met him on the doorstep, a look of alarm on her face. “Wendell. Is everything all right?”
“I need your help.”