Page 63 of The Heir
She sprayed a long, thick curl and held it in place for a moment before giving a final nod.
“Beautiful.” She smiled, “Your mother would be so proud. She was proud of you. She loved you kids more than you could ever know.”
“We know.” I promised, bringing a smile to her gentle features.
She moved after me down the stairs and grabbed her shawl and purse from the coat rack.
“You– You’re coming to court?” I asked Gran.
“That’s right,” she chirped, before smoothing my dress. It was white cotton, with little blue flowers printed on it. The top was jean-like and buttoned from the navel up. The belt was nothing more than a long powder-blue ribbon that was tied behind me and draped down the back of the skirt.
“Lovely,” Grandpa beamed, opening the backseat door of the Cadillac for me.
I laughed, feeling a little awkward about the attention, but humored them, sliding in and fastening my seatbelt.
He turned the radio on and it became a gentle hum in the background as we headed toward town. The parking lot was empty when we pulled up, and the doors didn’t budge when grandpa tugged on them.
“Are you sure about the time?” I asked, giving a glance around the dew-covered lawn.
“Yes, we’re right on time,” he assured me, as a guard appeared, and the door popped open.
“Right this way, Pastor Winehopper,” The man who permitted us entry bid.
According to his badge, his last name was Carver, but I’d never seen him before. We followed him to the courtroom, where he flipped on the lights and led the way to the front.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to my grandfather’s back.
Gran shushed me, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat as she stepped in beside me and we took a seat where Carver indicated. He cleared the judge’s desk, poured some water in anticipation of his arrival, and disappeared through a side door.
A few moments later Megan Tripp came strutting up the aisle, and Clive Owens-Stanford quietly entered behind her. She took her normal seat at the court reporting machine, but made no acknowledgement of us, even if my nephew was her son. Clive settled at the defense table and opened his briefcase.
Grandfather cleared his throat and looked at the floor like he had something to be ashamed of. It took everything I had not to roll my eyes.
Fuck Megan Tripp and her self-righteous bullshit. It was one thing to treat my brother in the manner he deserved, another to snub my grandparents.
The door opened and Blaze stepped inside, making me instantly forget all about Mackie’s greatest mistake and all her uppity bullshit. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale. I wanted to run to him, but I knew I couldn’t.
Grandma took my hand in hers and gave it a reassuring rub.
“Court is now in session. All rise for the honorable Judge Kemper. He is presiding today.”
Harold Kemper took his time strutting to his chair and settling himself before announcing, “Be seated. All of you.”
The doors swished behind us, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Talon Forsythe speed walking toward the prosecutor's table.
“Good on the state to join us this morning,” Harold mumbled, without glancing up.
Talon’s jaw dropped and his gaze narrowed on Blaze as he took his seat.
“Alright, the first case on the docket is the people of the state of Illinois versus Blaze Aviston, is that correct?”
“It is, Your Honor, Good morning,” Clive warmly began.
“Good morning, Mr. Owens, Mr. Aviston. It is my understanding that a plea has been reached, is this accurate?”
Blaze’s head slowly swiveled between the attorneys and the judge.
“Yes, your honor.” Clive nodded.