Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Like Mom, my father swears I’m the greatest person who ever lived in the history of the world and a spectacular guardian to Raine. He also repeats Mom’s endorsement of Caleb, and similarly gets shut down when trying to say Ralph Beaumont is “well known in Prairie Springs” to be a “really bad guy and a liar.” Finally, when it comes time to reveal Raine’s nickname for him, Dad answers proudly, “She calls me Pop-Pop, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
As with Mom, Ralph’s lawyer chooses not to ask Dad any questions. Which means, ready or not, it’s now time for me to take the stand and try to do everything in my power to keep my baby girl away from the man who’s evil incarnate.
“How do you know Ralph Beaumont?” my lawyer asks me, after getting some preliminary stuff out of the way.
“He’s my best friend’s father. Claudia and I used to go over to each other’s houses all the time, growing up, when we both lived in Prairie Springs.”
“Did a time come when you stopped going over to Claudia’s house?”
“Yes. After I witnessed Mr. Beaumont punching and shoving Claudia’s mother—” Ralph’s attorney bolts up and makes a screaming objection that makes me flinch. There’s a big bruhaha, as all the lawyers and the judge squabble about the situation. But, finally, I’m allowed to continue my answer, with the admonishment that I’m only allowed to testify to things I’ve personally witnessed with my own physical senses, and not about things I might have heard, second-hand, from Claudia or anyone else.
In a trembling voice, I describe exactly how I witnessed Ralph beating the crap out of his wife, and the few people sitting in the audience gasp and titter during my telling. “After that,” I say, “my parents wouldn’t let me go to Claudia’s house anymore. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to go back there, ever again.”
“Liar!” Ralph shouts at me, slamming his fist on his table.
“Quiet,” the judge hisses. She glares at Ralph’s lawyer. “Control your client, or I’ll remove him from the courtroom.”
“Did you tell anyone what you witnessed?” my lawyer asks.
“My parents. They reported the incident to the police, but nothing happened. Ralph was a police officer, and our town is very small, so we figured—”
Ralph’s attorney barks out an objection, something about speculation, and after a bit more arguing I don’t quite understand, the judge tells my attorney to move on.
“Did you ever talk to Claudia about the abuse you witnessed?”
Another objection. This time, however, I’m told to answer the question.
“She said he did that to her mother all the time.” More objections. More waiting. When I’m allowed to continue talking, I figure it’s now or never: I have to seize my chance to say the one thing that needs to be said, above all others, or I might not get another opportunity. “Much later,” I blurt, “when we were living together in Seattle, we talked about how Ralph Beaumont sexually abused Claudia, countless times, during her childhood and—”
Ralph and his lawyer both flip out, as people in the audience burst into hushed conversation, and the end result is another round of squabbling that leads to the judge personally asking me a question: “Did you have any reason not to believe Claudia when she told you these things about her father? Any reason at all?”
“No, your honor. Claudia wasn’t a liar, and she was sober at the time. She never, ever would have lied to me about something like that. I’m positive about that, your honor.” The moment I get my last words out, I burst into tears.
“Do you need a break?” the judge asks gently.
“Yes, please,” I choke out. “Thank you.”
“Fifteen minutes, everyone,” the judge announces with authority, before disappearing with a whoosh of her black robe through a door behind her.
“What’s your relationship to Mr. Baumgarten?” my lawyer asks, once I’m back on the stand and my tears have dried.
I glance at Caleb at our table, and a surge of love and affection for him overwhelms me. “He’s my employer.” That’s my practiced answer. The thing I’m supposed to say. But, suddenly, it feels like a lie to stop there. I’m under oath, after all. So, I add, “He’s also become a close friend, as we’ve navigated co-parenting the child together.” We’ve all been warned not to say Raine’s name in these proceedings to protect her identity.
My lawyer asks, “Do you consider yourself the child’s parent?”
“I do. Not by blood. But in all other ways that matter, yes.”
My attorney smiles, letting me know I’m doing great. “Let’s talk about your friendship with Mr. Baumgarten.” And off I go, explaining the history of my acquaintance with Caleb, the trust I’ve slowly developed in him, and the belief I’ve slowly acquired that Caleb would make a fantastic custodial father.