We’re forty-five minutes early. I don’t know why we came so early—time drags interminably here—except it was worse at home and there were more things to worry about which we have now eliminated, such as traffic and road closures or an accident that might delay us or not being able to find parking or there being a crazy-long line at security or the elevators being broken ... and so on. It’s really much better now that we’re here. There’s less to worry about—only the worry that Mr. McGuire might not arrive on time! But I think he’s just down the street at a different federal building.
As we wait, I’ve been watching people come and go. I can tell who the lawyers are, since they’re among the few people in Tucson who wear suits. Even most men going to court don’t wear suits—some are in jeans and T-shirts!
“Hey, look.” Ike points to the elevator, which has just opened. “Your tribe’s here.”
“Oh!” My ESL friends, they’ve come—my teacher, Danny, too! He’s still got his scruffy beard and long hair and wears a Grateful Dead T-shirt, but he substituted khaki pants for his usual shorts, and over his T-shirt he has on a sport coat. It’s more of a heavy winter one, but I appreciate the gesture. I jump up and hug each of them in turn. “Thank you for coming. Thank you so much. Danny, I’m very touched. Thank you.”
He gives me one of his friendly winks. “This land is your land, baby.”
“And, Agata, you look so nice! Great lipstick, that orange really matches your dress! And Josef, you’re so handsome in your suit!”
Pleased, Josef stands with his hands behind his back and sucks air through his missing tooth. He has a proud-grandfather posture and announces he’ll buy lunch for the entire group after the hearing. “On me,” he says. “On me.”
“And you,” I say to Eva, who today has coal black hair and black leather everything else, “Not even for today, you couldn’t ... ?”
“Dress more modestly?” She snaps her gum. “Hell, no.” She grins. “So, hey, chickee-poo—I’ve got a plan. When you get inside, you need to tell the judge to
fuck himself
.”
I laugh. “I’m sure that would work wonders, Eva.”
“I’m serious,” she says. “You need to go out in a blaze of glory.”
I throw my arms around her and squeeze her tight. Whatever happens, I’ll never escape Eva. She’ll live on in my sassy side; she’ll be the temptress whispering in my ear.
I turn to Ike, who has greeted each of my friends with either a kiss or a handshake. “Is it okay for her to dress this way?” I ask.
“We’ll just tell the judge we don’t know her.”
“No!” she says. “Tell the judge I’m the dumb-ass who ran that stupid Internet ad, and point out to him that clearly, I have no sense of boundaries.” Her black leather top has a zipper, and she unzips it a little more, exposing another half inch of her already-plunging neckline. “And then I’ll offer to visit with him in his private chambers and see if I can, ahem, do anything to persuade him.”
“Too bad the judge is a woman,” I say.
“Damn,” she says. “Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid so,” Ike says.
Eva shrugs. “I’d be up for a little girl-on-girl.”
We laugh, all of us. No one has actually ever seen Eva do anything outrageous of a sexual nature beyond how she dresses and talks. I think it was Josef who said she’s all bark, no bite.
“But we appreciate the gesture, don’t we, Tami?” Ike says.
“We do.”
Ike and I lock eyes and try to laugh, try to keep up the frivolity, but the moment threatens to turn terrible if we’re not careful—if our eyes linger too long, for instance. The truth is, we’re both terrified. Last night, again, I was unable to sleep. This time, Ike joined me on the patio. We cuddled under a blanket and tried to buoy ourselves by talking through our worst-case scenario. Mr. McGuire confirmed that if I lose my appeal, I won’t be put in handcuffs, that I’ll be granted some time to wrap up my affairs, and if that happens, I’m off to Canada, with Ike following as soon as possible. We’ll make a life there, have our business and our babies there. We’ll be happy, even though the people we love are here.
The elevator dings again and this time it’s ... Ardishir and Maryam. Maryam! On her feet and HUGE in the stomach. Every time I see her, I think she can’t possibly get any larger, and yet every single time, she does!
I rush to her. “Maryam! You shouldn’t be here, what are you doing? Sit, sit, have a seat!”
She waves off my attempt to guide her to a bench. “As if I’d miss this.”
“But you’re supposed to be on bed rest!”
“Not anymore!” she says. “The doctor says if I go into labor now, that’s fine, the baby’s big enough. I got my stitches out, and he’s going to induce next week if I don’t go into labor on my own.”
“Make sure you point her out to the judge,” Eva says. “Play the new-auntie card.”
Maryam rubs her belly and looks around. “Maybe I
will
have a seat.”
I follow her to the bench, feeling my stomach flutter again from nerves. For a few minutes, this gathering felt festive. We’re dressed so fancy and everyone’s working to keep each other’s spirits up, but it’s exhausting to maintain the pretense. I sit on the bench between Maryam and Rose. My ESL friends stand nearby, but their conversation fades. I guess it’s hard for everyone.
The only one who seems genuinely excited is Ardishir. He jingles the coins in his pocket and wears a carnation affixed to the lapel of his suit. He looks this way and that, gazing around the courthouse with approving eyes.
“Why are you so excited, Ardishir?” I ask.
“Because this is your moment,” he says. “And I have a good feeling about it.”
I’m glad one of us does.
The elevator dings again, and this time, it’s Ike’s whole family—even little Camille, who runs over and gives me a hug. “You look pretty,” she says.
“Thank you, Camille. So do you. Do you remember my sister, Maryam?”
Camille looks at Maryam’s swelled stomach. “She’s having a baby.”
“Yes, she is,” I say. “Very soon.”
“Oof !” Maryam’s hand goes to her belly and she freezes, as if from pain. “That one hurt.” She does some odd-looking breathing.
“That one what?” I say.
“I don’t know,” she says. “A contraction, maybe?”
“A contraction! Maryam, why did you leave the hospital ? You shouldn’t be out of bed!”
“Come on, Tami.” She slips her hand into mine. “You know I
have
to be here for my little sister. I’ll always be here for you, no matter where
here
is.”
I squeeze her hand. “The same for me, Maryam.”
To Ike’s mom, who has led her family over, I say, “Mrs. Hanson, she’s having contractions. Tell her she should go back to the hospital.”
“How long is it between them?” Mrs. Hanson asks Maryam.
“About ten minutes?” Maryam looking to Ardishir for confirmation. He nods agreeably.
“Did your water break?” Ike’s mother asks.
Maryam shakes her head.
“She’s fine,” Ardishir says.
What happened to Mr. Overprotective? “Do you want your wife to have your baby in a courthouse?” I ask him.
“We have this hearing, then we have my aunt to pick up from the airport, and
then
she can have the baby,” he says.
“What if the baby doesn’t agree with this schedule?” I say.
“We want to be here,” Ardishir says. “She’s fine.” He looks to Mrs. Hanson. “Besides, we have a nurse right here.”
“It’s probably okay for her to stay a little while,” Mrs. Hanson says. “But if the contractions come any closer together, she’s got to go.”
Ardishir nods. “It’s a deal. Thank you. You’re very kind. You’ve been very helpful to my family.”
I know he means it not just because of what she’s doing now. Yesterday, in an unexpected gesture, Ike’s entire family prepared affidavits in support of me. Ike showed them to me last night. “Thank you for your affidavits,” I tell them all, putting my arm around Paige’s shoulders. “They touched my heart.”
Mrs. Hanson is wearing the same blue linen dress she did when she stopped over uninvited to see me at the guesthouse and demand I leave Ike, and America. But now, the compassion in her eyes seems sincere. “Good luck today,” she says. “We’re praying for you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I need all the prayers I can get.”
I look over her shoulder at her family. All of them are smiling at me. Mr. Hanson, in his blue suit, opens his arms to me. Gratefully, I hug him. He’s been a very kind father-in-law.
The elevator dings again, and it’s my lawyer.
“It’s showtime,” he says. “Are you ready?”
“I’m terrified,” I say.
Ike puts his arm around me and squeezes. “Do it anyway.”
“As if she has a choice,” Eva says.
“You can be quiet,” he tells her, teasingly.
“Never,” she counters.
Josef points to me. “Don’t-a be afraid. You are good girl. The judge, he will see this.”
“It’s a VO-MAN!” Agata pokes Josef. “Vhy you no listen ? It’s a VO-MAN!!”
I look to Rose and Danny. As usual, their quiet support gives me strength. Both look at me with eyes that say,
You can do it, and we’ll be right here with you.
“Come on.” Ike steers me toward our hearing room. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Amen,” Mrs. Hanson says from behind us. “Let’s get this over with.”
The hearing room is not a regular criminal courtroom with a jury box and tables for the prosecutor and defender. It’s a smaller room than you ever see on television, and Mr. Hernandez from my interview isn’t even here. A brown-uniformed bailiff stands inside the door, and the sight of him instantly terrifies me, even though my lawyer said I won’t be handcuffed if I lose and I won’t be taken away. But I have yet to conquer my fear of authorities, whether it’s friendly police officers at a coffee shop or border patrol agents at interstate checkpoints or the bailiff here in court. Of course, I’m afraid of the judge most of all.
Mr. McGuire, Ike, and I sit together at the table assigned for defendants. I’m in the middle, and Ike right away reaches for my hand. With his thumb, he caresses the palm of my hand. Usually, this is comforting, but today, right now, nothing can comfort me. I’m still uneasy over the way Mrs. Hanson said,
Amen, let’s get this over with
, and I’m trying to figure out why. It had a hard edge, very different from the way she said,
Good luck—we’re praying for you.
But I seem to be the only one who noticed. I glance at her, and she shows me how she and Camille have crossed their fingers. But how do I know hers aren’t crossed for me to lose?
The judge enters. Except for Maryam, who can’t quite get up fast enough, we all stand and then sit down at her command. The judge is petite, in her late fifties, I’d guess, and wears red bifocal glasses pushed down on her nose. She’s got short brown hair with a streak of gray, piercing blue eyes, and porcelain white skin. There’s nothing the least bit ethnic-looking about her. Whatever immigrant blood she has is that of generations long ago. What I also notice about her: She does not seem particularly friendly. She sits on her raised bench, greets Mr. McGuire, looks from me to Ike, and then scans the rest of the group. Her eyes linger on Maryam, and then on Ike’s mother.
“Did you go to Tucson High?” she asks. “Elizabeth Howard?”
“I did!” Mrs. Hanson says.
“Janis King,” the judge says.
“Well, I’ll be, wouldn’t you know.” Mrs. Hanson smiles broadly. “Tucson’s such a small town, isn’t it? Just a big old small town. You were in my brother’s class. How have you been?”
Ike squeezes my hand. He thinks this connection between the judge and his mother is a good thing. Me, I’m not so sure. What if the judge didn’t like Mrs. Hanson in high school? What if Mrs. Hanson’s brother did something mean to her?
“I’ve been good,” Judge King says. “I’m getting divorced, but ... that’s not a bad thing. What’s your connection to this hearing?”
“My son is Ike, right there. He’s the husband.” She points him out. “I did an affidavit; it’s probably in your file right there. Under my married name, Hanson.”
Judge King looks at Mr. Hanson. “Is this your husband?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hanson says. “This is my husband, Alan.”
Alan gives a friendly wave and then winks at me. He, too, thinks it’s a good thing they know each other.
“Very well. Let’s get started.” While the bailiff swears us in, Judge King flips open the case file and skims it, refreshing her memory. “This is an appeal on the denial of your application for U.S. residency. On paper, this doesn’t look so good.” She gazes at Ike like he’s the son of a friend, which I suppose he is, a few decades removed, while she gives me a decidedly less friendly look. “It appears you were trying to pull something over on this young man. And over on everyone, quite frankly.”
I shake my head. No, that isn’t what I was doing.
Mr. McGuire says, “What we have here, Your Honor, is a modern girl bumped up against a traditional family. She was trying to be true to herself and respectful of them at the same time.”
“What she needed to do was respect the law,” Judge King says.
I cringe.
“Your Honor—” Ike says.
“Did I ask you a question?” Judge King says.
“But Tami—”
“She can speak for herself if she’s got something to say,” she says. “Ms. Soroush, do you have something you’d like to say?”
“Oh, I ... uh ...” Panicked, I look to my lawyer. Should I stand up? Isn’t that what people do in court? Do I really have to talk? He said he’d take care of all the talking! “I wasn’t trying to trick anybody. I promise this. I ... I’ve loved Ike since the first moment I saw him.”
“Love at first sight, was it? ” She gives me an ironic look. “And yet you were acquiring other boyfriends at the same time you were allegedly falling in love with Mr. Hanson. You believe in love at first sight—you just don’t believe in monogamy. Is that it?”