Chapter 9

The hearing room was small and beige, with a long table and a window that looked into the hallway. I sat on one side with a legal aid attorney named Ms. Patel who had agreed to appear for me at the last minute. Mr. Ostrander sat on the other side with a county attorney. Fern was on speakerphone from her hospital bed. Verna sat in the back row with a lawyer who looked like he charged by the minute.

Amos was in the hallway with a caseworker. I could see the back of his head through the interior window. The hood of his gray sweatshirt was up. He did not turn around.

Ms. Patel stood. “Ms. Brannigan is the biological mother. She has a certified live-birth certificate. She has hospital records showing she was sedated and non-responsive on the date of the alleged consent. She has the original carbon-copy intake form signed by Fern Lattimore as placing relative. She has a notary block signed by Verna Brannigan, a sitting deputy clerk with a direct interest in the placement. And she has money-order stubs documenting nine years of payments from Verna Brannigan to Fern Lattimore.”

The county attorney frowned at the papers. “These are serious allegations.”

“They are documented facts,” Ms. Patel said.

I stood. My EMS jacket was still on. I had not slept. I had not eaten. I was not afraid. I was past afraid.

“Fern Lattimore took my son from Brayton Harbor Mercy,” I said. “She signed the intake. My mother, Verna Brannigan, notarized a consent while I was in the ICU. I have the ICU record. I have the card my son carries. I have the card I have carried for nine years. They match.”

“Ms. Brannigan,” the judge said. “You understand that naming Ms. Lattimore as the placing relative could result in criminal charges?”

“I understand.”

“And you still want to enter this into the record?”

“Yes.”

I laid the intake form on the table. I laid the two cards beside it. I laid the three money-order stubs on top. My hands did not shake.

“I name Fern Lattimore as the placing relative,” I said.

In the hallway, Amos turned his head. Just enough. I saw his profile through the glass. I saw him hear it.

The judge ordered a DNA test. She granted supervised visitation pending a home study. She referred the notary block for review.

When I walked out, Amos was gone. The caseworker said he had asked to go back to the shelter van. He wouldn’t look at me.