Page 125 of Goodbye Days

Then I look harder at the car. A wave of electric terror passes through me as I recognize it. Judge Edwards gets out, holding a bundle under one arm.

Oh no. No. No. This is not happening. Why is he doing this? He’s coming to kill me. That’s why. It’s no longer enough to break me physically, mentally, and emotionally. He’s here to literally murder me. And he’ll get away with it because he’s a judge.

I scurry to the entryway and watch through the peephole as he approaches. His face is stoic and unreadable. My legs quiver so much that I struggle to remain standing. As he reaches for the bell, I fling open the door. I register his momentary surprise. It’s an expression I’m unused to seeing on him.

We stand there for a moment, looking at each other like we hope the words we’re after will materialize magically on each other’s foreheads.

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. Softly. Gently. He pulls out The Judge from his inside coat pocket with his free hand. “Tell me about Mars. Tell me about my son.”

He’s wearing a beige camel-hair coat. A navy sweater-vest with an open-collar purple gingham shirt. Khakis. Burgundy driving shoes. A tan driving cap. It suddenly occurs to me that he’s wearing his version of kicking-around-the-house clothes. A calculated attempt to appear softer.

“Here,” he says, handing me my neatly folded suit jacket and tie—the bundle he was carrying.

I accept them, but I’m still speechless.

My mom walks in. “Sweetie, who is—” She freezes when she sees Judge Edwards. “Sir, why are you here?”

“Ma’am, I came to see if—”

My dad enters and pales when he sees Judge Edwards. “Your Honor. May we help you with something?” When my dad gets emotional, his Irish accent thickens. Right now he sounds like he just stepped off the plane.

Judge Edwards meets his eyes with an even gaze. “I was about to ask your wife if I could borrow Carver for a few hours—if he’ll allow me. To better acquaint me with my son.”

“You tried to take our son from us.” Blistering fury radiates from my mom. Thankfully, she’s better at controlling it than Georgia. Even still, my dad gently touches her arm.

Judge Edwards’s face conveys that he views the matter as somewhat more nuanced. However, he responds calmly. “I called for justice. I understand if we have very different views of what that means.”

“He also asked the DA not to prosecute, Mom,” I say. Now I’m defending him?

“I would prefer that we not spread that around too much, as I said.” There’s a trace of the old Judge Edwards in his tone.

“Sorry.”

He nods, and the new, gentler Judge Edwards returns to his face.

“If that’s true, then thank you,” my mom says softly.

He nods.

“I know you are a judge, sir, but if this is some sort of…” My dad’s voice trails off—deferential, respectful, but with a honed edge.

“Trick? Ruse? It is not.” The old Judge Edwards tone returns. “It would mean a great deal to me, and I’ve had a difficult past few months, as I’m sure you’ve surmised.”

My mom regards him with a sudden flash of sympathy. I give her a look that says: This is an opportunity I need to take. “If you want to, sweetie,” she says.

“This is your choice, Carver,” my dad says. “You don’t have to go.”

“I want to tell him about Mars,” I say. “I know stuff about him Judge Edwards doesn’t.”

My parents trade wary glances but stay mum.

“This is important,” I say. “What if it were someone wanting to tell you about me?”

They stand down. Judge Edwards shakes hands with them.

Judge Edwards and I leave and sit in his car for a moment. My adrenaline at seeing him come to the door is cautiously evaporating.

“You might be relieved to know that I’ve exhausted all of my ideas for the day. So I’m open to any you might have,” Judge Edwards says.