Truth (11 page)

XX

L
ater, Mrs. Jenkins invited Dee and me into her study. “We need to talk about Wednesday’s hearing.”

“Miss Maldovar’s going to be there,” Dee said. “She has friends at Child Protective Services and thought she might be able to help.”

“Who is Miss Maldovar?” Mrs. Jenkins frowned.

“My teacher,” Dee said.

“I see. Well then, I look forward to meeting her. Perhaps she
will
be of help.” Mrs. Jenkins cast a puzzled look in my direction, then went on. “I wanted to share with you both the particulars on how a Writ of Unsuitability hearing is conducted. The child, the parents or guardians, and any other family members or interested parties may be present. Also the complainant, or his or her representative, which is usually Child Protective Services, will be there. We’ll be called in front of a judge, who will ask questions about the case. Then the judge will hand down his or her decision.”

“Will they allow us to comment?” I asked.

“We shouldn’t count on that. Fortunately, Mr. Jenkins has very high standing in Media, and he’s well known in the judiciary, having covered many high-profile criminal proceedings. It is helpful that you’re now living with us. The judge may be more inclined to treat you favorably. However, if we get a judge who is not acquainted with Mr. Jenkins, I can’t say.”

I glanced over at Dee. “They can’t just take her away, can they?”

“It is a possibility,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

A few days ago, I would never have believed Dee’s calm reaction. “Will I be allowed to come and get my things? Where will they take me?”

If Mrs. Jenkins was as surprised at my little sister’s composure as I was, she didn’t let on. “I truly doubt it will come to that, Dee. There are a good many points on our side. Aside from your living here now, Nina’s sixteen and has a job. Her Creative designation is another boon, since they like to see ambition and the promise of moving up in tiers. There is also the fact that your mother specifically, legally designated the Oberons as your guardians; that cannot be discounted without a fight.”

“I hope so,” Dee said. “But if they do remove me, will you still try to get me back?” She looked at me.

“Of course, Dee! You’re my sister.”

“Good. Excuse me, please, I have some things I need to do.”

After she left, I said, “If it were me, I don’t think I’d be even half as cool as Dee is. I should make plans to get Dee out of town. My father, well, he’s her father, too, could take her into hiding with him. Then she’d be safe.”

“No.” Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “That’s been discussed at length. If she disappeared while under threat of a writ, B.O.S.S. would search for her. Even though Ed is her presumed father, she bears the Oberon name. That alone would make the authorities suspicious. And they would most certainly seize and interrogate you. It is best that we go to court and hope that things go in our direction. You should see if Dr. Silverman will give you a statement indicating that your grandmother is recovering and will eventually be able to care for Dee. The court will already have information on your grandfather. But that cannot be helped.”

I said. “What if—”

“Nina, do not torment yourself over imagined disasters. Instead, imagine the future the way you want it to be. It is always better to visualize good rather than evil.”

“I can’t just think my way out of this.”

“No, but you can be aware of what could be and look to what you
want
things to be.” She laid her hand on mine. “As we think, so we are.” She brushed my hair back, looking into my eyes. “Now. Tell me about this Miss Maldovar. How does she know what’s going on?”

“Dee’s original teacher was in an accident of some sort, and Miss Maldovar took over. She made Dee her assistant, and Dee ended up telling her all about the writ. I’ve only seen her once.”

“Your impression?”

“Well, I never actually met her, officially. We ran into her at Rosie’s. I have to say, there’s something about her that seems off. She gives me the creeps.”

“Trust your intuition. But for now, having her at the hearing to tell how Dee is doing in school may be very helpful. Very helpful.”

XXI

I
t was nice not having to worry about school for a while. And I was able to pick up more hours at the Institute. I took a detour on my way to work, hoping to see Joan. But there was no sign of anyone, except a few early shoppers heading from the apartments up to Michigan Avenue. When I got to work, Martin was waiting for me. “My nod to the season, don’t you know?” he said, handing me a steaming cup of hot cocoa with a peppermint-stick stirrer poking out the top.

That one small gesture reminded me of Holidays with Ginnie. Hot cocoa was a tradition. I felt like laughing and crying all at once. But what I did was thank him, and then I took myself and my cup to the storeroom. Perched on the edge of my chair, I verified artwork against catalog numbers and descriptions. It wasn’t the most fun in the galaxy, but I loved the feeling of being in the midst of all this amazing artwork. And I was learning lots about how artists like to describe their work. Some were so esoteric—on purpose, or so it seemed—and it only made them sound snobby and affected to me. Like ultrafamous, university-taught Lars Estagean, whose artist statement was so out there that it was totally incomprehensible to me. While Stefan B, a recently discovered “street artist,” came across as honest and unassuming. His simple statement, “It feels phenomenal to be able to take what I see and turn my feelings about it into a truthful portrayal of what’s there,” was exactly how I felt about my own artwork; it was nothing fancy, but it was honest.

I hadn’t been working all that long when Martin and Percy came in. I’d never actually met Percy face-to-face, only on vid calls.

“Pers, allow me to present the fabulous Miss Nina Oberon. Isn’t she even lovelier in person?” Martin gushed.

Percy shook my hand. “Beautiful, Marty. Absolutely beautiful. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Your mother was absolute perfection.”

My cheeks blushed hot. “Thank you.” I hadn’t realized they’d known Ginnie, too.

“You are coming to the party, aren’t you?” He didn’t miss my puzzlement. “She is coming, isn’t she?” His gaze bounced over to Martin, then back to me. “You have to come, you know.” To Martin, “She simply
has
to.”

“What party?” I asked.

“The New Year’s bash at the Golds,” Percy said. “Everyone in the universe will be there. Which means, you
must
be there, because the universe
has
to meet you.”

“Gold, like Paulette Gold?” My eyebrows shot up.

“That’s the daughter. Right, Marty?” Percy continued talking, wiping out any response Martin might have made. “She’s a bit of a swagger, but not a bad girl. You know her? Of course you do, or you wouldn’t have asked.”

“Percy.” Martin grasped his arm. “We’ll take Nina to the party. For now, I merely wanted to introduce you in person and to tell Nina that she could go home.” He smiled at me. “No more work until after Holiday. Oh.” He dug into his pocket. “Here’s a free hire-trannie ticket. Go home in style.” He hugged me. “I hope your grandmother is feeling better, and here’s hoping for good news about your grandfather. Happy Holiday, Nina.”

“Yes, dear.” Percy hugged me, too. “Happy Holiday. Lord knows you deserve one.” He gave me a little peck on the cheek.

The scent of spicy aftershave lingered long after the door closed. I stared at the ticket. I’d been in a hire trannie only once, and then only as an escape. This time, however, I wouldn’t be running away from Ed. I’ll pretend I’m upper tier, I thought. It will be fun, even if only for a few minutes.

***

Stuck in traffic, I stared out the window at all the Holiday lights on Galaxy Mile, the part of Michigan Avenue that had all the ultrachic, top-tier shops. Holiday verts were coming fast and furious, competing for shoppers’ attention.

“Her eyes will light up as bright as the diamonds in this Urban-Retro, twenty-carat-gold mail necklace.” “Give your Holiday Pre a glimpse into the ultra world of XVI with a
XVI Ways
Day Spa gift certificate.” “Surprise Dad this Holiday with an all-weather Verolux chronos.”

We were sitting in front of Mars 9, the ultra shop for teens. Their display scene was a party. I clicked my PAV to tune out the verts and pressed my nose to the glass. A girl mannibot drifted through the crowd in a scintillating, strapless gown. The scene was enthralling. A longing to look that nice, just once, seared through me, leaving behind a burning hole in my chest.

I would
never
be that girl.

I shut my eyes and didn’t open them until I felt the vehicle lurch forward. Paulette’s upper-tier party. My Sale-o-rama life. There was no way I could ever go to that party, no matter what Martin and Percy said.

I thought about Sal. About us. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while. I knew he was on NonCon business. I hadn’t gotten so much as a message. I shouldn’t be surprised, I told myself. But still.

Finally, the trannie pulled up to the house.

Chris was on his way out as I was going in. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I didn’t even try to hide my low spirits.

He touched my arm. “You want to talk?”

Our eyes connected, and suddenly I did want to talk—to him. “I, uh . . . no. Is Wei home?” What was I thinking? Sal was who I should be commiserating with, not Chris.

“She’s upstairs.” He gave my arm a squeeze. “Whatever it is, Nina, it’ll get better.”

He left and I closed the door, confused. The more I saw of Chris, the more I liked him. And lately it seemed that he liked me—more. His interactions with me sometimes seemed flirty or, like now, attentive and filled with concern. Sure, I told myself, it’s perfectly normal to want to share my worries with someone who cares. It’s just that that someone should be Sal.

“Hey, you!” Wei came traipsing down the stairs. “I saw you through the window. What’s up with the hire trannie?”

I told her everything—except my near-breakdown in front of Mars 9.

“Paulette’s party? Lucky you! Mom and Dad had another commitment, so they won’t be there, but . . . yeah. You should definitely go.”

I said, “Maybe,” even though I knew it was the last thing I would ever do.

XXII

I
woke up the next morning surprised I’d slept so soundly, especially considering what was in store for the day. Dee was up before the alarm and in my room, fretting. She fidgeted on the corner of my bed. “What should I wear?”

“The nicest clothes you’ve got,” I said. “Your black pants and your red sweater?”

“Sweater’s too small.” She checked out my room. “What are you wearing?”

“The same thing I wore when I went to B.O.S.S. headquarters to see about Pops.”

“What was that? You left before I was up.”

“Some of Mom’s clothes. I felt close to her, like she was there watching over me.”

“You think anything of hers might fit me?”

“Let’s go see. They’re in Gran’s room.”

Five minutes later, we’d found the perfect asteroid-blue sweater for her to wear. It was the tiniest bit big, but nothing a couple of well-placed pins couldn’t fix.

“It smells like Mom.” Her eyes got misty.

“Don’t be sad, Deeds. Think of it like she’s right here with you.”

By the time we met Mrs. Jenkins on the stairs, we both looked, if not tier five, at least four. And, neither of us had cried, on the outside.

First stop was Metro Hospital. Dr. Silverman had left a transcribed, notarized statement about Gran’s recovery and general good health. At least that was going in our favor.

When we got to the Hall of Justice, Dee slipped her hand into mine.

“It will be fine,” I whispered.

Simply standing outside the Hall was intimidating. Instead of the sleek, modern fronts of many of the surrounding buildings, it was old. The walls were row after row of glass, going up at least thirty stories. A balance scale was projected on the entire surface of the Dearborn Street side.

Balance. Right. The balance is all on their side, I thought. Doesn’t matter how many times they tell us we are free. It’s their version of free; I was guessing it was nowhere near my father’s version, and it definitely wasn’t mine.

“We’re in courtroom seven B.” Mrs. Jenkins hurried us inside. “We don’t want to be late.”

With my free hand, I pulled out my charms necklace, touching the number 7 that Gran had given me—“For completeness.” Surely it was no coincidence that we were in courtroom seven. It was my lucky number. I squeezed the charm.

We had no problem clearing the scanners flanking the doors. Mrs. Jenkins’s heels clicked purposefully as we made our way through the expansive lobby to the information desk. I was surprised at the number of actual people, rather than bots, who worked here, although the man who directed us was as impassive as any Hal at school.

Outside the courtroom, a uniformed officer guarded the door. He sent us to a room across the hall. “Wait there until you’re summoned.”

Before we even entered the room, I heard a familiar whirring noise.

“Mrs. Marchant!”

“Yes, Miss Oberon. That is who I am.” She glided over to us. “This must be your sister, Delisa. Good morning.” She extended her hand. “I am Mrs. Marchant, the principal at Nina’s school.”

“Hello.” Dee’s eyes swept across the transchair, but she made no comment.

“This is Mrs. Jenkins,” I said. “She’s—”

“Yes, I know Mrs. Jenkins well.” A deep-throated laugh erupted. “We’ve met on more than one occasion regarding Wei.”

Duh. The first day I met Wei, Mr. Haldewick had threatened to send her to Mrs. Marchant’s office. She did like to create scenes.

“So nice to see you again.” Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes twinkled.

“I heard about Nina’s situation,” Mrs. Marchant said. “It seemed to me that a character witness might be a good thing. I didn’t care for the way CPS treated one of my students, in my school, in my office.” There was fire in her eyes.

The door squeaked behind us.

“Miss Maldovar!” Dee broke into a smile. “You came.”

“I told you I would.” She cupped Dee’s chin in her hand. “You look worried. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Why don’t you introduce me to your sister and . . .” She glanced at the three of us.

“Oh, this is Mrs. Jenkins. It’s her house we’re living in.”

Miss Maldovar approached, smiling. “Mrs. Jenkins.” She held out a gloved hand. “What a wonderful thing your family’s done, taking in Dee and her sister.” After they shook. Miss Maldovar turned to me. “You are, of course, Nina. I’ve heard so much about you. Your sister quite looks up to you.”

“Thank you. It’s very nice of you to come,” I said. “But you needn’t have, especially at Holiday time. We’ll be fine.”

Miss Maldovar’s smile changed to a look of warm concern. “I’m sure you will be. But as I told Dee, I have many years of dealing with Child Protective Services and even know some of the judges who hear these cases. Perhaps I may be of assistance. I hope you won’t mind if I at least observe.”

Mrs. Marchant cleared her throat.

“Excuse me.” I stepped back. “This is Mrs. Marchant, the principal of my school.”

Miss Maldovar extended her hand. “What a pleasure to meet another educator.”

Mrs. Marchant nodded. “It would appear that the school system is concerned about its pupils. That would make a good headline, wouldn’t it?” Her chair skimmed backward, and she set her gaze on Miss Maldovar. “You haven’t been at Dickens for long. Where were you before that?”

“Overseas at a private institution. I’m substituting while I decide if I want to stay in the Americas or go back to the European States.”

The officer from the hall stuck his head in. “Oberon?”

“Yes.” I tensed.

“They’re ready for your case. Please proceed to the front of the courtroom.”

Rows of straight-backed, worn wooden seats flanked the center aisle. The place was certainly not built for comfort. Miss Maldovar took a seat halfway up, and Mrs. Marchant whirred over near the wall. We installed ourselves at one of the two tables in front of the judge’s bench—the one marked
DEFENDANT
.

The doors opened again, and in walked Crow Face and Songbird. They were accompanied by a tall, lanky man clutching an oversize digi-pad in his bony hands.

They’d barely had time to sit at the Prosecution table before the court officer said, “All rise. The Honorable Judge Gordon Hughes residing.”

A short man with dark curly hair entered through a door behind the bench and sat.

“All be seated,” the officer said. “Court is now in session.”

Judge Hughes busied himself with reading something. There were voices behind me. I strained to hear what was being said. All I could make out was Miss Maldovar asking one of the officers, “Where is Judge Patton?” The only part of the officer’s reply I could hear was “emergency.” Had Miss Maldovar expected there to be a certain judge?

The judge raised his head. “All interested parties, please identify yourselves. We’ll start here.” He pointed directly at me.

“I’m Nina Oberon. This is my sister, Delisa, and our friend Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Where are Edith and Herbert Oberon?”

“Pops—I mean, Herbert—is, uh . . . he’s in jail, and Edith is in the hospital. I have a paper here that says she’s going to be fine.” I held out the doctor’s statement.

“Bailiff.” Judge Hughes motioned the court officer to bring him Dr. Silverman’s statement. While he studied it, he said, “Mrs. Jenkins, what is your interest in this case?”

“As friends of the family, my husband and I have opened up our home to the Oberons. They are now living in an apartment in our building.”

“Your husband is . . . ?”

“Jonathan Jenkins.”

“Jonathan Jenkins, senior Media investigative correspondent?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Interesting.” He laid down the paper and looked directly at me. “Nina Oberon, are you of age?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I held out my wrist, showing the XVI.

“Your Honor, if I may speak.” Crow Face stood.

The judge narrowed his eyes. “When I am ready, I will ask for your input, Miss . . . ?”

“Griswold,” Crow Face answered.

“And you are . . .”

“Child Protective Services. You see, Your Honor—”

“Just answer the questions I ask. When I want more from you, you’ll be the first to know.” He turned to Songbird. “And you?”

“Angie Page, Child Protective Services, junior officer.”

“Thank you, Miss Page. Sir?”

“CPS officer Bolton, Your Honor.”

The judge nodded as his eyes scanned the courtroom. They lit on Mrs. Marchant. “Caroline? Caroline Marchant? Is that you?”

Mrs. Marchant nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen you since, well . . .” His voice trailed off. “Now is not the time, nor the place. To what do I owe the honor of having you in my courtroom?”

“I’m here on behalf of the Oberon girls,” she said. “I wanted to be certain justice was served. With you on the bench, I’m sure it will be.”

I couldn’t help but notice her eyes cut in Miss Maldovar’s direction.

“Thank you for that vote of confidence.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper, then looked behind us. “And you, ma’am?”

Miss Maldovar stood. “I am Delisa’s teacher, Adana Maldovar. Like Mrs. Marchant, I am here for the girls.”

“Thank you. You may be seated.” He turned to the Prosecution table. “Now, Miss Griswold, what are the specifics in this case?”

“Herbert Oberon was arrested for being a subversive. He’s the father of the infamous, late Alan Oberon. That ne’er-do-well who pumped up the Resistance with his following of nonconformists. The law states that no child will be allowed to stay in the care and under the influence of a known—”

“I am well aware of the law, and hardly need you to remind me of it.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Crow Face at least had the intelligence to appear contrite, which I’m sure was all for show.

“Who brought this to the attention of CPS?”

“Anonymous.”

“Of course.” He turned away from Crow Face. “Miss Maldovar, please approach.”

She came down the aisle to the judge’s bench.

“How has the child been in school? Problems? Poor performance?”

“On the contrary,” Miss Maldovar said. “She’s quite well adjusted, given the horrible circumstances of her recent life—her mother’s death.” She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “And she’s in the top percentile of students. Very bright. I’ve appointed her my classroom assistant.” She lowered her voice. “She’s a delightful child. I think this writ business is ridiculous. Some busybody with a grudge against the Oberons, perhaps? Alan Oberon, whatever he may have been, has not been an influence in Delisa’s life. She’s not even his biological daughter.”

The blood drained from my face. I hadn’t thought that would come up. If they did a DNA scan on Dee, they’d know the truth.

“Of course,” Miss Maldovar continued, “with Herbert Oberon in B.O.S.S. custody he is not caring for nor influencing her. And Edith Oberon has been charged with nothing that I’m aware of.”

Crow Face burst out, “But she’s—”

The judge held up a silencing hand. “Has Mrs. Oberon been charged with anything?”

“No.” Crow Face looked downright disappointed.

If everything hadn’t been so serious, I would’ve laughed at her discomfiture. I was rather enjoying seeing her be treated the way she’d treated me.

“Thank you, Miss Maldovar. Mrs. Marchant. Do you mind?” The judge indicated the space in front of his bench.

Mrs. Marchant’s transchair skimmed to the center of the room.

“What about Nina Oberon?”

“Nina’s a good student. A Creative with a part-time job at the Art Institute, which hasn’t interfered with her schoolwork. I can vouch for her integrity and her responsibility.”

“Thank you.” A look of almost desperate tenderness crossed the judge’s face. “Bailiff.”

The officer went to the bench. The judge whispered something to him and handed him a sheet of paper. The bailiff gave the sheet of paper to Mrs. Marchant, who had returned to her spot by the wall. I tried to catch her expression, but the judge rapped his gavel and all eyes were on the bench.

“It is the finding of this court that there is nothing defensible in the writ as it stands. Delisa Oberon is currently to stay in the custody of her grandmother, Edith Oberon, and her of-age sister, Nina Oberon. Should Herbert Oberon be released from incarceration, the court will ascertain if, at that point, he is legally being considered a subversive. If so, this case will be revisited. But for now, case closed.” He struck his gavel on its block.

“All rise,” the bailiff intoned, and the judge exited the courtroom.

I pulled Dee into a huge hug. Mrs. Jenkins put her arms around both our shoulders. With my eyes closed, and the smell of Mom on Dee’s clothes, I could imagine Mrs. Jenkins was Ginnie. Family. Together.

The spell was broken when Miss Maldovar and Mrs. Marchant joined us at the Defense table.

“I’m so glad it turned out in your favor,” Miss Maldovar said. “I hope I was of some help.”

“You were,” Dee said. “And, Mrs. Marchant, thank you so much for saying all those things about Nina.”

“They’re true,” Mrs. Marchant said. “She’s an excellent role model. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She glided past us, exiting through the same door the judge had used.

Crow Face noisily pushed back her chair and huffed out of the courtroom. Songbird ducked her head, giving me the slightest of smiles. The nondescript man followed them both.

We’d won, and Dee could stay with us, her family. I couldn’t help but wonder who’d actually filed the writ and how this outcome would make him or her feel.