Mary, Mary (8 page)
NOTHING COULD BE WORSE
than this, nothing I could imagine.
A few days later, we all flew out to Seattle for Alex’s custody hearing. The whole Cross family went west again. No vacation this time, though, not even a short one.
The morning after we arrived, Jannie, Damon, and Nana sat quietly behind me on the courtroom benches as we waited for things to get started. Our conversation had dropped off to a tense silence, but having them there meant even more than I would have thought.
I straightened the papers in front of me for about the tenth time. I’m sure I looked fine to everyone, but I was a wreck inside, all hollowed out.
Ben Abajian and I were seated at the respondent’s table on the left side of the room. It was a warmly appointed but impersonal space, with honey-colored wood veneer on the walls and standard-issue contemporary furniture.
There were no windows, not that it mattered. Seattle was showing off its dark, rainy side that morning.
When Christine came in, she looked very fresh and put together. I’m not sure what I expected, maybe some outward indication that this was as hard for her as it was for me. Her hair looked longer, pulled back in a French braid. Her navy suit and gray high-collared silk blouse were more conservative than I was used to with her—and more imposing. She looked as if she could be another lawyer in the room. It was perfect.
Our eyes met briefly. She nodded my way, without showing any emotion. For a second, I flashed onto a memory of her looking at me across the table at Kinkead’s, our old favorite dinner spot in D.C. It was hard to believe these were the same eyes meeting mine in this courtroom, or that she was the same person.
She said a brief hello to Jannie, Damon, and Nana. The kids were reserved and polite, which I appreciated.
Nana was the only one to be somewhat hostile. She stared at Christine all the way to the petitioner’s table.
“So disappointing,” she muttered. “Oh, Christine, Christine, who are you? You know better than this. You know better than to cause harm to a child.”
Then Christine turned back and looked at Nana, and she seemed
afraid,
something I’d never seen in her before.
What was she afraid of?
MS. BILLINGSLEY SAT
on Christine’s left, and Ben was on my right, blocking our view of each other. That was probably a good thing. I didn’t want to see her right now. I couldn’t remember ever being so mad at anyone before, especially not someone I had cared for.
What are you doing, Christine? Who are you?
My mind whirred as the hearing began and Anne Billingsley went into her slickly rehearsed opening statement.
It wasn’t until I heard the phrase “born in captivity” that my focus really snapped into place. She was talking about the circumstances of Little Alex’s birth, after Christine had been kidnapped while we were on vacation in Jamaica, the beginning of the end for us.
I began to see that Billingsley was every bit the viper Ben had made her out to be. Her wrinkled face and cropped silver hair belied a certain lawyerly showmanship. She hit all her key words hard and with perfect enunciation.
“Your Honor, we will discuss the
many dangers
encountered by Ms. Johnson’s son and also by Ms. Johnson herself, during a
brief, tumultuous
relationship with Mr. Cross, who has a long history of involvement with the most extreme homicide cases. And a long history of putting those around him in jeopardy.”
It went on and on from there, one loaded statement after another.
I glanced briefly in Christine’s direction, but she just stared straight ahead. Was this really what she wanted? How she wanted it to go? I couldn’t interpret her flat expression, no matter how I tried.
When Ms. Billingsley was through assassinating my character, she stopped her manic pacing and sat down.
Ben stood up immediately, but he stayed right next to me throughout his opening speech.
“Your Honor, I needn’t take up a lot of the court’s time at this point. You’ve seen the trial brief, and you know the key factors in this case. You already know that the first seeds of this arbitration were planted on the day that Ms. Johnson abandoned her newborn son.
“You also know that Doctor Cross provided Alex Junior with the kind of loving home any child would want during the first year and a half of his life. And you know that the longest bond, as they call it, the one we share with our siblings, exists for Little Alex at home in Washington, D.C., with the only family he knew up until last year.
“Finally, we all know that structure and opportunity for success are key issues in determining what is best for a child in the unfortunate circumstance of separated parents. I will say right now, and I believe you will agree, that a home with a father, great-grandmother, brother, sister, and numerous cousins and aunts nearby would provide a more thoroughly supportive experience for a child than to be raised by a mother who lives three thousand miles from what little family she does have, and who thus far has changed her mind twice about her own commitment to the child in question.
“Having said that much, I am not here to malign Ms. Johnson. She is, by all accounts, a perfectly decent parent when she chooses to be one. What I am here to do is illuminate the common-sense conclusion that my client’s son, and any child, is better off with a parent whose commitment has never wavered, and shows no sign of doing so in the future.”
In our pretrial meetings, Ben and I had agreed to keep everything civil, if we could. I knew ahead of time what he was going to say, but here in the courtroom, and in front of Christine, it sounded different to my ears. It now seemed depressingly combative, not unlike what Anne Billingsley had just done to me in her opening.
I felt a little guilty. No matter what kind of mud Christine’s lawyer wanted to fling, at the end of the day I was still responsible for my own actions, and even my lawyer’s. That was something Nana had hardwired into me a long time ago.
One thing hadn’t changed, though. My resolve was still strong; I was here to bring my youngest son back home to Washington. But listening to Ben Abajian’s statement, I had the feeling that this case would have no winners. It was only a matter of who lost less.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be Little Alex who lost.
“MS. JOHNSON,
can you please tell us in your own words why you are here today?”
I wondered if anyone else could see how nervous Christine was on the stand. She grasped the fingers of one hand with the other, stopping all but the tiniest bit of shaking. I couldn’t help grimacing, and my stomach was tightening up. I hated to see her like this, even now, under the circumstances that she had created for herself.
When Christine answered Anne Billingsley’s questions, her voice was steady, though, and she seemed perfectly at ease.
“It’s time for my son to have a permanent arrangement and stability in his homelife. I want to ensure him the kind of consistency I know he should have. And most of all, I want him to be safe.”
Billingsley stayed in her chair, feigning—or maybe feeling—supreme confidence. “Could you please tell us about the events leading up to your separation from Mr. Cross?”
Christine looked down and took a moment to gather herself. I couldn’t imagine that she was acting right now. Her integrity had been one of the reasons I fell in love with her, in that previous lifetime of ours.
“Just after I became pregnant, I was kidnapped and held hostage for ten months,” she said, looking up again. “The people who kidnapped me were out to hurt Alex. When that terrible time was all over, I found it impossible to return to a normal life with him. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.”
“And just for the record, by Alex you mean Mr. Cross?”
Not Agent or Doctor Cross, but Mister Cross. Any little dig the lawyer could get in.
Even Christine winced, but then she said, “That’s right.”
“Thank you, Christine. Now, I want to go back just a little bit. Your son was born in Jamaica, while you were being held hostage. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was he born in a hospital in Jamaica, or under any medical supervision?”
“No. It was in a small shack in the woods, the jungle. They brought a midwife of some kind, but she didn’t speak English, at least not to me, and there was no prenatal care at all. I was extremely thankful that Alex Junior was born healthy, and stayed that way. Essentially, we lived in a prison cell for those months.”
Ms. Billingsley got up, crossed the room, and handed Christine a tissue. “Ms. Johnson, was this abduction the first time that your involvement with Mr. Cross brought violence into your life?”
“Objection!” Ben was on his feet right away.
“I’ll rephrase, Your Honor.” Billingsley turned her solicitous smile back to Christine. “Were there any other violent incidents, prior to or after your son’s birth, related to Mr. Cross’s line of work that directly affected you?”
“There were several,” Christine said without hesitation.
“The first time was just after we met. My husband at the time was shot and killed by someone Alex was looking for in another terrible homicide case. And then later, after our son was born, and when he was living in Washington with his father, I know that at least once Alex Junior was taken out of the house in the middle of the night, for safety’s sake. Actually, all of the Cross children were taken out of the house. A serial killer was coming after Alex.”
Billingsley stood at the petitioner’s table, waiting. Finally, she pulled a stack of photographs from a manila folder.
“Your Honor, I would like to submit these as evidence. They clearly show Mister Cross’s home on the night of one such emergency evacuation. You will see my client’s son here being carried out by a non-family member in the midst of the confusion that was apparently taking place.”
I wanted to yell out my own objection to this so-called evidence. I knew for a fact that it was John Sampson and not some nameless police officer who carried Little Alex out that night, the night Christine had a photographer—
a private investigator!
—outside my house. No one had been in danger because we had acted judiciously and quickly. But the photos were allowed to speak for themselves, at least for the time being.
It got worse from there.
Anne Billingsley walked Christine through a series of misleading events related to my job, virtually putting words in her mouth. The charade concluded with the trip to Disneyland, which the lawyer dressed up as some horrible minefield of dangers for Little Alex, whom I “abandoned” to go searching through Southern California for a psychopath who could terrorize my family again.
THEN IT WAS MY TURN.
The time Ben spent interviewing me on the witness stand was the hardest and trickiest ordeal I’d ever faced, with the most at stake. He had coached me not to address the judge directly, but it was hard not to. My little boy’s future was in her hands, wasn’t it?
Judge June Mayfield. She looked to be about sixty, with a stiff beauty-shop kind of hairdo that was more middle-America 1950s than new-millennium Seattle. Even her name sounded old fashioned to me. As I sat in the witness chair, I wondered if Judge Mayfield had children. Was she divorced? Had she been through anything like this herself?
“I’m not here to say negative things about anyone,” I said slowly. Ben had just asked me if I had any concerns about Christine as a parent. “I just want to talk about what’s best for Alex. Nothing else matters.”
His nod and the pursing of his lips told me that was the right answer—or was the look merely for the judge’s benefit?
“Yes, absolutely,” he said. “So could you just please explain to the court how Alex Junior came to live with you for the first year and a half of his life?”
Sitting there on the stand, I had a direct sight line with Christine. That was good, I thought. I didn’t want to say anything here that I wasn’t willing to say to her face.
I explained as straightforwardly as I could that Christine hadn’t felt prepared to be with me or raise a child after what had happened in Jamaica. I didn’t need to dress it up. She had chosen not to stick around, period. She’d told me that she was “unfit” to bring up Alex. Christine had used that word, and I would never forget it. How could I?
“And how long would you say it was between Ms. Johnson’s abandonment—”
“Objection, Your Honor. He’s putting words into his client’s mouth.”
“Overruled,” said Judge Mayfield.
I tried not to invest too much in her response, but it felt good to hear the overrule anyway.
Ben went on with his questions. “How long would you say it was between that abandonment and the next time Ms. Johnson actually laid eyes on her son?”
I didn’t have to think about it. “Seven months,” I said. “It was seven months.”
“Yes, seven months without seeing her son. How did you feel about that?”
“I guess I was surprised to hear from Christine more than anything else. I had begun to think that she wasn’t coming back. So had Little Alex.” That was the truth, but it was hard to say out loud in the courtroom. “Our whole family was surprised, by both her absence and then her sudden return.”
“And when was the
next
time you heard from her?”
“When she said she wanted Little Alex to come live in Seattle. By that time, she had already hired a lawyer in D.C.”
“How much time had passed this time?” Ben asked.
“Another six months had gone by.”
“That’s it? She abandons her son, sees him seven months later, goes away again, and comes back wanting to be a mother? Is that how it happened?”
I sighed. “Something like that.”
“Dr. Cross, can you tell us now, from the heart, why you are asking for custody of your son?”
The words just poured out.
“I love him tremendously; I adore Little Alex. I want him to grow up with his brother and sister, and his grandmother, who raised me from the time I was nine. I think Jannie and Damon are my track record. I’ve shown that whatever faults I have, I’m more than capable of raising happy and, if I may say so, pretty amazing kids.”
I looked over at Jannie, Damon, and Nana. They smiled my way, but then Jannie started to cry. I had to look back at Ben, or I thought I might lose it, too.
I noticed that even Judge Mayfield had looked over at the kids, and that she seemed concerned.
“I love my children more than anything in the world,” I said. “But our family isn’t complete without Little Alex, or Ali, as he likes to be called. He’s part of us. We all love him dearly. We couldn’t leave him for six months, or six minutes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nana nodding, and she looked infinitely wiser than Judge Mayfield in her high chair and black robes, especially when it came to raising kids.
“Please go on, Alex,” Ben said quietly. “You’re doing very well. Go on.”
“If I had my wish, Christine never would have left Washington. Ali deserves to have us both around. But if he can’t have that, then he should be with as much of his family as possible. I don’t think he’s bad off here in Seattle, but this is supposed to be about what’s best for him. And as I said, I don’t know what this is worth, but I love him so much. He’s my buddy. He has my heart.” And then I did tear up, and definitely not for effect or the benefit of the judge.
Testimony continued through the afternoon and for much of the next morning, and it was brutal at times. After closing arguments from the lawyers, we waited out in the courthouse hallway while Judge Mayfield considered her next move.
“You were great, Daddy.” Jannie held my forearm and nuzzled my shoulder with her head. “You
are
great. We’re going to get Alex back. I can feel it.”
I put my free arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry for this. But I’m glad you guys are here.”
Just then, a court clerk came out to call us back inside. His blank face showed nothing, of course.
Ben spoke quietly to me on the way in. “This will just be a formality. She’s probably going to take it under consideration, and we’ll hear back anywhere from two to six weeks. I’ll motion for a revised temporary visitation agreement in the meantime. I’m sure that won’t be a problem. You were great on the stand, Alex. No worries there. You can just relax for now.”