Minor Adjustments (18 page)

No windows. Even with the rows of florescent lighting, the room was still dark and dreary. Or maybe it was just Devon.

“Why are they wearing those things on their heads?” Ryan pointed at the barristers.

Sure enough, the two barristers wore long, gray, tightly curled wigs. Like the powdered ones worn by men in the eighteenth century.

“They’re wigs,” Stella answered Ryan. “Barristers and magistrates always wear them in the courtroom.”

“They look funny.”

Devon ruffled Ryan’s hair. “Just be grateful you don’t have to wear one. I know I am.” To Stella, he whispered, “Hey, is that why you became a solicitor rather than a barrister?”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t look good in one of those?”

“You’d look better than those two.”

Justin walked in wearing a tailored suit, holding the hand of a petite, blue-eyed brunette. His arm snaked around the girl as he stopped next to Gerald. “Stella, Devon, Ryan, I’d like you to meet Nicole Standing, my fiancée.”

Fiancée? What fiancée?

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Stella said, appearing unaffected by the news.

“For a while now. We made it official last week.”

“How convenient.”

While Stella remained outwardly calm, Devon seethed, wanting to throttle Justin and send the girl back to wherever she came from. Who was she anyway?

As Justin walked away, Stella laid a hand on Devon’s arm. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“Too late.”

“All rise for His Honour,” a voice echoed through the courtroom.

“And it begins,” Stella said.

If Devon thought the psychological analysis was bad, the hearing was even worse. It lasted three long, vicious days. One by one they were all called to the stand, with the exception of Ryan. Devon’s turn came, and he calmly answered Gerald’s questions, feeling more and more confident—at least until Janelle stood to cross-examine him.

“How well did you know Lindsay?” she asked.

“She lived with my family for nine months,” Devon said.

“How long ago was that?”

“A little over ten years.”

“Have you had any contact with her since then?”

“No.”

“Why do you think Lindsay left you her son?”

“I don’t know. I never got the chance to ask her.”

“So you’re telling me that you had no idea Lindsay had listed you as the guardian in her will?”

“That’s right.”

“I have to admit that I find it interesting Lindsay would leave her son to someone she hadn’t spoken to in over ten years, don’t you?”

“No,” said Devon. “She did what—”

“It just doesn’t seem like something a person in their right mind would do,” Janelle said.

“Objection,” Gerald called.

“Withdrawn,” Janelle said. “Now are you currently employed, Devon?”

“No. But—”

“I only need a yes or no.” Janelle’s voice oozed sweetness. “You’ve had Ryan in your custody for over a year now. Has he had any trouble acclimating to American culture?”

Devon frowned. “Well, change is difficult for everyone, but—”

“Thank you.”

Janelle continued in this vein for what seemed like hours. Sure, Gerald had allowed Devon to defend many of the same questions, but Janelle had a nasty way of turning everything around. By the end of his testimony, Devon wanted to strangle the woman. Did she have any idea what she was doing?

On the final day, the psychologist at last took the stand. Finally. Some answers. But would they be the answers Devon wanted to hear?

Magistrate Dover didn’t waste any time. “Dr. Stephens, after conducting your interviews and evaluations, will you please share with us your recommendations?”

Silence coated the room and Devon leaned forward in his seat, clasping and unclasping his shaking hands.

Dr. Stephens scanned the courtroom, his gaze stopping briefly on Justin and then Devon. “It is my opinion that Ryan should be placed with his biological father, Justin Wells.”

Nothing could have prepared Devon for the way those words impacted him—like he’d been struck in the gut with the world’s fastest baseball. His hands flew to the armrests of the chair, and his fingernails dug into the wood. It was the only way he could keep himself from flying out of his seat and challenging the psychologist. How could Dr. Stephens possibly side with Justin? How?

Dr. Stephens went on, “This has been a difficult recommendation because I believe both men to be capable and able to make Ryan a good parent. Devon Pierce has proven to be a more than adequate guardian for Ryan. He’s financially secure, and Ryan genuinely cares for him.”

Then why are you recommending Justin? Why? Why? Why?

“However,” the doctor continued, “Justin Wells is Ryan’s biological father. He’s also Australian, which will allow Ryan to be raised in his own country. In addition, Justin has relocated to a flat with two bedrooms, has held down a steady job for the past two months, and has recently become engaged to be married. All of which show me that Justin is more than willing to make the necessary changes in his life to accommodate Ryan.

“As for the accusations against him, I have spent considerable time with Justin and saw no indication that he is emotionally abusive. Yes, he’s awkward around Ryan, but they’ve had so little contact that it’s understandable. I’m confident they’ll become more comfortable together over time—especially if the court recommends counseling sessions. As for living arrangements, Justin’s apartment is old and could use some renovations, but it will do for now. Justin is also deeply in debt, but he’s working to free himself from those obligations. Regardless, I don’t believe debt’s a valid reason to keep a father from raising his biological son.”

Dr. Stephens paused. “Ryan is now five years of age and has lived with Devon Pierce for over a year, so the change is going to be difficult for the child. That’s why I’m also recommending a gradual move from Devon to Justin over the course of three or four months, assuming Devon will be able to stay in Australia for that long.”

That’s gradual?
Devon wanted to shout. Ten years was gradual. Not three short months. That was nothing. Devon wanted to jump up and tell Dr. Stephens he was wrong—that he’d misjudged Justin. The doctor needed to understand the kind of life Ryan would be subjected to if he were placed with his father.

But an outburst like that would only make things worse, so Devon clamped his mouth shut. Not even Stella’s gentle touch on his arm could ease the penetrating feeling of horror and helplessness that consumed him.

As soon as the official judgment date had been set, Devon leaped from his chair and practically ran for the nearest exit. He needed to get out of the courtroom and away from his parents, Stella, and Ryan. He needed to be alone—to battle his demons in private. Devon staggered out into the crisp June morning and circled around to the back of the building. A large tree trunk beckoned him, and he collapsed against it, slamming his fist into the flaky bark as he fought back tears.

How could he give Ryan up? And how could God have let this happen? Devon wanted to fight—to run back to the courtroom and tell the magistrate exactly why Ryan should belong to him. He wanted the judge to see the anguish on his face, to know exactly what would happen if Ryan were taken away from him.

A hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” said Stella, a pained look on her face.

Devon was afraid to ask, but he had to know. “How often do magistrates rule against the psychologist’s recommendations?”

“It happens, but it’s rare.”

An unseen weight pressed on Devon’s chest as if trying to suffocate him. He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t handle the throbbing of his head or the sick feeling in his gut. Devon needed it to ease up. He needed relief.

Things happened for a reason, right? More than ever, Devon needed to believe that there was a wise, loving, and all-knowing God who was in charge—who knew what He was doing. Maybe the psychologist was right. Maybe Ryan should be placed with his father. His real father. Maybe Ryan would impact Justin the same way he’d impacted Devon. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only way he could keep the pain from tearing him apart.

“Maybe Justin has changed. Maybe Ryan will be good for him and everything will work out for the best,” Devon said.

Stella’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “He hasn’t changed. I don’t believe that for a second and neither do you.”

“I have to believe that or I’m going to go crazy.” Devon’s fist pounded against the tree again. How could she remain so calm while he was dying inside? “Why didn’t you just let me pay Justin to stay away in the beginning? This could have all been over months ago.”

“If you’d have done that, Justin would use Ryan against you for years,” Stella argued.

“That’s better than losing Ryan permanently!”

Stella squeezed his shoulder. “There’s still a chance, Devon. Please don’t give up yet.”

“But you just said—”

“Listen to me. It wasn’t a good idea to offer Justin money before, but now the situation is different. At this point, if Justin backs out of this appeal, he won’t be able to appeal it again later on. It will be over. Forever.”

Some of the weight on Devon’s chest eased up, and breathing came easier. Thinking came easier. Stella was right—there was still a chance. There was still hope. His hand covered Stella’s, squeezing it. “Thank you.”

Concern showed in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“You’re my solicitor, Stella,” Devon said. “So nothing.”

Stella nodded.

“Would you mind telling my parents to take Ryan back to the hotel? Tell them I’ll meet them there later. I need to get away for a while and think.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” Stella left him with a kiss on his cheek.

As soon as they’d left, Devon pulled out his phone and called Stella’s law firm. He waited while the receptionist put his call through.

“This is Tess.”

“Hi, Tess, this is Devon Pierce, Stella’s friend. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Sure,” she said. “What about?”

“I’m not too far away, would you mind if I stopped by in about ten minutes?”

“I’ll be here.”

⇐ ⇑ ⇒

Devon left Ryan with his parents and jumped on the train. Ten stops later, he exited and traveled the last few blocks on foot, stopping in front of an old, gray rundown apartment complex. No wild larakeets sang from the trees in this neighborhood. The entire street reeked of neglect and had a creepy, vacant feeling. Devon was more determined than ever to do whatever it took to keep Ryan away from Justin.

He rapped loudly on the door.

Then waited.

And waited some more.

Was Justin gone? He rapped again.

Finally, the door swung open, revealing a dark interior and a groggy Justin. It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and the guy had obviously been asleep. Devon wanted to turn the hose on him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Devon was anything but sorry.

“What I do or how I choose to spend my time is none of your business.”

“Mind if I come in? We need to chat.”

“Yeah, actually, I do mind. You’ve already had your chance to say whatever it is you wanted to say in court.”

That’s what you think.
“Trust me. You’re going to want to hear what I have to say.” Another apartment door opened, and Devon added, “In private.”

Justin glowered but grudgingly stepped aside.

Devon walked into a disaster. The odor alone made him want to walk out again. It reeked of soiled clothes, rotted food, and cigarette smoke. Several take-out boxes were scattered around, and discarded beer bottles dotted the floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Devon said. “How did you ever make this place look good for the psychologist?”

“A maid service can do amazing things.”

Devon’s fingers clenched into fists in his pockets. Ironically, the only semi-clean place was the small card table in the kitchen. He brushed past Justin and pulled out a chair, gesturing for him to do the same.

Plopping down, Justin said, “What do you want?”

Devon shoved a piece of paper and a pen at him. “I want you to write a letter to the court saying you’ve come to realize that Ryan would be better off with me. You can make up whatever excuse you want, I just want you to be completely clear that your decision is final. You should also probably add an apology to the court saying how sorry you are for causing so much trouble.”

Justin’s arms folded, and he cracked a sneering smile. “You’ve already lost. It’s just a matter of time.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then why would I write that letter?”

“Because I’m willing to pay you to write it—as well as stay out of Ryan’s life for good.”

Justin laughed out loud. “I wonder what the court will think when I tell them about your offer to bribe me.”

Devon lifted his cell phone and snapped a picture of the apartment. “And I wonder what they’ll think about the state of your apartment. And you for that matter.” He redirected his phone at Justin and snapped another picture.

Justin lunged across the table, and Devon grabbed a hold of his dingy T-shirt. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I’ve had about all I can take of you. But as much as I’d like to use your body as a punching bag right now, I didn’t come here to start a fight. I came here to make a deal with you.”

Devon shoved a seething Justin back into his chair. “Now, we both know you have no intention of marrying Nicole, or vice versa, so let me explain something to you.”

“You don’t know anything,” Justin spat.

“Fine. Let’s talk about the future then. Assuming things don’t work out between you and Nicole, and assuming you get that money from Centrelink you’re after, in February Ryan will be old enough for school, leaving you time to work. That means Centrelink will reevaluate whatever amount they’re paying you and start working with you to find a job. From what I understand, they’re pretty good about checking up on people, but you already know that, don’t you?”

Justin glared.

“In addition,” Devon continued, “Ryan’s not going to stay a child forever. At some point, any childcare payments you receive will stop altogether—which is only half your problem. The other is Ryan. A child isn’t cheap. Clothes, food, school, and extracurricular events are just some of the expenses Ryan will cost you. And if you think for a minute that you can live like you’ve been living—” Devon gestured at the apartment “—and spend as little money as possible on Ryan, you’re dreaming.