Nothing.
“She’s not here,” I said.
“But she promised. She said she was waiting for us.”
“She doesn’t want us in her life. Or maybe, more interestingly, somebody else doesn’t want us in her life.”
“Too bad,” said Isabel, taking out a phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling the judge. She’ll issue a bench warrant.”
“And then what? How soon do you think the police will get around to looking for her? And when they do start looking, and if she does get picked up, then what? What happens to Daniel?”
“What would you have me do?”
“Follow me,” I said.
“Where to?”
“Just follow.”
I climbed down the steps, pushed through the front door. Isabel hesitated a moment before following.
At the corner Horace was leaning against the brick wall of the bar, a chessboard and box in his hand. I walked by him without so much as a nod. I knew where I was going, I had already traced the route on a map in my office. I turned right, turned left at the next intersection.
These were all row houses now, more in disrepair than those on the commercial street, cracked porches, peeling paint, trees shriveling in the little plots of land between the cement of the sidewalk and the asphalt of the street.
And there it was, a quiet house on a quiet block, shades drawn, lights out, nothing.
“Go on up and knock,” I said to Isabel.
“Who’s in there?”
“Go on up and see.”
She gave me a look, as if I had grown antennae, as if I had transformed before her very eyes into a different species, and then headed up the stoop. This time I followed her. From inside we could hear a television going.
Isabel rang the buzzer, waited a bit, then rapped her knuckles gently on the door. She looked at me, I showed her a fist, she gave the door a bang.
A woman answered, T-shirt and jeans, short dark hair, dark eyes, a crying baby on her hip. With the door opened, she shouted into the house, “Turn down the damn TV,” before turning her attention to us. “What you want?” she said angrily, and then grew quiet when she took in exactly who was there before her, Isabel with her suit and briefcase and me standing beside her.
“Hello, Julia,” said Isabel.
“Crap,” said Julia Rose.
23
Daniel Rose slumped on a couch in the living room, his fists balled, his features impassive, his stare intent on the cartoon playing on the television set. He was a stocky, towheaded kid with pale skin and slip-on sneakers, and he was doing his best to ignore me, which is pretty much par for the course with my clients.
In the kitchen Julia Rose and Isabel were having a face-to-face. Isabel was not too pleased with Julia or her explanations. Julia’s friend had to run an errand, and so Julia had been forced to watch her baby daughter, which was why she hadn’t been at her apartment that day or the other times Isabel had tried to visit. Julia had no way to get to the parenting sessions she had promised Isabel she would attend because she couldn’t find the bus schedules. Julia had missed her appointment with the doctor because Daniel was too sick to go out.
There was a technical legal term for what Julia Rose was shoveling to Isabel. The whole scene was enough to weary a saint, and I wasn’t a saint, so instead of letting her toss shovelfuls onto me, I’d left the kitchen and sat myself beside Daniel on the couch.
“Daniel,” I said, trying to speak over the sound of the television, “do you know what a lawyer is?”
Daniel stared at the screen and said nothing. I was tempted to switch the TV off so he’d give me his full attention, but if I switched it off and he ran away screaming, that would end my chance to speak to him that day. And I didn’t mind that the sound of the television was keeping our conversation private from Julia in the kitchen. So I waited for him to respond to my question. When he didn’t, I answered it for him.
“A lawyer is someone who helps people who might be in trouble. I’m a lawyer.”
No response, no reaction, but he did chuckle at a pratfall on the screen.
“Today, Daniel, the person I’m here to help is you.”
I waited. No response. I hadn’t had much real experience with children, and I wondered if a four-year-old kid could understand anything I was saying. Probably not. I was about to give it up and go back to Isabel’s conversation with Julia when Daniel, still staring at the television, finally spoke.
“You talk funny.”
“Well, you look funny.”
I thought he’d laugh at that, or smile at least, but he didn’t. He tightened his lips and kept his gaze glued to the television. I licked the scab in my mouth. How do you talk to kids anyway?
“The reason I talk funny,” I said, “is that I lost a tooth. You want to see?”
He nodded.
I opened my mouth, pulled down the edge of my lower lip so the gap was clear. He turned to look at it, nodded, turned back to the television.
“Did it hurt?” he said.
“Not really.”
“I didn’t do nothing.”
“Anything, son. You didn’t do anything, and I know that.”
“So I’m not in trouble.”
“But you still might need a lawyer, and that’s why a nice judge lady hired me to help you. How does your mother treat you?”
“Good.”
“Well. She treats you well. That’s good to hear. Does she give you enough food?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she give you baths?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does she read to you?”
He shrugged, twisted up his fingers.
“Does she ever hit you?” I said.
“When I’m bad.”
“How often are you bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does it hurt when she hits you?”
“Not really.”
“Do you like watching TV?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you watch a lot?”
“My mother lets me.”
“Do you ever play with friends?”
“I don’t know. I’m watching.”
“So am I, but we can still talk.”
“I can’t hear.”
“Sure you can, Daniel. Do you have many friends?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who are some of your friends?”
“Can we be quiet now?”
“Not yet. Do you ever go to the park?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you do there?”
“The big slide.”
“Who watches you in the park?”
“My mom.”
“Does your mom have a boyfriend?”
He waited a moment without saying anything and then picked up the remote control, increased the volume.
“What’s his name, your mother’s friend?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“Randy.”
“Randy. Good. How does Randy treat you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he play with you much?”
“No.”
“Does he read to you?”
“No.”
“Does he give you baths?”
“No.”
“Does he ever hit you?”
He picked up the remote, raised the volume again.
“Turn it down in there,” shouted Julia Rose from the kitchen.
Daniel lowered the volume. He was pretty good with the remote, was Daniel Rose. I didn’t know if he was good with LEGOs, with puzzles, I didn’t know if he liked to turn the pages of picture books, but he was pretty damn good with the remote.
“Hey, Daniel, would it be all right if someday, with your mom’s permission, I took you to the park?”
“I don’t know.”
“I could buy you some ice cream. What kind of ice cream do you like?”
“Chocolate.”
“Okay. Good. Do you like sprinkles?”
“Yeah. The pretty ones.”
“All the different colors? Okay, chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. Just do me one favor, Daniel. Can you smile for me? A big smile? Give me a smile to let me know we’re friends and I’ll leave you to watch the television all alone.”
He turned his head and faked a big smile and then turned back to the cartoon, and my throat tightened on me.
“Julia has agreed to go to the parenting classes,” said Isabel when I returned to the kitchen, where the two women were sitting. Isabel was now holding the neighbor’s baby. “No excuses, right, Julia?”