She turned, faced the windshield, her arms crossed in front of her. He’d pissed her off. Well, he was pretty damn pissed, himself. He’d expected more from her. And from himself.
“I wish I had some of God’s insights,” she said. He wasn’t fooled by the softness with which she uttered the words. “It would make my job a whole lot easier.”
He could feel the defensive energy coming from her. And still couldn’t stop. The Kirk Chandler of old. “How does a piece of paper and a couple of questions asked of a scared kid give you the right to determine the shape of his entire life?”
She looked over at him, seeming to study him in the darkness. She didn’t answer right away. When she did, she sounded more weary than anything else. “People come into my court counting on me to make a decision,” she said. “What if I’m not sure? They don’t want to hear that. They want an answer. Even if it isn’t the right one.” She laid her head back against the seat, eyes facing out into the night. “Every day when I enter the courtroom, I remind myself that all I can do is my best. I make the calls as I see them. And pray that the kids under my care will be okay.”
He couldn’t argue with that. No matter how much he hated what had happened to Abraham, he’d be the last person to expect people to do better than their best.
“I’m assuming this means you won’t be in favor of trying to help me get him back.”
“If he was removed by the court, his mother has the right to a hearing in five days,” she said.
“Do you know the judge in charge?”
“I’m not free to answer that question.”
He’d already guessed that. Soft thuds filled the silence as Kirk tapped the leather steering wheel with the side of his thumb.
“If he’s not coming
back, I’m going to see him.”
She started. He could only see her silhouette, but her face was turned toward him. “You know where he is?”
She sounded more alarmed than amazed at his abilities.
“I’d given him my number. He called this afternoon.”
“You talked to him?”
“No.” Kirk shook his head. He slumped down, his head along the back of the seat as he stared out into the darkness. He didn’t need to see the terrain to know that it was a huge expanse of seemingly barren desert. “He left a message.”
But no phone number. And Kirk had been kicking himself half the day for missing that chance to connect with the boy.
“What did he say?”
“He called to tell me he was sorry he wouldn’t be at the game. And before he hung up, he gave me the address of his foster home.”
Abraham had not sounded pleased with the place.
At least it wasn’t jail.
But listening to a kid who’d clearly given up, it might as well have been.
Valerie faced the front, both feet on the floor, her hands on her knees. “You can’t go see him, Kirk.”
It was no plea.
“Is that a court order?”
“Of course not. The judge on the case would have to order it, and there’s no reason to do so. It’s just common sense.”
“It makes no sense to me at all, common or not.”
“Abraham needs a chance to get used to where he is, to need the people he’s with, to see that they can help him and to learn to trust them.”
Her words carried the compassion of a mother—if a misguided one.