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Instead of the Monday morning after a late game, he’d leave directly from the hearing and head to Green Bay on a late Thursday night flight. Fortunately, he’d miss only a day with the team.
Management hadn’t been pleased, but his attempts to explain he couldn’t change the hearing date had fallen on deaf ears until his coach spoke up.
“We’re not side-lining our quarterback because he has a custody hearing, gentlemen. And if anyone makes a big deal of it, that’s what we’ll tell them.”
It wouldn’t go over well for any organization to seem unsympathetic to Scott’s plight, though his fight to keep his son hadn’t quite hit the headlines, yet. So far, it had been wiser to keep it quiet. But the court of public opinion was powerful, if fickle, and if he could use it to his own advantage—well, he wouldn’t be opposed.
Entering the courtroom with his lawyer, Mark, Scott took a deep breath and walked up the aisle. The weight of the space sank heavily onto his shoulders. To one side, the jury box stood empty. Approaching the bench, Scott passed the empty rows of the gallery, then slid behind the table that already held several files of documents in case Mark needed them during the hearing.
He sat, adjusting his cuffs and straightening his tie.
Lindsay exuded comfort in the vaulting space, not surprising given how many times she’d probably litigated in similar courtrooms. Dressed in a smart, black suit, she sat tall in her chair, hands folded on the table, as she awaited the proceedings.
A few moments later, the bailiff announced the arrival of the judge, then, as they took their seats again, the doors behind them opened and the quick click of heeled shoes announced the arrival of the guardianad litem.
Judge Farmer spoke first. “Ms. Meyers, Mr. Edwards. I’ve had the opportunity to read over the reports and evaluations provided to the court by Ms. Weiring...” He nodded at the guardian, now seated in the gallery behind Lindsay.
Did that signify something? Maybe her unvoiced support for his ex-wife?
“... as well as those provided by Dr. Grant Ferndale.” He paused, studying Lindsay over the edge of his glasses. “I must say, I was surprised to receive Dr. Ferndale’s report so quickly. He appears to be much sought after in New York. I expected it to take much longer.”
Lindsay dropped her eyes to her folded hands and took a ragged breath. “Dr. Ferndale is a professional colleague, Your Honor. When I explained the circumstances of this case, he willingly prioritized it...” she paused, then continued, “for a price. Of course, I paid it.” A sheen of tears filled her eyes. “I’d like to have my son home by Christmas.”
Scott clenched his fists. “I thought you were going to Vienna for Christmas this year.” The comment slipped out before he could bite down on it.
Lindsay turned to give him a hard stare but didn’t respond.
“Mr. Edwards.”
Scott turned his eyes to the judge, then flushed and lowered them. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
The judge waited another long moment, a clear rebuke, then continued, “Mr. Lystead, you’ve had a chance to look over Ms. Weiring’s report and Dr. Ferndale’s evaluation? And you’ve spoken to your client about the findings?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Mark shuffled some papers. “We take issue with Dr. Ferndale’s conclusions. First, he suggests a slight change to Dylan Edwards’ math grade is indicative of a major disruption in the home. What he does not note is Dylan switched to an accelerated math course this year.” Mark rifled through the stack, removing two of Dylan’s report cards and several exams, then standing and handing them to the bailiff, who then handed them up to the judge. “You’ll notice on last year’s report card, he averaged an A-minus. This semester he’s sitting at a B-minus, including that exam you have, there, on top, on which he scored a seventy-two percent.”
The judge glanced down, then nodded.
“However, he has not yet had the chance to re-take the exam, as per the class administration, which I’ve also provided. You’ll notice last year’s exams, also provided, show a marked improvement between the first and second tests, and we expect a similar pattern this year.”
Judge Farmer nodded. “I see. Ms. Weiring, you spoke to Dylan Edwards’ teachers as a part of your investigation?”
The guardian stood, though she did not come forward. “Yes, Your Honor. None of his teachers have expressed any concern about his academics this year; however, as I wrote in my report, several have described his demeanor as being more distracted.”
Scott slumped in his chair. Mark had warned him about this.
“Yes, the, uh, dog doodles?” The corner of Judge Farmer’s mouth ticked up.
“Yes, Your Honor. His English teacher, in particular, lamented all of his assignments now have sketches of dogs in the margins.”
Mark, too, stood. “Your Honor, Ms. Barclay has a trained therapy dog...”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” Judge Farmer waved him off. “Nevertheless.”
“Your Honor?”
Scott’s head swung of its own accord toward Lindsay.
“Since Mr. Lystead has mentioned Ms. Barclay, I’d like it notedThe Charleston Heraldpublished an article regarding her character and, as a mother, I must say, the idea she may not be emotionally stable disturbed me.” Lindsay flicked through her own papers, then offered a copy of the article to the bailiff. “Unemployed, depressed and anxious, with PTSD. Although my ex-husband believes the best of this woman, I can’t in good conscience ignore the warning signs the way he can.”