House Rules Read online

  It's just like nurses in a hospital tend to know more than the doctors most of the time; if you really want to get the answer to a question about court, you should spend more time buttering up the clerks than the judges. --Hello,|| I say to the small, dark-haired woman peering into a computer screen. --I'm here for a criminal arraignment.||

  She flicks a glance upward. --How nice for you,|| she says flatly.

  My gaze falls on a nameplate on her desk. --I wonder, Dorothy, if you could tell me in which courtroom that might take place?||

  --The criminal courtroom would be a safe bet ...||

  --Right.|| I smile, as if I knew this all along. --And the judge ... ?||

  --If it's Monday, it's Judge Cuttings,|| she says.

  --Thanks. Thanks very much,|| I reply. --Really nice to meet you.||

  --The highlight of my day,|| Dorothy intones.

  I am about to walk out the door when I turn back at the last moment. --One more thing ...||

  --Yes?||

  --Am I, um, supposed to say anything?||

  She looks up from her computer. --The judge will ask you whether your client pleads guilty or not guilty,|| Dorothy answers.

  --Great,|| I say. --I really appreciate that.||

  In the lobby, I find Emma hanging up her cell phone. --So?|| she asks.

  I sink into the empty seat beside her. --Piece of cake,|| I tell her, and I hope I can convince myself.

  Emma and I sit through three drug possession charges, one B and E, and an indecent exposure charge before Jacob is brought into the courtroom. From my vantage point in the gallery, I can tell the moment Emma notices he's here: she sits up a little straighter, and her breath catches in her throat.

  If you have spent any time in a courtroom, you'll know that high school football players--the mean ones with no necks--grow up and become bailiffs. Two of these behemoths are manhandling Jacob, who's doing his damnedest to get the hell away from them. He keeps craning his neck, looking at the people in the courtroom, and as soon as he spots Emma, his entire body sags with relief.

  I stand up, heading down from the gallery, because it's showtime, and realize too late that Emma's following me. --You have to stay here,|| I whisper over my shoulder as I take my place at the defendant's table beside my client.

  --Hi,|| I say to Jacob under my breath. --My name's Oliver. Your mom hired me to be your lawyer, and I've got it all under control. Don't say anything to the judge. Just let me do the talking.||

  The whole time I'm speaking, Jacob is looking at his lap. The minute I finish, he twists in his seat. --Mom,|| he calls out, --what's going on?||

  --Counselor,|| the bigger bailiff says, --either shut your client up or he's going back in the holding cell.||

  --I just told you not to talk to anybody,|| I tell Jacob.

  --You told me not to say anything to the judge.||

  --You can't talk to anybody, || I clarify. --Do you understand?||

  Jacob glances down at the table.

  --Jacob? Hello? ||

  --You told me not to talk to anybody,|| he mutters. --Will you make up your mind already?||

  Judge Cuttings is a hard-boiled New Englander who, in his time off, runs a llama farm and who, in my opinion, looks a little like a llama himself. He has just announced Jacob's name when Dorothy the clerk enters through a side door and passes him a note.

  Looking down his long nose at it, he sighs. --I have two arraignments for Mr. Robichaud that need to be done in another courtroom. Since he's currently here with his clients, I'll do those first, and then we'll take the prisoner's case.||

  The minute he says the word prisoner, Jacob jumps to his feet. --I need a sensory break,|| he announces.

  --Shut up, || I murmur.

  --I need a sensory break!||

  Dozens of thoughts are running through my mind: How do I get the kid to stoptalking? How do I get the judge to forget everything that's unfolding before his eyes?

  How would a seasoned lawyer handle a situation like this, when a client becomes a loose cannon? How long before I am seasoned enough to stop second-guessing myself?

  The minute Jacob takes a step, the two bailiffs are on top of him. He starts screaming, a high, keening sound. --Let go of him!|| Emma shrieks behind me. --He doesn't understand! He's allowed to get up in school when things are overwhelming--||

  --This isn't school,|| the judge thunders. --This is my courtroom, and you, madam, will be leaving it.||

  The second bailiff releases Jacob and steps into the gallery to pull Emma outside. --I can explain,|| she cries, but her voice gets fainter as she's forced down the aisle.

  I look from her to my client, who has gone boneless and is being dragged out a different door. --Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!|| Jacob yells.

  The judge narrows his eyes at me.

  --It's from Planet of the Apes, || I mutter.

  --I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore,|| he replies. --That's from Network. I highly recommend you watch the movie after you get your client under control.||

  I duck my head and hurry down the aisle. Emma stands outside the courtroom door, flushed and angry, her eyes shooting daggers at the bailiff. --Your kid can wait till the courtroom's empty,|| he says to me. --That's when we'll arraign him. And the mother can't come back inside until then.||

  He enters the courtroom again; the door opens with a gasp. That leaves me standing alone in the hallway with Emma, who grabs my hand and pulls me toward the staircase.

  --What ... what are you doing?||

  --He's down there, isn't he? Come on.||

  --Hold it.|| I dig in my heels and fold my arms. --What was that all about?||

  --I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so. That's Asperger's. Sometimes Jacob seems totally normal--brilliant, even--and sometimes the tiniest thing can set him off into a full-fledged fit.||

  --Well, he can't behave like that in a courtroom. I thought he knew all about crime scenes and cops and the law. He has to be respectful and quiet or this will be disastrous.||

  --He's trying,|| Emma insists. --That's why he asked for a sensory break.||

  --A what?||

  --A place he can go to away from all the noise and confusion, so that he can calm himself down. At school, that's one of the special accommodations he gets ... Look, can we talk about this later and just go see him?||

  Jacob was getting his sensory break ... in a holding cell. --You aren't allowed down there.||

  She flinches, as if I've struck her. --Well,|| Emma says, --are you?||

  To be honest, I am not sure. I poke my head inside the courtroom. The bailiff stands just inside the door, arms folded. --Can I go talk to my client?|| I whisper.

  --Yeah,|| he says. --Go ahead.||

  I wait for him to take me to Jacob, but he doesn't budge. --Thanks,|| I say, and I duck out the door again and head past Emma, down the stairs.

  I hope that's where the holding cells are.

  After five minutes of detours through the custodial closet and the boiler room, I find what I'm looking for. Jacob is sitting in the corner of this cell, one hand flapping like a bird, his shoulders hunched, his voice thready and singing Bob Marley.

  --How come you sing that song?|| I ask, coming to stand in front of the bars.

  He pauses in the middle of the chorus. --It makes me feel better.||

  I consider this. --You know any Dylan?|| When he doesn't answer, I step forward.

  --Look, Jacob. I know you don't know what's going on. And to be honest, neither do I. I've never done this before. But we're going to figure it out together. All you have to do is promise me one thing: Let me do the talking.|| I wait for Jacob to nod, to acknowledge me, but it doesn't happen. --Do you trust me?||

  --No,|| he says. --I don't.|| Then he gets to his feet. --Will you give a message to my mom?||

  --Sure.||

  He curls his hands around the bars. His fingers are long, elegant. --Life is like a box of chocolates,|| h