“We had to help, Dad, especially with Mary Catherine gone,” Jane said solemnly. “We also know how important it is that everyone know how much we love Chrissy, even if they don’t know us.”
That was when my dread came back with a vengeance, along with a dull wave of anger and sadness. Because I could see now what this whole ordeal was doing not just to me and not just to Chrissy but to all the kids in my entire fragile family.
This was an adopted kid’s worst fear come true, I suddenly realized.
The feeling that no place was secure no matter how much you were loved. That you were always just one knock on the door from being taken away.
CHAPTER 87
THE OLD TWENTY-STORY stone courthouse building just west of lower Broadway on Worth Street was about as cheerful as a cell block. I’d been doing relatively OK on the ride south, but as our cab pulled up in front of the soulless gray monolith of a building, I didn’t think I’d ever felt so hopeless and helpless and alone in my life.
It was so bad that instead of going straight in after getting out of the cab, I actually stood in the rain with Chrissy, racking my brain for a way not to go to this horrendous hearing. The alternative plan I kept coming back to was to go home and pack and pick up everybody from school with the van and just keep on going.
Because if living in New York meant that some flaky stranger could just march into my house and take my daughter away, then maybe it was high time to go find some new place to live. We’d done it before.
As I stood there continuing to stall, Chrissy tugged her hand out of mine and suddenly jumped and splashed with both feet into a huge sidewalk puddle.
“Chrissy, what are you doing? Stop, you’ll ruin your shoes!” I cried.
“It’s OK, Daddy. I’m making them shinier. See?” she said, kicking and sloshing her feet through the water.
I pulled her out of the puddle and finally caved and reluctantly walked us in through the Family Court building’s old brass revolving door. After we went through the always-exciting lobby metal detector procedure, during which Chrissy was actually wanded, we took a dusty elevator car up to seventeen and came down a wide, dingy, dimly lit corridor to a pebbled-glass-paned door.
On the other side of it, I gave my name to a grim, heavyset brunette clerk behind a cluttered desk. I stared at the JUDGE CEYAK sign on the mahogany door behind her. I already knew from reading the subpoena that Ceyak was the name of the man who somehow had been handed complete control over my family and the rest of my daughter Chrissy’s life.
“And what’s your name, young lady?” the clerk said cheerfully to Chrissy, smiling. “You look so pretty. I love your dress.”
The clerk seemed nice enough, but Chrissy wasn’t having any of it. In response, she dug in behind my le
g and said absolutely nothing. I didn’t blame her. Disney World this was obviously not.
As we sat dripping on a wooden bench by the door, I handed Chrissy the Nintendo DS I had smuggled from the house to keep her distracted. Over the chimes of Super Mario collecting coins, I could hear an indistinct voice talking softly into a telephone from behind the dark-wood door. I was just about to text Gunny again, when he opened the door to the hall.
Robert Bieth was right behind him with his own lawyer, Pendleton.
“The judge is ready, gentlemen,” the clerk said, standing and opening the door behind her desk.
I reluctantly left Chrissy on the bench and followed my lawyer into the judge’s chambers. I was thinking that there would be two tables set up, like in a courtroom, but instead there was a line of padded folding chairs in front of a small writing table.
Behind the table, wearing his robes, was Judge Ceyak. Fiftyish, with gray hair and a scruffy beard, he reminded me of the gravelly-voiced “you’re gonna love the way you look” guy from those men’s clothing store commercials. I seriously wondered if we were gonna love the way we looked after these proceedings.
“Firstly, Your Honor,” Pendleton started in his dulcet, genteel southern tone before everyone was even seated. “I’d like to apologize for being late. Our flight up from Miami was delayed and—”
“Thanks, that’s fine,” Judge Ceyak said impatiently, cutting him off in much gruffer, less genteel New Yorkese. “Gentlemen, I know you must be as eager to begin as I am, so let’s get right to it. Mr. Pendleton, do you have your client’s DNA test results, which I requested over the phone?”
“They’re right here, Your Honor,” Pendleton said, handing over a sheaf of papers from his Cross briefcase.
“And you, Mr. Chung? Do we have the Bennett girl’s DNA information?”
“Yes, Your Honor, we do, but first, I’d like to present something else that has recently come to light on this issue that I believe is of even more import,” Gunny said, removing a stack of papers from his battered valise.
“Of more import than DNA?” Judge Ceyak said, giving Gunny an annoyed look. “What could be more important than establishing genetic linkage, Mr. Chung? I thought I explained on the phone that this is just a formality to get the ball rolling and that we would have plenty of time to get into everything else as the case proceeds.”
“I do remember, Your Honor,” Gunny said, still offering him the papers. “But if you would humor me just this once, I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
I held my breath in the silence that followed. This was really the do-or-die moment for our plan. We needed to bring this legal machine to a screeching halt before its gears could start turning and pull Chrissy and all of us in.
“You have five minutes,” Ceyak finally said with a sigh. “This better be good, Chung.”