"Nothing will help me sleep tonight." But she took a dutiful sip. Trent turned a chair around backward, straddled it, and reached across the table to her. When Hannah laced her fingers with his, he took a slow, deep breath.

"I am bringing this up now, Hannah, so you won't have to wrestle with one more burden. I was the clerk for the judge who closed your case. I was probably right there in the courtroom at your last hearing."

She bowed her head, but kept her hand in his.

"Hannah, were you ever going to tell me?"

When she raised her gaze to his, her cheeks glistened with tears. The phone call from DSS hadn't made her cry; the farce of an interview downtown hadn't made her cry; Mac's heavy-handed cross-examination hadn't made her cry.

"If it helps," she said, "I realized there might have been a connection only after the Christmas party, when you said you knew an attorney nicknamed Sasquatch. The only person I remember in detail from my hearings was Joe, the bailiff. Everybody else was just another stranger, and you weren't-"

"If I was observing your hearing, I was just another stranger, thanking G.o.d my parents had loved me and I'd never spent a day in foster care, while you spent nearly twenty years."

"Are you angry?"

Trent was six kinds of furious. "I am disappointed." He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. "Because of decisions made years ago, a brutal rapist is probably on the loose and has likely offended again. You were thrust into motherhood without any support system at all, and I am bewildered. What did you think I'd do if you'd trusted me with the truth of your past?"

She rose and took her mug to the sink, then faced him, arms crossed over her middle.

"It isn't only you, Trent, it's the legal system. You love that system, you delight in it, and you are part of what makes it work as well as it does. That system is threatening my daughter with the same dubious experiences it inflicted on me. At the hearing tomorrow, I will have no meaningful chance to muster witnesses in my own defense, not even eight-year-old thugs. My const.i.tutional right to privacy will be hung out like so much dirty linen, and my esteemed counsel-whom I cannot afford, by the way-will have had less than twenty-four hours to prepare my case. You tell me, Judge Knightley, why I should expect you to understand my perspective, much less respect it or me."

She went on, more softly. "You are devoted to a system that is very likely to take my daughter from the only person who loves her, and me from one of the few people I have been able to love, and yet, you ask me why I haven't shared twenty years of history with a man I've known less than two months."

She left the kitchen, silence ringing in her absence.

Trent sat for a long time, staring at nothing. At first he tried to tell himself Hannah Stark might have ended up dying in a trash barrel if it weren't for "his" system, but that was an excuse. She had a point: the legal system was not based on love, loyalty, or the healthy ties of a strong community. It was based on the need for something, anything, to serve when those ties disintegrated.

And were it not for his slippery lawyer tactics at DSS, he would not have learned where to start looking for Grace's father. If Hannah knew how Trent had come across the knowledge, would she be as disappointed in him as she was with the legal system?

Hannah fell into the only unoccupied bed on the second floor, an oversize king with a down comforter and flannel sheets. Sleep came for her, despite all her fears and anxieties.

Her last thought before drifting off was that she might never again spend a night under the same roof as her daughter. She tried to resign herself to that reality, because all of Mac's brilliance couldn't wipe out Hannah's record with Social Services, or relieve Grace of her loyalty to her imaginary friend or her steadfast silence regarding another child's meanness.

Hannah couldn't even cry. She was cried out and empty of everything except a gnawing pain.

Sometime later, she became aware of a presence beside her in the bed. Trent, of course. Even half-asleep, Hannah knew him by his scent. When his hand stole into hers, she rolled over and wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight.

Despite all their differences, despite mistrust and exhaustion and the looming tragedy of tomorrow's hearing, Trent held her just as tightly.

And she was comforted.

Chapter 17.

"All rise," the bailiff called. "The Circuit Court for Damson County, sitting as a Juvenile Court, is now in session, the Honorable Paul Stevens presiding." The room shuffled to its feet; the judge took his place. "You may be seated."

Hannah shot one last look around the courtroom, and was surprised to see Judges Halverston and Merriman sitting on the respondent's side of the gallery. Eliza was there as well, with Henry beside her. Trent was in the next row up, Grace tucked against his side.

On the far side of the courtroom, no less than four social workers sat behind Brian Patlack and Kelly Post. Candace was among them, as was a second worker whom Hannah vaguely recalled from about ten years ago.

"Good morning, Your Honor," Patlack began, reciting the case number and explaining to the judge who was represented by whom. "Seeing the crowd gathered behind me, Your Honor, I'd preliminarily ask the court to invoke the rule excluding witnesses from the courtroom. This is supposed to be a confidential matter."

Stevens had the appearance of an aging warrior. Tall, a full head of white hair, and snapping blue eyes, he looked to Hannah like he didn't suffer fools.

"I see we are graced with the presence of two members of the bench," Stevens said. "Judge Halverston, Judge Merriman, good morning."

Curiouser and curiouser. What were Judges Halverston and Merriman doing in the courtroom, anyway? Trent shrugged, as if he'd read Hannah's mind, then Stevens addressed the courtroom.

"I'm not asking two distinguished judges to cool their heels in the hallway, Mr. Patlack, and if they stay, so do the rest of the camp followers and pot bangers, including that rogue's gallery from the Department behind you. Besides, the best decisions are made based on complete information, and kicking people out of the courtroom won't help us get to the bottom of this. It's the family's privacy at risk, and they're not asking me to serve as a judicial bouncer. Call your first witness, and if I deem it necessary, I'll excuse the junior contingent at a later time."

Stevens's tack was unusual, considering the young ages of the children, but Hannah could recall attending hearings as early as age four.

Patlack put Kelly Post on the witness stand and carefully laid out for the judge the number and extent of Grace's bruises, the child's reticence about discussing them, the school's inability to corroborate the parent's version of events, and the parent's long history of "troubled emotional adjustment" to various foster homes. Mac objected repeatedly, only to be reminded the rules of evidence were not strictly applied at shelter care hearings.

Mac opened his case by calling Eliza to the witness stand, leaving Henry squirming alone on the bench until Trent motioned for him to join Grace. Eliza testified to the length of time she'd known Hannah, and to the quality of the relationship she'd observed between Hannah and Grace. She also testified that Grace was an active child who played vigorously and had a vivid imagination.

Then it was Patlack's turn to cross-examine the witness.

"Ma'am, you said you've known Ms. Stark for about eleven years. Where did you meet?"

"We met at the Appalachian Hills Girls Home. We shared a room with two other girls."

"That would be a group home for foster children?"

Of course it would, Hannah fumed, and because the Department had all of Eliza's records too, the questioning followed a predictable course.

"Where did your paths cross again?"

"We were both moved to a shelter in Baltimore when the home was investigated for possible neglect, and then we were moved to separate foster homes here in the county, but we went to the same school."

"So it's more fair to say you're Ms. Stark's friend than her daughter's day-care mother, isn't it?"

"I am both."

"You're loyal to Ms. Stark, aren't you?"

"I am loyal to Grace as well, and would be the first to report potential harm to her."

"Except you didn't report it, did you? The child supposedly got off the bus after school, night after night, bruised and lacerated. She came to your home in this condition, and you never said a word to anybody."

Patlack went about systematically destroying Eliza's credibility and establishing that Eliza sent Grace home to Hannah, only to see the child with more sc.r.a.pes and bruises the next day. He also established that Grace talked to a spotted unicorn-a spotted, winged unicorn, Your Honor-that n.o.body else could see, and did not answer to her own name.

"She goes by her middle name, sir," Eliza said evenly. "To those who know and care about her, she is Grace."

Patlack shot an a.s.sessing look at the judge, and behind Hannah, Henry grew squirmier and squirmier.

Finally, cross-examination was over, and the judge aimed a frown at Mac. "Do you want me to interview the child?"

G.o.d, no. The awkwardness of a dozen judicial interviews rose up from Hannah's memory.

"He'll think she's nuts," Hannah whispered to Mac, "and allow the Department to put her in a psych ward. No, and that's final."

"Then the Department's version of matters will stand, Hannah," Mac said, "and you will lose your daughter."

Hannah's lungs seized, and her heart beat an aching dirge against her ribs, while the attorney for Grace-who'd spent an entire fifteen minutes with her client before the hearing-told the judge that a chamber interview with the child would not be necessary.

"If Miss Moser is through entertaining the court with her fabrications," Patlack said, "I'd like to move for a ruling. It appears the child has unexplained bruising, very troubling thought patterns, and a mother with a doc.u.mented problem both controlling her temper and exercising sound judgment. If this"-he gestured to Eliza-"is the extent of Mother's case, then I'm afraid the court has no choice but to grant-"

Hannah's vision began to go black when a high, loud voice behind her sang out over the courtroom.

"Mr. Judge, that man is picking on my mom just the way Larry picked on Grace. You better make it stop, Mr. Judge, because it's not nice!"

Henry Moser stood on the church pew, his chin quivering with indignation.

Patlack nonchalantly crossed his arms and addressed the judge, not even looking at the child.

"Your Honor, I ask that the unruly young man be excused from the courtroom. These matters are too sensitive for youthful ears, and I am surprised opposing counsel has as many children in the courtroom as he does."

Trent lunged over the rail to grab Mac by the back of the neck. He whispered fiercely in his brother's ear, and Hannah watched a slow smile spread over Mac's features.

"Your Honor," Mac said. "The unruly young man is my next witness."

The judge's frown faded. "Proceed, Mr. Knightley. We don't have all morning."

Eliza left the witness box and took a seat near Trent and Grace, indicating to Henry he should take the chair she'd vacated near the judge's bench.

The next move would have been to swear in the witness, but the judge intervened.

"Young man, what is your name?"

"Henry Moser, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Almost seven."

"When is your birthday?"

"May eighth."

"Let the record reflect it's mid-December, and the witness has accurately stated that by some algorithms, he is almost seven." The judge's expression was serious, but Hannah realized he'd made a judicial joke.

"May I call you Henry?"

"Sure. I mean, yes, Mr. Judge."

"Now, Henry, do you know the difference between what's real and what's make-believe?"

"Real is what's true, and make-believe is like Grace's silly unicorn."

The judge glanced at Grace to gauge her reaction, but when Hannah turned, her daughter was sitting calmly under Trent's arm.

"I'm glad we cleared that up," the judge said. "What about the difference between the truth and a lie?"

Henry's brow puckered and his legs began to swing. "A lie is when you make something up to tell somebody else because you don't want to tell the truth, but my mom would put me in time-out forever if I lied to you."

Even Patlack smiled at that response.

"This hearing today is very, very serious, Henry. Do you understand you must tell the truth, even if somebody would be mad at you for it?" Stevens asked. "You have to tell me the truth so I can decide what to do here."

"I understand." His six-year-old face was the picture of innocence as he sat in the too-big chair, his feet dangling several inches above the floor.

The judge nodded at Mac. "Your witness, Mr. Knightley, and you may lead the witness in the interests of judicial economy."

"Henry, you said something about Larry picking on Grace," Mac began. "Could you tell us who Larry is?"

"Larry Smithson. He's in second grade, but not in Grace's cla.s.s, a year ahead of me. He was in second grade last year too, so he's the biggest kid in second grade. He acts like that's something great."

"Have you seen Larry picking on Grace?"

"You bet!" Henry darted a look at the judge. "First, he pushed her off the s.p.a.ce station, and she landed on the ground. I was over at the swings when I saw that, and I was about to run to get the aide when Grace sat up and shook her head. She told me it was an accident, but it wasn't. I saw Larry look around before he did it, and none of the aides was...were watching him."

Patlack started whispering with Kelly Post.

"Did you see Larry pick on Grace any other times?" Mac asked.

"Just a couple, and Larry wasn't very nice. Once he pushed Grace down on the blacktop. She skinned her knees, but Larry didn't get in trouble. He b.u.mped into her from behind, like he couldn't see where he was going, but I saw him look around first then too."

"Objection." Patlack was on his feet. "The witness may not give his opinion unless qualified as an expert."

"Overruled," Stevens said. "Henry, try to limit yourself to telling us what you saw with your own eyes. Proceed, Mr. Knightley."

"Henry, what other times did you see Larry picking on Grace?"

"He grabbed her by the arm and tried to pretend he was swinging her around, and he stomped on her foot, and he mashed her into a tree. That's all I saw. I'm going to stick with Grace on the playground now, and so will Merle, and it won't happen again."

"When did he stomp on her foot?"

"Yesterday."