Cracks in the Sidewalk (24 page)

“Your Honor,” she said hesitantly. “Like this court, Jeffrey Caruthers is absolutely and totally committed to any action that is solely in the best interest of his three young children. He has exhibited his level of dedication by setting aside his personal interest in the retail establishment of Caruthers Couture to remain at home and take care of the children that his wife, Elizabeth, can no longer care for.”

Dozens of thoughts whirled through Noreen’s head. She knew the summation she’d practiced based on the psychological damage the children could suffer from exposure to their dying mother wouldn’t work now.  On the spur of the moment she decided to shift strategies and target Claire and Charles.

“Your Honor,” Noreen said, her voice commanding, strong and upbeat. “Although Jeffrey Caruthers is deeply saddened by his wife’s medical condition, he still has three children to look after. These children deserve as much stability as possible despite these tragic circumstances. The McDermott household does not offer either a stable or tranquil environment. We’ve heard Elizabeth Caruthers testify that she accepts and understands the reality of her death and wants her children to do the same. However, the McDermotts, who are part and parcel of any visitation, are in complete opposition to her way of thinking. Instead they preach and predict a cure.

“Charles McDermott told the court-appointed psychologist that he, meaning the healthy thirty-two-year-old doctor himself, could quite possibly die before Elizabeth. Charles and Claire McDermott have both voiced this commitment to the idea that some yet-undiscovered miracle drug will come along in time to save their daughter.”

“What we have here,” Noreen gestured toward the plaintiff’s table, “is a house divided. A family where the mother will whisper the reality of death into the children’s left ear while the grandparents shout fantasies of cure into their right. The children will have one figure of authority dispensing hope, the other dashing it.

“Reality, fantasy,” Noreen said, turning her palms upward and using them as measuring scales. “Reality, fantasy,” she repeated. “How can we even hope to understand the weight of that on a young mind? In such an environment, it would be almost impossible for any child, even a child of considerable maturity, to avoid the confusion that inevitably leads to emotional problems.”

Noreen paused, walked back to the table, and took a long drink of water. The expression of concern sliding onto Judge Brill’s face said she was driving home her point.
Good,
she thought and continued.

“In addition to all of this emotional turmoil, the children will also be exposed to Claire McDermott’s potential for violence. We’ve already heard how she took a sledgehammer to my client’s door. Who’s to say such an incident won’t happen again? Next time it could be one of the children who become her target of outrage.”

Noreen noticed a frown cross the judge’s face, so she stopped any further exploitation of Claire.

“Over the past months,” Noreen said, “Jeffrey Caruthers has tried in the gentlest way possible to wean the children away from their mother, to lessen their connection and their dependence upon her. Was he trying to be cruel? Absolutely not! He was doing what, as a loving father, he felt compelled to do so that when Elizabeth Caruthers finally leaves this earth, her children would be spared the heartbreak and trauma he has had to suffer.

“Such an action has been hard on Jeffrey Caruthers. It has cost him his business, his financial stability, even his relationship with his wife and her family. But to him it was worth it, because he was protecting the tender hearts of his children who with the careful guidance of their father have now reached a point where they no longer cry for their mother, where they no longer beg that she come home. They’ve reached a point where she’s gradually fading into a sweet memory. It would be unthinkable to take this progress away from them. 

“Jeffrey Caruthers is not a saint, and I don’t purport to picture him as such. He is, however, an extremely devoted father who tries to protect and care for his children. It’s regretful that other relationships have faltered because his focus has been on doing what is best for his children. He could have salvaged those relationships by catering to the needs of his wife and in-laws. But he chose to concentrate on his children. Jeffrey Caruthers did what he believed was best for them, and if he had to make that choice again he would do exactly the same thing.

“We ask that the court endorse these efforts by denying any visitation to the McDermott household, which unfortunately includes Elizabeth Caruthers.”     

Noreen turned back to her table and sat down.

~ ~ ~

J
udge Brill thought for a moment before speaking.

“I am extremely cognizant of the need for an early decision in this case, but there are many complex and tragic issues, all of which I must take into consideration before rendering my verdict. Before ten o’clock Monday morning both attorneys will receive my decision.”

With that he rapped his gavel, then left the courtroom.

Samuel E. Brill

J
udge Brill left the courthouse Friday afternoon with stooped shoulders, his head tilted forward, and his eyes downcast. Placing one foot in front of the other, he propelled himself across the parking lot. In his right hand he carried a brown briefcase swollen with papers, a load so heavy it caused him to list to that side.

After hearing the summations of Caruthers v Caruthers, he’d sat through eight more tales of family strife—brother against brother, daughter against mother, child neglect, spousal abuse and violence…such terrible violence. On their faces Judge Brill saw the tracks of bitter tears and in their eyes stories of heartache piled upon heartache. It seemed as though there was no limit to the amount of bitterness and hatred a person could feel toward someone they’d once loved.

Some cases were clearly black or white. They had no shades of gray, no shadows of doubt lurking around the corner, and no recriminations waiting to haunt Sam Brill should he dare to sleep. In cases where right and wrong were easily defined, Sam Brill dispensed justice in a fair and efficient manner. Once decided, those cases were packed away in manila envelopes and filed alongside thousands of others. They remained at the courthouse when Sam Brill went home at night.

But there were others too painful to seal inside an envelope. Those cases burned their way into Sam’s memory and poked a fiery finger at his brain. In each of those instances he’d rendered the decision he thought just. But Sam knew justice was blind, incapable of understanding the bond between children and their parents.

Sam Brill had resolved eight of the nine cases he’d heard that day. The only one left pending was that of Caruthers v Caruthers. It should have been a relatively easy decision. If he went strictly according to the law, Elizabeth Caruthers had every right to be with her children. She was a principled woman, a good mother, a person who trusted in the will of God, and would certainly do her children no harm. But Sam Brill had to consider her husband, Jeffrey Caruthers, a self-centered man, irrational, obstinate, divorced from reality—a man with the same look of desperation and wild-eyed ferocity as Jack Wallner.

When Sam ruled the Wallner girls had to be returned to Alma, Jack flew into an uncontrollable rage, screamed a string of obscenities, and shook his fist in the air. Then before anyone realized what was happening, Jack flung himself across the defense table and came at the judge. Luckily the court deputy tackled him before he made it across the courtroom. Sam could have had Jack Wallner carted off to jail, and he regretted not doing so. It would have saved the man’s life.

Sam reminded himself that he allowed Jack Wallner to walk free because he’d felt compassion for a man stretched beyond his emotional limit. He’d tried to be merciful, but something had gone terribly wrong. From that day forward Sam couldn’t rid himself of the picture of Jack Wallner lying dead on the courthouse steps—part of his face gone, and those frenzied eyes forever accusing.        

On Friday evening Sam had little appetite. He ate a few bites of chicken, worked a handful of peas into his mashed potato, then claimed he wasn’t very hungry and left the table. After dinner he settled into the recliner to watch television, but after flipping channels for nearly an hour he found nothing worth watching and went to bed.

Bed, but not sleep. Sam climbed beneath the sheets and stretched out on his back, but there in the ridges and swirls of ceiling paint he could see Jack Wallner’s face. He turned on his right side but that didn’t work, so he turned to the left. Nothing helped. The face was everywhere—angry eyes glinting through the silver of a mirror, peering into windowpanes, accusing, accusing, endlessly accusing. The pale shimmer of morning edged across the sky before Sam Brill finally fell asleep.

On Saturday he agreed to accompany his wife, Maggie, to the Plainfield Craft Fair, even though it was something he disliked doing. But he needed a place to escape the thoughts and images of Jack Wallner. They walked through aisle after aisle of vendors selling handmade wares—ruffled aprons, painted teapots, crocheted doilies. Maggie stopped in front of a woman selling potholders stitched into the shape of people.

“Aren’t these adorable?” she said, turning to Sam.

He gave an obligatory nod.

“Which do you like best?” she asked, holding two chubby-faced potholders—one decorated with a blue apron, the other with green.

Sam, in no mood for decision making, said, “Get both.”

“They’re exactly the same,” Maggie answered with a pout. “Why would you suggest that I buy both when they’re exactly the same?”   

“Blue,” he said to end the discussion. Maggie smiled and went to pay for her purchase. Sam walked on, past the clowns painted on velvet, past a booth filled with lacy toilet paper covers. Did life have to be this way, he wondered. Did everything have to revolve around his decisions? It was never ending—big decisions, little decisions, unimportant decisions, life or death decisions, choose wrong and a child’s life was ruined, choose wrong and a father puts a gun to his head, choose wrong and that decision haunts you for the rest of your life.

Maggie caught up with him and took hold of his arm. “I’m glad you chose blue,” she said. “I liked that one best.”

Sam felt a jolt of annoyance. If Maggie liked blue, then why had she asked him to decide? Why didn’t people simply make their own decisions? Suddenly Sam felt tired, worn threadbare by the difficult questions that continuously picked at the fiber of his soul.

“Remember the camping trip we took six years ago?” he asked nostalgically.

Maggie gave him a smile and nodded.

October 9, 1985

A
t nine-fifteen Monday morning a messenger left the Union County Courthouse carrying two large brown envelopes. Despite the way Sam Brill had labored over his decision, he realized it would probably not satisfy either recipient. Elizabeth Caruthers was a reasonable person, someone Judge Brill hoped might accept his ruling and understand how he had come to such a decision. Jeffrey Caruthers would not. He was a dark soul, someone with layer upon layer of anger folded inside of him, a person Sam believed capable of unthinkable deeds. Hoping to avoid a replay of the Wallner tragedy, he’d spent half the night composing a lengthy document that wove heartfelt advice though the bitter reality of a court order.

A
t nine-thirty, the first envelope arrived at the law office of Simmons and Grimm. The receptionist carried the envelope into Dudley’s office and handed it to him.

“I believe this is what you’re waiting for,” she said. 

Some cases, Dudley knew, were little more than points of law to be argued, but this case was different. Charlie McDermott and Dudley were lifelong friends. They’d gone to school together, attended each other’s weddings, and welcomed new babies into their families. Dudley thought of his own daughter, two years younger than Elizabeth and a mother herself. Yes, this case meant a lot to Dudley. It meant a lot because he wanted to win, not for himself but for Elizabeth. Dudley stared at the envelope for several minutes before he garnered enough courage to slit it open.

Three times he read through Judge Brill’s decision. When he had gleaned all there was to be had from the lengthy court order, he telephoned Elizabeth. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he told her.

Claire listened on the extension.

“What’s the good news?” Elizabeth asked.

“The good news is that Judge Brill’s order states Jeffrey has to allow all three children to visit you. He also gave us a court-appointed schedule for the visits.”

“That’s wonderful,” Elizabeth said.

“So what’s the bad news?” Claire asked apprehensively.

“I’m afraid the bad news in part involves you. Rightly or wrongly, Judge Brill has acknowledged Jeffrey’s concern that you and Charlie might give the children an unrealistic expectation with regard to Elizabeth’s condition. He’s ruled that all visits with the children must be supervised.”