Page 108 of Malaise
Jon gives me a tight nod, looking strangely dapper in a crisp white shirt with a black bow tie that matches his neatly pressed slacks and polished dress shoes.
“Couldn’t miss seeing the look on your faces when they call him up, girls.”
I give Tanya a curious glance, and she meets me with equal confusion.
“Come on. Don’t want to be fashionably late for this party.” Jon strides off ahead, leaving us to quickstep in our heels to catch up.
The hearing is being held in a larger courtroom than Whitecaps, at the main courthouse in the city. I look around at the people quietly chatting amongst themselves or staring off into the great nothing as they wait—all here for a purpose just like us, but maybe not with the same outcome.
Jon finds us seats two rows back from the divider that separates the viewing area from the actual business end of the room. The air grows hot, the need to step out gnawing at every fibre of my being, but I ignore it. No way in hell am I going to be outside fighting a mini panic attack when Carver steps through those doors.
Jon is seated to my right, Tanya to my left. I’m sandwiched between the two remaining parts of Carver’s dysfunctional family. But despite the fact we’re sitting in a courtroom, awaiting the fate of her brother his son, I can’t help but muse that this family doesn’t hold a candle to how fucked up my own is right now. Through it all, despite every hurdle they’ve had, here they still are, united, going through the trials of life together.
Three people cycle through for sentencing before Carver. Two and a half hours that I sit, fingernails picking at cuticles to keep me distracted, and watching the clock on the wall as it ticks over every agonising second.
By the time his name is called, I’m certain that the make-up Tanya paid for has gone to waste, given how flushed and in desperate need of fresh air I am.
We rise as instructed as the judge re-enters the courtroom, and before I know it, there he is again, resplendent in a green jumpsuit. My heart pulses in my throat, the pins in the side of my hair itching against my scalp. I find an end of my loosely curled hair and wind it around my finger.
He steps out in time with his accompanying guard, head down as he negotiates the step down from the holding area, and then lifts his face to search the gallery.
Tanya reaches across and takes my hand, and I hold my breath, waiting, watching, the seconds like hours as he looks around to find us.
His gaze finds Jon first, and with a firm brow he gives his old man a tight nod. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth when he shifts his gaze right and lands on me, the surprise clear in his widened eyes.
He lets his eyes drift lazily over the length of me while the prison guard removes his handcuffs, Carver’s sight fixing on the new ink for a beat before he continues along my outfit. The restraints on him seem excessive, but I guess how are the officers to know which prisoners are compliant , and which are the ones looking for escape at every turn?
I warm as Carver’s gaze returns to mine, a lazy smile pulling one side of his mouth higher. “Nice,” he mouths before the officer turns him to face the judge.
We take our seats, and the session gets underway.
“Brett Carver. You have been remanded in prison these past weeks on one count of breaking and entering, one of theft, and one of assault on an officer. I will recall each count to you and ask for your plea.” The judge lowers his glasses to look at Carver over the top. “Breaking and entering: how do you plea?”
“Not guilty.”
“Theft: how do you plea?”
“Not guilty.”
“And assault on an officer: how do you plea?”
“Guilty.”
Jon pats my leg twice before returning to his wide-legged, arms-folded posture.
I can’t help but feel that this is some small victory; he’s pleaded not guilty to the things he didn’t do. Surely that means he’s decided to fight the unjust charges?
“While you were in remand, I received new documents pertaining to your case. I will ask the court officer to now pass these over to your state appointed attorney for sighting.”
The officer steps forward, taking two sheets of paper from the judge’s hand, and walks the three steps it takes to pass them to Carver’s lawyer. The middle-aged woman looks them over, and then passes them to Carver to read. His head is bowed, the silence unbearable as he reads what they contain. My fingers flex constantly, the wait too much to bear to find out what they say.
Tanya leans across me to whisper to Jon. “What else do they have on him now?”
Jon lifts a single finger to his lips, nodding toward Carver. “Watch.”
Carver passes the papers back to his lawyer and swivels on the spot, looking over at Jon.
“What have you done?” Tanya hisses.