Ethan did not flinch, but his eyes darted toward the empty seats at the back of the room one more time before he fixed his gaze on the floor. Rebecca kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to look up, but he remained completely silent.
Rebecca leaned back, her black fountain pen resting against her yellow legal pad. She looked toward the heavy oak door at the back of the courtroom again, then turned to her bailiff, Marcus.
“Did the father ever check in at the front desk?” Rebecca asked.
Marcus shook his head once, his boots creaking on the worn linoleum. “No, Your Honor. The security log has no record of a Miller since nine this morning.”
Sarah Miller, the boy’s mother, let out a brief, sharp breath. She gripped the edge of the wooden table, her thumb repeatedly turning the thin gold ring on her finger.
“I called him twice yesterday,” Sarah whispered, her voice barely carrying to the bench. “He said he would try to make it. He promised.”
Ethan did not move, but the fabric of his oversized gray hoodie bunched as he pulled his hands deeper into his sleeves, covering his knuckles completely.
“We will proceed without him,” Rebecca said, her voice slow and unhurried.
By early afternoon, the yellow court summons lay flat on the formica kitchen table in Sarah’s small apartment, right next to a salt shaker and a stack of unopened envelopes from the utility company.
Sarah counted out several small coins from a faded coin purse, lining them up near the paper.
“That is two dollars for the bus ticket tomorrow, and another two for the way back,” Sarah said. “We are counting pennies, Ethan. How do you think we will pay any fines the judge gives us?”
“The store has plenty,” Ethan muttered, staring out the narrow window at the brick wall of the neighboring building.
“We have exactly eighty-four dollars left in the checking account until Friday,” Sarah said. “Your father is not sending the check. He is not coming back to help us.”
