Equal Access (3 page)

During his initial consultation with Monica,
however, Shad began to notice “red flags” in her description of
their relationship with Demetri. So he asked Monica certain
questions he’d devised whenever Shad wanted to verify if abuse was
an element in a case he was considering. Even though she didn’t
realize it herself, Monica confirmed Shad’s suspicions. If Demetri
could convince a woman in her twenties that she was “crazy,” Lord
knows what harm he could do to the mind of a child.

Shad’s pet questions wouldn’t work on a
child, however, and he also had to take care that he neither led
Charissa nor set himself up for the accusation of contributing to
alienation of her father.

“Why do you think that?” Shad simply
asked.

“It’s a bad thing, dying.” Charissa looked up
at him.

“Tell me what’s bad about dying.”

Shad could read a river much more effectively
than he could people’s expressions, but he suspected the slight
frown that furrowed Charissa’s brow indicated she thought his
request was a bit odd. Then her gaze lowered to the day pack, and
her voice was softer when she spoke.

“It’s bad people who die.”

Shad was so consumed by all the ramifications
of that answer it took him probably thirty seconds to respond.
“Only bad people die? Don’t good people die too?”

“If you’re good, you get to die when you’re
old.” Charissa didn’t look up. “If you’re bad, God makes you die
sooner.”

On the one hand, it was a philosophy that
might offer comfort to a child. Wouldn’t the world be safer if all
the bad guys were struck down before they could harm the innocent?
On the other hand, it negatively judged everyone who faced an
untimely death.

“Why do you believe that?” Shad asked.

This time Charissa did raise her head to look
at him, and her eyes shimmered. “Dad told me so.”

This was a hollow victory for him. Shad was
indeed obtaining the type of testimony he needed against Demetri,
but Shad realized he had a bigger issue to tackle at the
moment.

“Your mom isn’t bad.” Shad knew he was
notorious for getting to the point, but this seemed like one
circumstance he could indulge that tendency.

Charissa regarded him for a few seconds
before responding. “Then why is she dying?”

The phrase “life isn’t fair” immediately came
to mind, but Shad knew he had to come up with a better answer.

Luckily Mam and Pap had already answered the
same types of questions for him. “There ... is a purpose.” Shad
took a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to simplify
something deeper to the level of a five-year-old. “I can’t begin to
understand it, because the way of God is not the way of man. But
when bad things happen, if we can make good come of it, then we
have done the work of God.”

He couldn’t decipher Charissa’s slight frown,
but Shad doubted he had made much headway.

“The truth is ... the truth is good people
die too. It doesn’t seem fair, I know. Lord knows we need all the
good people we can get.” Shad didn’t consider Monica to be anywhere
near sainthood, but that wasn’t his concern right now. “Your mom
will always love you. And anybody who loves you has got to be good,
right?”

It bothered him that Charissa didn’t respond
right away, and even then she sounded uncertain. “I suppose.”

Now seemed as good a time as any to continue
building on that new concept she would need to get used to. “And
your Uncle Eliot and Aunt Tess love you, too. They’re gonna help
your mom take care of you.”

After a few seconds of silence, Charissa
spoke with the hint of a plea in her voice. “Don’t make Mom and Dad
get a divorce.”

“I have to if I can.”

“Why?”

How was he going to explain the most complex
case he’d yet handled in Shad’s three years of being an attorney to
a mere child? “Because the law says that everything will go to your
dad when your mom passes away. Including you. Normally that’s not a
problem. But....” Shad shook his head as he took another deep
breath for a long exhale. “I have to take appropriate measures to
insure your rights are protected.”

Charissa looked up at him with a slight
frown, and Shad realized he’d just spoken above the girl’s
comprehension. Shad also quickly ascertained why he had just made
that slip. The child’s relatives had mentioned to him, as though it
were a positive thing, that Charissa acted older than other
children her age. While her pseudo-maturity was easier to handle
than hyperactivity, Shad knew both could be symptoms of abuse.

That gut feeling which usually eluded him
during most of his interaction with others never failed Shad when
he suspected any kind of abuse. He could only figure it was the
result of a well-worn survival instinct, and feeling it stir again
increased his concern for Charissa.

The girl had been served an awful lot. Her
mother was dying. Her father was verbally and emotionally abusive.
The only relative who could, or would, take her in was Monica
Simms’s brother Eliot and his wife Tess. Although they seemed like
kind people, Monica had informed Shad that Eliot was much like
their father. On the positive side he was a good worker and
provider, but Eliot also wound up not being home a lot. Tess was
also devoted to her own job with the Department of Natural
Resources. Shad wasn’t completely content with the prospect of
placing Charissa in a home where she might feel second to her
adoptive parents’ jobs, but it was better than being belittled,
berated and bullied throughout her childhood.

“I’m here to protect you.” A flicker of an
idea surfaced in his mind. “All of us, your mom, Uncle Eliot, Aunt
Tess, we all want to do what’s best for you. You’re very important
to all of us. And anytime you want to talk to me, I want to listen.
I’m
your
lawyer, really. Your mom hired me to protect you,
and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Charissa looked up and studied him for a few
seconds before speaking. “You’re my lawyer?”

“That’s right.”

“Does that mean you have to do what I
say?”

“If I agree it’s in your best interests.”

“Will you stop the divorce?”

Shad shook his head again. “I’m sorry.
Stopping the divorce is
not
in your best interests.”

Charissa frowned as several more seconds
passed. Then her expression became more thoughtful.

“So I could fire you if I wanted?”

Shad was as impressed as he was taken aback.
For a girl who was just going to be starting kindergarten at
summer’s end, Charissa was developing keen problem solving
skills.

Of course that could also be an indication
she had too much practice at being thrust into problems children
shouldn’t have to handle.

Shad hated to just tell Charissa no. He was
too familiar with the powerlessness of childhood, and Charissa
would be overwhelmed if she truly knew how many powers were pulling
at her now. He also didn’t want to mislead her with a yes. This was
one of those times he had to find a compromise.

“Only if you give me two weeks notice.”

“What’s that?”

“That means if you fire me, you’re still
stuck with me for two more weeks.”

Charissa thought about his explanation before
reaching her conclusion. “I guess I’d better fire you now,
then.”

Well, this wasn’t the first time an idea he’d
thought was reasonably bright turned out to be more dim witted.
“Already? You haven’t even given me the chance to prove my worth to
you.”

“No chance.” Charissa shook her head. “I want
to get it over with.”

Shad studied her as Charissa actually looked
over toward the swing set. His gut stirred again. Why? What was it
about that choice of words she’d just spoken that he recognized yet
couldn’t name? The combination of personal experience and formal
training enabled Shad to comprehend the subtleties in all levels of
abuse. It was the one aspect of human behavior he had a good grasp
on.

Yet those words “get it over with”
reverberated in Shad’s memory. Charissa wanted to “get rid” of him,
and do so quickly. That was understandable. He was, after all, the
big, bad lawyer who was apparently tearing her family apart before
its appointed time. But his gut told him there was more. As much as
Shad knew, he realized he only knew just enough to suspect he was
missing something.

“Will you push me?” Charissa glanced back
toward him.

Shad immediately processed her question
beyond its face value because he suspected that he was going to
have to dig for more than just testimony. But right now his
analytical side needed to take a break. It had a way of
overshadowing his social obligations, and Shad knew in order to
satisfy it, he was going to have to build a rapport with the girl
first. His response, however, was still grounded in the underlying
complexities of her question.

“Only as much as you need me to.”

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for
dealing with the darkness of other people.

--Carl Jung

The train station was an easy walk from the
park, but Friday afternoons there could be busy, especially in a
suburb of St. Louis. Shad didn’t like crowds, but taking the train
was infinitely preferable to the alternative of driving for two
hours back to Jefferson City. Not only would he and Charissa have
the freedom to move around instead of being trapped in a car
together, Shad could avoid stressing out over a commonplace
activity most people took for granted.

He could operate a combine in an open field
of corn, soybeans, or oats with confident ease. Shad could also
drive a car on back country roads in relaxed comfort. Traffic in
the town of Linn where his office was located could start making
him jittery, but the traffic in Jefferson City would almost bring
him to his breaking point. Thus there was no way on Earth Shad
would even consider trying to negotiate with what seemed like
millions of vehicles on the unfamiliar streets or highways of St.
Louis. His aversion to crowds in general convinced Shad he was
mildly agoraphobic, but the throng at the train station was a
lesser evil to him than traffic on the streets.

The train also provided the appeal of
granting Charissa a request she’d had for at least the last couple
of years. Like most kids she harbored a desire to ride every mode
of locomotion available to her, and trains were high on her list.
The schedule was accommodating to what Shad needed to accomplish
today’s task. Only Eliot Weller’s last minute failure to accompany
him had been a drawback.

Charissa took a window seat when they boarded
the train, and shortly afterward the diesel engine pulled them away
from the station. By the time Shad presented their tickets to the
conductor she was ready to explore beyond the scenery that flashed
by the window, so he took Charissa to the café car where she could
enjoy a bag of pretzels and some apple juice while sitting at one
of the tables.

Soon after they sat, Shad noticed that the
landscape zipping by their window was suddenly closing in as though
the hillside were trying to engulf them.

“We’re coming to a tunnel,” he commented.

“Where?” Even as Charissa turned toward the
window the car suddenly became darker. At the same instant her hand
knocked against her plastic bottle of juice, tumbling it to its
side.

Shad snatched the bottle and set it upright,
but since it was nearly full about a fourth of its contents had
spilled on the table. He plucked a few napkins from the dispenser
under the window and mopped up the juice. As he reached for a
couple more napkins to wipe the area dry, Shad noticed that
Charissa’s attention was focused on him instead of the dark window.
Her eyes were a bit wide again.

“No harm done.” Shad smiled even though there
was a slight tremor in his gut. “You’ve still got most of your
juice. I’ll throw these away and be right back.”

The train car brightened again as he rose
from his seat to walk toward the trash can. As Shad dropped the wet
napkins into the container a memory from his early childhood
suddenly burst into his conscious thinking.

The event seemed to screen itself in his mind
at supersonic speed, yet it left out no detail. Shad could see the
clear glass of water that his elbow accidentally struck. Shards and
droplets burst in every direction as it crashed to the kitchenette
floor. Shad didn’t believe the last flying fragment had yet been
overcome by gravity when the boyfriend of that woman who gave birth
to Shad swore vehemently and grabbed Shad by the neck to slam the
child down on the wet and littered linoleum. Pain shot through
Shad’s head as it collided with the surface, momentarily dulling
the bite of a glass sliver that pierced his upper arm.

He banished the memory before it could
continue. Although Shad couldn’t control when those images surfaced
in his mind, it was his decision whether or not to linger on them.
And since he didn’t like to remember those episodes, he never
lingered. His full attention belonged to the present, and Shad
turned away from the trash can to return to the table where
Charissa sat.

She was still staring at him as Shad seated
himself across the table from her.

“Did you see the tunnel?” He asked. “Or was
it too dark to see anything?”

It took her a few seconds to reply. “I ...
didn’t see it.” Her tone was low and soft.

Shad suspected it was distraction, not
darkness, which impeded Charissa’s experience. “Well, don’t worry.
We’ll go through another tunnel before we get to Jeff. In fact it
should come up in just a couple of minutes. How’re your pretzels?
Crunchy?”

Charissa nodded, her eyes less wide but still
regarding him cautiously.

“How’s your juice? Crunchy?”

Her brow furrowed slightly but her lips
twisted upward a little. “Of course not.”