A Woman's Place Page 11

  In a voice that suggested she and the judge were the only two with an ounce of sense in the room, she said, “Your Honor, as you’ve just read, my client was stunned by the order issued against her last Thursday. She’s led an exemplary life. She is strong, mentally and physically. She is well-known in her community and is respected by her children’s teachers, their pastor, their doctors and friends. As the primary caretaker, she has raised two wonderfully happy and well-adjusted children, two children who are confident of the love she feels for them and are missing her terribly right now. Her husband has a history of absenteeism. He never before expressed an interest in full-time parenting, nor did he ever suggest that his wife was an unfit mother. She had no idea he was serious about wanting a divorce, he is that uncommunicative. Behind her back, while she was at her dying mother’s bedside in Cleveland, he came to this court and presented evidence purporting to show her in a state of personal crisis. But there is no personal crisis. The evidence to that effect is filled with coincidence, erroneous supposition, even a few outright lies. There are too many unknowns to take it seriously, too many instances where an argument can be made that Mr. Raphael deliberately manipulated the situation to make his wife look bad. To put it bluntly, he set her up.”

  “We object to that, Your Honor,” Art Heuber said in a quiet, but weighty voice. “There is no proof of any set-up.”

  “And no proof against it,” Carmen put in, “but Mr. Raphael’s action on this matter has been so furtive that we have to question his motive. His business is failing. He’s never wanted to be a full-time parent before. Our guess is that he’s after money. My client is prepared to be generous. She would have told him that herself if he’d asked, and the court would have been spared all the time it has spent on this matter. We will be quite happy to negotiate a settlement. We’re prepared to discuss that in whatever setting Mr. Raphael wishes, but only after the current situation is resolved. Mrs. Raphael loves her children, and they love her. She needs to be with them. We request that the Order to Vacate be nullified and that the children be returned to her care.”

  The judge took a paper Missy handed him. He stopped swaying to sign it, and was handing it back when he said, “From what Father says, the children are doing fine without her.”

  The children didn’t know that they were without me, I thought on a note of hysteria. They thought I was doing business as usual in Santa Fe and that I would be home tonight.

  Carmen picked up where my mind left off. “The children are used to their mother traveling, but as you saw in my client’s affidavit, they rely on her being home to do all the things their father doesn’t do while she’s gone. He doesn’t cook. He doesn’t buy their clothes. He doesn’t help them with homework or meet with their teachers or buy gifts for them to bring to their friends’ parties. These children are young. One of them has a medical problem, for which my client is the major caretaker.”

  “A questionable one,” Selwey thumbed the papers, “according to this.”

  “There was medicine, your honor. Mr. Raphael panicked and didn’t know where to find it, though Mrs. Raphael has told him numerous times. In that sense, he displayed the very negligence that he accuses her of. The medicine was there all along, refrigerated, as common sense would dictate.”

  Selwey stared at her over his glasses. “I wouldn’t have thought to refrigerate it. Does that mean I lack common sense?”

  “No. I’m saying that for anyone familiar with this problem, common sense points to the refrigerator. Mr. Raphael is familiar with this problem. He should have known to look in the refrigerator. That he didn’t suggests something lacking. My client, by contrast, isn’t lacking.”

  “No? She’s a busy lady. She has a mother who’s sick halfway across the country and a business that keeps her flying around. It seems to me she’d be glad to have someone else look after the children for a while.”

  I sucked in a breath to object.

  Carmen beat me to it. “Not at all. The children have always been her first priority. No matter how busy she is, no matter how big her business has grown, she has always spent more time with the children than her husband has.”

  Selwey flapped a hand against the papers. “So you claim, but there’s the matter of quantity over quality. She may be with them more—not necessarily true in the last few weeks, I understand—but the quality looks doubtful. She’s distracted. She’s put her children in danger more than once.”

  “I haven’t,” I said. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t just stand there being denigrated by a man who didn’t know the first thing about me.

  My protest had been a quiet one. Still his eyes shot to mine. “Mrs. Raphael. This is a hearing. Nothing you say has any bearing, since you haven’t been put under oath. In this proceeding, your lawyer speaks for you. Do you understand?”

  My heart was beating so loudly that I thought for a minute he might scold me for that, too, but I managed to nod.

  “Good. Now.” He held up the affidavits.

  Carmen broke in. “Your Honor?”

  With a put-upon sigh, he set down the papers. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Raphael has never knowingly endangered her children. We request that she be put under oath and swear to that. We would also like to bring in witnesses to attest to her diligence as a mother.”

  He leaned toward the watch that lay farther down the bench. “No time.”

  No time. No time? This was my life, my children, and he had no time?

  He was moving right on, taking up a fresh piece of paper and writing as he spoke. “Since the parties disagree on who should have custody of the children, I’m naming a guardian ad litum to study the case. Requests?” He peered over his glasses at Carmen.

  My heart fell. We had discussed GALs, Carmen and I, but I had been hoping we wouldn’t need one. GALs studied things for thirty days, but I wanted this over and done now.

  Carmen’s first choice for GAL was a social worker named Nora Spellman. She was divorced, had custody of her own three children, and would have given me a fair hearing, no questions asked. But she was everything Judge Selwey hated. He would have rejected her, and we would have wasted our vote. So, as we had agreed Saturday, Carmen went with her second choice. “Anthony Twomey. He’s a lawyer with Cone and Nugent. He’s traditional, but fair.”

  The judge shifted his gaze to Art Heuber. “Do you know Anthony Twomey?”

  “I know of him,” Heuber said. His disapproval was subtle, the set of his jaw, the tilt of his chin.

  “Who would you rather?”

  “Peter Hale.”

  Carmen took in a fast breath, but didn’t speak. I could only guess that she didn’t want Peter Hale near me, and, if that was so, I didn’t either. Not that I was given a choice.

  “I’m appointing Dean Jenovitz,” the judge said and wrote the name on his sheet. “Psychologist. Ph.D. His office is on Cambridge Street. If you haven’t heard from him in a week, give him a call.”

  A week? Plus thirty days for his study?

  “Your honor,” Carmen began, “with regard to the order issued last Thursday—”

  “I’m leaving the children with their father.”

  I gasped.

  He shot me a warning glance. “There are one too many doubts about your ability to behave rationally at this point in your life.”

  “What doubts?” Carmen asked.

  “She appears to have trouble with the truth.”

  “Everything in her affidavit is the truth.”

  “Then what is this?” he asked and unfastened something that had been clipped to what must have been Dennis’s affidavit. He passed it to Carmen. Looking on from her elbow, I saw a photograph of Brody and me, taken from outside his kitchen window the Thursday before, if the date in the righthand corner was correct. We had our arms around each other. Brody’s head was bent to mine.

  “That was right around the time he called you,” I told Carmen in a horrified whisper. “I was distraught. He was comforting me. That�
�s all.” I looked across at Dennis in disbelief. Photography had been his thing once. But those pictures had been beautiful. This one wasn’t. Not only was it misleading, but it showed the lengths to which Dennis would go to bring me down. All while my mother lay dying.

  “Your honor,” Carmen said with greater force, “I respectfully submit that if you’re allowing for evidence like this photograph, my client should be permitted to testify. Her side hasn’t been heard.”

  “Dean Jenovitz will hear it.”

  “It’ll be a month or more before he files a report. We request that you give custody of the children to my client while the study is being done.”

  “They’ll stay with their father,” he said and walked the papers across the bench to his cousin.

  Carmen raised her voice to follow him. “Then we request that the Order to Vacate be nullified. There’s no reason why both parents can’t live in the home during the study.”

  “The parents don’t get along,” he said, strolling back.

  “They get along just fine. That’s one of the reasons why my client is so stunned by her husband’s behavior. There was no fighting, no acrimony. Besides, the father is gone far more than the mother. Who will be with the children then?”

  “Father’s affidavit states that he has no travel plans.”

  “Mother’s states the same. The children are used to both parents. It would be in their best interest to continue that until the issue of permanent custody is decided.”

  I felt a glimmer of hope when the judge looked at Heuber. “Is that acceptable?”

  But the lawyer’s face was set. “No. You heard Mrs. Raphael a minute ago. She’s angry. Add that to all the other personal pressure she’s under, and there’s no telling what she might do, either to the children or to her husband.”

  “I would never—” I began until Carmen touched my arm. I turned to the judge, pleading as much as I could without words.

  But he was studying something he had pulled from the pocket of his robe. It looked like something Johnny had once had, an earpiece holding a tiny transistor radio. “The order stands pending the guardian’s report,” he said without an upward glance. “Father and Mother can’t be in the same house. Father is already there with the children. Mother travels anyway. She’ll just stay elsewhere when she’s in town.”

  “Visitation rights, then,” Carmen said quickly. “The children were told that their mother is on a business trip, but they’re expecting to see her tonight. They’ll be upset if they don’t. They’re very close to her.”

  Selwey fiddled with the tiny radio. Then he tossed it on the bench, strode back to Missy, and returned with the papers. “She can see them later today, with Father present, please. For the duration of the study, I’m limiting visits to Wednesdays and Saturdays.”

  I felt like I’d been hit. “Carmen?”

  “That isn’t nearly enough,” Carmen argued. “The children will be devastated. Their mother has been the primary caretaker all these years. If nothing else, there are custodial things that their father doesn’t have the slightest idea how to handle.”

  “Father can learn,” said the judge.

  “Two days of visitation a week is too little given how close these children and their mother have been.”

  “I’m not comfortable allowing more until the guardian assures me she is a reliable influence. On the matter of temporary support, Father will have the same access to funds that he’s had all along.” He looked over his glasses from me to Dennis and back. “Who pays the bills?”

  “My client, your honor,” Carmen said with a composure that, just then, I totally lacked. “But we have reservations about leaving things as they are. Mr. Raphael is a binge spender. Cars, clothes, trips—there’s no telling what he’ll do now that he knows his days of unlimited access to his wife’s funds are numbered.”

  “Your honor,” drawled Dennis’s lawyer in an old-boy tone, if ever there was one, “that was a spiteful pot shot.”

  The judge didn’t say yea or nay. All he did was to tell Carmen, “Have your client make note of any unusual spending. It will be taken into consideration when a permanent settlement is discussed.” He sent the papers down the bench. “Who’s next, Missy?”

  I made it as far as the courthouse steps before my legs rebelled. Resting my weight against the stone wall there, I braced my hands on its edge and took breath after shallow breath. It was a minute before I was aware that Carmen had caught up. I struggled not to cry, though tears were close. “This is wrong, Carmen. Unfair. It is not in the best interests of my children.”

  She put an arm around my waist. More reassuring, though, was her voice. It held a toughness I hadn’t heard before. “Damn right, it isn’t fair. Selwey was way off base. As soon as I get back to my office, I’ll put together a Motion for Reconsideration. It’ll be filed before court closes this afternoon. Since it has to be heard by the judge who made the initial ruling, I’m not holding my breath for a reversal, but it’s only the first step. If Selwey denies that, I’ll file a Motion to Recuse, and if he denies that, I’ll file an interlocutory appeal. That will be heard by a judge on the Appeals Court.”

  “What if it’s denied, too?” I asked.

  “At that point, we’ll have other options. One is to get a temporary restraining order against Selwey’s rulings by filing a gender discrimination suit against him in federal court. His remarks today suggested that he discriminated against you largely because you work, but the Constitution guarantees you the right to work. So that’s one possibility. Another is to sue Dennis.”

  “For what?”

  “Malicious prosecution. Intentional infliction of emotional distress.”

  I tried to make sense of what he was doing, tried to understand how he could look at me as calmly as he had in the courtroom, knowing what he was doing, after all we had been to each other. “Does he hate me that much?”

  Carmen shook her head. “I doubt it’s hate. More likely resentment. You’ve done better than him. Men have trouble with that.”

  “What’s his lawyer’s excuse? How can he let Dennis do this? Doesn’t he see that it’s wrong?”

  “His job is to get the best deal for his client.”

  “But it isn’t fair.”

  “Fairness has little to do with any divorce proceeding.”

  I rubbed the flat of my hand on my chest. The ache there was immense. It grew even worse when I saw Dennis emerge from between the large granite columns and trot down the steps with his lawyer. He looked to be feeling pretty good, and why not? He’d just pulled off a whopper of a snow job.

  So we’d won on the money. He wouldn’t be able to wipe out our accounts. Did I care? Not particularly. I’d never been in it for the money.

  I saw him smile, presumably at something Art Heuber said. The smile broadened as the two halted. It was only then that I saw the woman who met them at the foot of the steps.

  She was small, blond, and young, strikingly attractive in a professional way.

  “Aaaahhhhhhh,” Carmen murmured. “The missing piece.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Phoebe Lowe. She works with Art Heuber.”

  “Works with?”

  “She’s a partner. Doesn’t look old enough, does she? She’s thirty-two, though people rarely guess it. Looking young and fragile gives her an edge. Her opponents either underestimate her, or feel protective of her. Needless to say, Selwey wouldn’t care for her much. That may be why Art is here. He may be the point man, while Phoebe’s the brains behind the operation.”

  “She’s Dennis’s lawyer, then?”

  “Officially, they’ll work as a team.” Carmen nodded slowly as she studied them. “Art is tough, but he isn’t usually underhanded. Phoebe is. She has the flash he doesn’t, with none of the moral integrity. She’s a manipulator. It’d be just her style to coach Dennis on the best ways of making you look bad. See how they’re talking? I smell familiarity. She and Dennis aren’t strangers. Yes, I’d gues
s she’s Dennis’s original lawyer. She would have listed the kind of evidence that would hold weight in court, and counseled him to be patient until he gathered enough to make a circumstantial case against you. She would have deliberately chosen Selwey for his chauvinism, then sent Art in to front for her.”

  The threesome seemed pleased with themselves. Their smiles were all the more hurtful, given how devastated I felt. It was something of a relief when they started down the street.

  I looked at Carmen. “Do you know Dean Jenovitz?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Is he bad?”

  “Not as bad as Selwey. Not as bad as Peter Hale. I wouldn’t have chosen Dean myself. He’s only in his early sixties, but old, know what I mean? He’s stodgy. Conservative. More annoying than harmful, a stickler for details. He gets hung up on things that have little relevance to the case. Gets past those things, but it takes time. I have breakfast once a month with a group of female family law specialists. We vote one man a month as the man most likely to drive us nuts. Dean’s name pops up once in a while.”

  “Oh no.”

  “But he’s never won. Never come close. Peter Hale, on the other hand, was Mr. February. And Mr. July.”

  I would have been grateful for small favors, had I been in a generous mood. But I was feeling that I’d gotten the short end of the stick, that I was being drawn and quartered and couldn’t do much more than lie there and take it. I was feeling violated.

  Carmen took my arm and started me down the steps. “I’m sorry, Claire. I wanted this over today, too.” Her voice toughened again. “The worst kind of case is when you know you’re right and you can’t get through to the judge. But we do have options. If anyone knows them, it’s me. I cut my teeth on this kind of case. Learned the hard way, actually, but learned good.”

  Something about the way she said the last made me look at her.

  “I raised four little sisters,” she said quietly as we walked. “When they were in high school, two of them got in trouble being with the wrong people at the wrong time. We were poor and couldn’t afford a lawyer. The public defender assigned to the case was overworked and just wanted the case settled. He negotiated a plea bargain that involved my sisters admitting to something they hadn’t done and spending six months in jail. ‘Just’ six months, he kept saying. I made him go to trial, and then did most of the preparation myself when he said he didn’t have time.”