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***May 22, 2026***
"Mom..."
Alexandra Eames Goren paused at the door to Randall Shaw's room and suddenly fully understood, for the past three years, her husband's protestations that their adopted daughter, Olivia, was "growing up too quickly." Where was the tousled-headed, owl-eyed small boy in a dirty shirt and jeans they had brought home, clutching a backpack, and nattering on about criminal profilers and to-do lists?
Oh, the hair was still slightly tousled. The hazel eyes were still alight with boundless curiosity behind round-framed glasses. He remained addicted to lists. But he was also taller, face losing its baby fat, and able to stand, absorbed and quiet, in front of his dresser mirror with his shoulders back during the few minutes it took to adjust his tie, since Bobby had patiently taught him the four-in-hand knot. The navy-blue suit had been pressed with knife-edged creases (a technique Bobby perfected in CID), and the pale blue shirt and silver-striped tie worked well with it; his black school shoes completed the outfit.
If Robert Goren had darker hair and olive skin and had worn glasses...
Aren't you the sensible one of the family?
No, she countered herself. Not today. And she dismissed the reverie to respond, "Yes, sweetie?"
He sighed at the endearment but let it go, since they were at home. "I was thinking...you know, today's like the Star Trek: Enterprise song-"
Alex smiled now, because Randall's enthusiasm for all things Star Trek was undimmed in nearly two years of a changed living situation. "Isn't that the one with the theme song no one liked?"
"Yes!" he replied, glowing because he knew Star Trek was not really her vibe, but she'd remembered that bit of trivia because it was important to him, and then began singing in a pleasant treble,
"It's been a long road
Gettin' from there to here,
It's been a long time
But my time is finally near..."
His voice cracked on the last word, and Olivia giggled from behind her mother.
"Unfair making fun of his voice changing," Robert Goren intoned, now a friendly broad-shouldered presence behind his daughter, who dimpled and then continued with the chorus,
"Because I've got faith of the heart,
I'm goin' where my heart will take me..."
While Olivia's media interests seemed to be moving on from Star Trek, she still retained her fondness, and they finished the song together.
"Are we ready to go?" Bobby asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes...Dad!" Randall almost shouted, and, predictably, both children clattered downstairs, leaving Alex and Bobby to face each other, her head tipped up, his tilted down, amused and sober all at once.
"Long road?" the latter said ruefully. "More like the Jersey Turnpike with only cash-payment booths open-"
"-and the last toll the worst," Alex agreed.
Long indeed, because there were no helping hands from the State Department as had happened with Olivia; the Connecticut Department of Children and Families had been as thorough as possible, yet there was always an inkling that, despite the many visits from their caseworker, Ruth Dunbar, and the oversight of the implacable Hannah Love, the adoption would have gone forward.
Not so with Randall. Between holidays, therapy, and monthly visits to his incarcerated father; their previous year's sojourn in Quebec; and Olivia's tangle with Callandra Benoit nine months earlier, plus a harsh winter capped by a blizzard and the recent emotional toll of the disappearance of a local teen, there had been seemingly endless visits from Dunbar, Love, and a new male supervisor, Miles Borja. The children's therapist, Phyllis Allyson, was extensively questioned. Alex and Bobby's own therapist, Dr. Kashvi Chaudry, received inquiries, and family, or anyone related to the family, from Alex's siblings and Bobby's elderly aunt Agnes, to Richard Carver and Tomas Gomes, and James and Angie Deakins, now happily living the winter months in Florida, had been interviewed.
They weren't the only ones flustered, they realized after quick surveillance of their home after doing errands or volunteering. Abbi Diaz had taken to popping in from next door to tweak the tiniest disturbances, this in addition to cleaning house once a week, and cooking dinner one to two nights a week, per the proud "stipulations" she had demanded when she was permitted to rent the Gorens' original home at a discount.
They were a relatively tidy family--the scattered culprits usually were books--so there wasn't much for her to do. Still, they would find recently-emptied coffee mugs already washed on the dish drainer, tiny seed hulls from Bandit the budgie's messy eating habits swept away, clean toilets re-scrubbed, and even Bobby's library dusted, although Abbi had vowed never to disturb it. Her grandson Carlos Serrano came each morning before school to rinse the cars, and he corrected anything amiss outdoors, from trash cans askew to broken limbs from the oaks and maples in the yard.
No one, they understood, would get their hands on her adopted sobrino if Abbi could help it.
Their current attorney was Wilma O'Donnell, a no-muss, no-fuss, practical older woman with short-cropped hair and a Brooklyn twang that remained, albeit faded, despite twenty years in Waterbury, Connecticut. While she hadn't quite taken the case pro bono, she had offered her services to the former Brooklyn boy and Inwood girl for old times' sake and lively persuasion from Alex's long-time legal advisor, Tony Fessiden.
Early on, she was the one who'd warned them of Judge Sakai.
"He's a skilled arbitrator," she conceded, "but he's on the edge of retirement. He remembers the legacy of Native American boarding schools and children removed from minority parents without cause, and is reluctant that families should be split when no abuse was involved. With Randall's father being alive, he's a problem."
Bobby wasn't certain if she meant Shaw or the judge was the problem. "Randall's father has no hope of parole before Randall's majority. You know in the past he caused Randall emotional distress. And he's all for this."
"That only tells Sakai that the father is making an effort at amends by improving his behavior. And he'll also look for other family members," O'Donnell countered. "The grandparents are dead, you said--what about this great-uncle? Is he still alive? Did he marry? Have any issue?"
Alex's throat had gone dry, remembering what Shaw had told Bobby in confidence about his suspicions about Randall's true parentage.
"Shaw claimed there was no other family. We don't know," she'd replied in a paper-thin voice when Bobby didn't respond.
"Judge Sakai will have his clerks research it. Mine will as well."
Bobby and Alex had done deep dives previously into the Troyer family through not-usually-accessible methods. Both Troyer brothers had died of COVID-19-related illnesses in 2020, within a day of each other. The farm had been sold to pay debts. The courts had additional resources, so the pair were relieved when O'Donnell and her staff found nothing further.
On their way home that day, Bobby was pensive. "Should we tell him ourselves, rather than have strangers come up with it in court?"
"…I was away...Rosie's smile was gone when I got back. She was quiet, a little sad, nervous even. If she'd wanted to confide in me, she couldn't even do that--ol' Micah kept an eagle eye on us, as you might imagine with a pretty daughter like her… We were never alone, Mr. Goren, not once…"
"I didn't know what Rosie had gone through...If she'd said she wanted an abortion or to put the kid up for adoption, I would have gone along. But no, the day he was born, she just took that mite in her arms and loved him despite his...crazy stuff. Peas couldn't touch meat. Potatoes couldn't touch peas. The way his books got handled. How he'd babble on and on about something he liked. And I thought I could love him for her sake, but as he got older...
"One more thing. When Rand was a baby, he looked like...a baby. By the time he changed from baby to little boy...he seemed to be the spit'n'image of Mal. The nose. Those mixed-color eyes that Rosie called hazel. Malachi Troyer, Micah's brother. Met him a few times. Overly friendly, in my estimation, with Rosie, while she tried to avoid him. Self-important shit, too. Town alderman. Just sayin'."
Alex commonly faced problems head-on, but with Randall, she was unable to be objective. "We should ask Dr. Allyson," she deflected.
That specialist had subjected them to uneasy moments of silence before she answered. "I've already included a strongly-worded advisory in Randall's file that any court findings about the Troyer or Shaw families must be addressed to me in private before discussion in court is held with Randall present, and that adherence to that advisory is critical for his psychological well-being.
"As for you--or we, if you wish me to mediate--telling him the facts, I think, given the appropriate input, Randall might accept that Shaw isn't his biological father. It might even serve in Shaw's favor. He might be seen as selfless, ready to love and help Rosalind no matter what, which, given his story, seems to be the case.
"But to accept what Shaw suspects?" Allyson shook her head determinedly, a tiny woman with her hair worn in silvering dreadlocks pulled up and behind for a professional look. "No, he's not ready--and may never be. As far as Randall has come outwardly in self-esteem, inwardly he still believes he is 'weird,' abnormal, even 'a mistake,' as his father told him once, and-"
Bobby had concurred. "If he finds out it's possible he's the product of incest, his first question will be 'Is that why I'm weird?'"
Alex could even imagine him saying it, down to the stricken eyes, bowed head, and painful whisper.
"We can't let that happen," she decided, her mouth set in a flat line, after they had closed out the video session. "Even if the judge blocks the adoption."
She buried her face under his chin; he rested his nose in her hair, and they remained in silent communion for long minutes.
"Would they take him away altogether?" Alex inquired abruptly.
"We would definitely advise against that," Ruth Dunbar responded sternly when they contacted her. "I'm sure Dr. Allyson would agree that it would undo any emotional progress that he's made. You can be certain both Ms. Love and I will emphasize this at the hearing."
They covered their fears so that both children could successfully navigate the last few months of the school year, but by early April, Bobby appeared a bit frayed during his weekly video session with Dr. Chaudry.
"How goes the war?" she queried gently.
"There was a new inspector yesterday," was his weary response, "checking everything from Randall's bed height to the foods we keep in the cupboard. He seemed surprised that there was no sports equipment for Randall in the house, except for his bicycle. We had to show him Rand's overflowing fiction bookcases to prove that we weren't keeping him locked in his room studying."
He smiled in recollection. "Randall cemented the deal by strolling in with two mystery books from the library. He told the inspector he'd rather clean bathrooms than play baseball. Min high-fived him after the inspector left."
Chaudry chuckled. "You know they need to make certain." It was needless assurance, she knew, uttered in an effort to bolster confidence. "The reports that make the news about foster and adopted children--such as the 12-year-old who appeared on the national news last week--only exacerbate fears that enough isn't being done."
Bobby nodded absently. "Liv Benson mentioned an old case once, a couple who…um…adopted a child and then insured him heavily before arranging to have him killed. Eames and I know more nightmare stories than the national news and Faith Yancy combined."
Then he finally dropped the penny. "I still feel...that I haven't done enough...to shield them."
Chaudry understood Robert Goren well enough by now that she'd felt this would be his next admission. "Because of your own childhood? Or due to Olivia's mother's childhood and Rosalind Shaw's shortcomings?"
Bobby considered, rubbing his neck as he did when preoccupied. "All of it, I suppose. I want them to grow up...unafraid. With...hope-"
"And being unable to locate Carlos' friend Tito has made you feel as if you're an inadequate protector?" Dr. Chaudry's voice was kind. "Did you expect that if you and Alexandra put in enough effort, Olivia's and Randall's lives would be as simple as Theodore Cleaver's?"
Bobby emitted a hollow chuckle. "When you put it that way...no...especially since I know it wasn't that simple...um...even back then. The Cold War, ICBM threats, 'Duck and Cover,' racism, sexism, homophobia-"
"And, with the Internet being what it is, no chance of perfect small-town suburbia any longer," was the sympathetic yet forthright answer. "Here, I know you'll remember these."
Two photos popped up on Bobby's laptop screen, and he gave a wistful smile. "The one on the left Alex took a few days after we came home from Paris."
Pictured was then nine-year-old Olivia sitting, chin propped on fist, under the lilac bower not yet in bloom, in duck-cloth slacks and a long-sleeved pink sweater appropriate for a cool spring day. She was staring into the distance, her expression one of homesickness, her free arm hugging her stuffed, smiling fox.
"And then Randall, the night we brought him home," he reminisced about the second. Sated with supper and dessert, Randall, in shorts, shirt, and stocking feet, had fallen asleep on the sofa after Star Trek ended, his rumpled head tipped on his right shoulder. "I was ready to carry him up to bed, but he woke when I touched his arm."
"And now this photo, from last Wednesday?" she inquired, his screen changing.
Then Bobby did grin, and his left hand stroked his beard. As always, after their volunteer afternoon at Big Brothers/Big Sisters, he and Alex had gone together to pick up the children from St. Gregory's Academy. They found Olivia and Randall with several dozen students in the Upper School lecture hall where the Astronomy Club met. A few of the sisters and a lay teacher had brought gluten-free snacks and fruit, and Randall and Olivia were sitting with Randall's red-headed friend Samuel Gertner from science class and Olivia's homeroom classmates, Harpreet Kothari and Cerise Whittaker.
"We're going to watch the Artemis II launch," Randall had explained, gesturing wildly to the front of the hall. "Oh, please, can we stay? The screen is wayyyyyy bigger than our TV!"
Could they ever have said "no"?
Instead, they joined other parents who'd already given in to similar pleas, all watching with smiles and nudges as the countdown progressed. Mission Control gave the go for launch, and cheers erupted. Alex, never one to miss a photo op when either child was concerned, had sidled out of her seat two minutes before liftoff and captured the sheer joy of the five children as the rocket thundered from the launch pad on a tail of fire. Indeed, retiring, introspective Randall had been shrieking, "Go! Go! Go!" with his attention fastened on the screen, and Olivia's dazzled face wore a grin of pure delight.
"I don't think they look afraid," Dr. Chaudry finished, "or by any means hopeless." She added confidently, "You're doing fine. And surely Alexandra would let you know if you weren't."
"Alex is my rock," he admitted, "but she's concerned. If this goes pear-shaped-"
"I will discuss that with her," was the firm answer.
In the present, still at the top of the stairs, Bobby looked Alex up and down with love and admiration. She glowed in an A-line flowered-print dress that day, tiny violet blossoms and minute green leaves against pale blue, with white pumps, the lilac pendant he'd presented her with at Napatree Point months earlier around her throat. The R❤A bracelet cuffed her right wrist as always, and sparkling solitaires danced in her earlobes, matching the twinkle in her eyes.
He was in pale grey, with a pale blue shirt and a silver-and-lilac striped tie; combined with his hair and beard, almost all grey now as well, he gave the impression of a silver sculpture.
Bobby opened his arms to her, and she melted into them, unmindful of her dress. He breathed in her sweet scent and murmured, "I'm sorry for the potholes I put in that long road-"
Alex pulled back, then set her fingertips on his mouth to silence him. "Stop. It’s done. Let's not waste time with then when we have now."
She dropped her hand and stepped back, and, before he had a chance to speak, Olivia called from the foot of the stairs, "You both look topping, but it's a long way to Hartford!"
Bobby smiled covertly. "Not hopeless" indeed! Between themselves, they called her "the boss," and she had the look of it that day. Grown out of the final "posh frock" shipped from France after her abrupt dismissal by the formidable Madame Pepin, Olivia wore her new dress, a blue dotted Swiss in a slightly fifties-style with white lace trim. Viola Perrino, at one time Alex's neighbor, a venerable fairy godmother when it came to fabric in an era of dwindling fabric stores, had found the material and the pattern, and, to complete the ensemble, had conjured up white cotton gloves as accessories. Olivia, with a matching blue "Alice band" on her sunny curls, looked much like Lewis Carroll's Alice, but a mature one whose outfit included a white crossbag.
"An entire hour," she reminded them crisply in her still-evident British accent, "and then finding a place in the car park and-"
"I think we need to listen to Julie, our cruise director," Alex agreed archly.
Olivia blurted, "Who?" and they both laughed.
"Oh. You must be quoting old telly again," Olivia sighed. "You can explain it in the car." She made them sound like two errant children, and was even the one to hand Alex a light cardigan against the breeze after picking up one for herself.
As they approached Alex's Honda Pilot, Bobby unexpectedly flipped up his car keys and announced, "My turn," leaving Alex to settle in the passenger seat as they headed for the main road and thus to the interstate.
"Mrs. Perrino left with Aunt Abbi and Carlos and Ana ages ago," Randall said, disconsolate. "They're probably already at the courthouse. Aunt Lizzie and the rest of the family will be there, won't they? I wish Aunt Agnes could've come."
Olivia kept her attention fixed on her phone, and Bobby, spying her from the rearview mirror, knew she was smiling to herself.
Once they were on the expressway, the children discussed summer plans, including the hoped-for return to Quebec. Olivia was eager to see Francie, her niece, who would have her first birthday in June.
"I want to do the Montmorency Falls thing Laurent talked about," Randall proposed.
Olivia said wistfully, "I'd like to see Prince Edward Island someday to see if it's as beautiful as it is in Anne."
"That's miles away."
"I said someday."
The trouble with not driving, Alex mused, was that driving kept you busy, but being a passenger gave you too much time to think. The children's light bickering became a low buzz while Bobby had put on his favorite Dave Brubeck CD, so her mind began to wander back a few weeks earlier, all four traveling the same route to the same destination: another, smaller courtroom, with the children stiff and nervous in their school uniforms and unnaturally silent as the miles brought them closer to the decisive hearing.
They arrived so early that they were directed to a waiting area where two wall-mounted televisions ran PBS Kids and and a local syndicated channel. A sign proclaimed, "Earbuds required. Cell phones on speaker will be confiscated," so Alex used hers to catch up with the tri-state news. Presently, Bobby felt a nudge--he was reading a well-thumbed Ellery Queen paperback while the children played tic-tac-toe on Olivia's cell phone--and Alex tapped on closed captions and tilted her phone screen so he could watch New York news reporter/gadfly Faith Yancy. A former particular thorn in their Major Case days, Yancy was harping about a foreign conglomerate's acquisition of a failing department store with help from the Manhattan-based de Ruysch Group. Her interview with the New York City CEO was, as always, acid-dipped.
Bobby chuckled wryly, "Some things never change."
Eventually permitted upstairs, where the smaller courtrooms lined a long corridor in monotonous succession, they found everyone awaiting them. Seated in the front row had been Ruth Dunbar, stiff in a charcoal-grey business suit; Hannah Love, solid and imperious, wearing one of her beloved vintage brooches; Dr. Allyson with a small stack of ring binders and an iPad on top; Dr. Chaudry trying to exude calm with her placid manner; Wilma O'Donnell with briefs spread before her at a table; and mild-mannered, balding Brother Michael from St. Gregory's Academy, discreetly toying with a tiny fidget spinner.
At the very rear, standing next to Randall's biological father, Sterling Shaw, in his orange jumpsuit with ankles chained and wrists restrained, tall, burly Corrections Officer John "Jack" Mackensie was at attention, blasé but watchful.
Shaw winked at Randall as they entered; his son gulped and winked in return. Shaw's general appearance--a smidge under six feet tall, sandy-brown hair and russet eyes, a Roman nose over full lips--had changed little in the past eighteen months, but more crow's-feet were evident, and deeper folds creased the corners of his mouth, even though he was barely 38. Prison, any law enforcement officer knew, aged people from the inside out.
This time, however, there was a still-visible, swollen pucker bisecting the man's right eyebrow where he had needed stitches after what he had told Randall lightly two weeks ago was "a small donnybrook" in the prison cafeteria. The situation had been worse than that, but Shaw had requested that Alex and Bobby not worry Randall with the details.
Shaw intrigued Bobby. He was obviously intelligent, quick-thinking, and had the innate ability to rapidly size people up and say what they wanted to hear, all talents that served a confidence man well. Even in prison, except for this rare occasion, he had managed to construct alliances that kept him from being seriously injured or bullied. He might have, in another life, made a good criminal profiler.
Jo Gage whispered into Bobby's mind the words of her father, his unstable mentor, Declan Gage. "He told me... He said you could have gone either way."
Shaw had even taken good-hearted Rosalind Troyer, the love of his life, deep into his con. The one person he'd failed to size up properly was his own son.
The court officer had directed the family to seats up front. Bobby, as usual, was gauging the mood of the room while his knees rocked up and down; Alex sat quietly but played with the tips of her fingers; and Randall wiggled in his seat until Olivia, making a vain effort to read a history book she'd tucked in her crossbag, advised in a hushed voice, "Be chill, Randall. Do as the judge asks. Follow his list." And, from the bag, she fished out a small cube-shaped fidget spinner with an iridescent sheen, which he held by its corners and spun until the court officer returned.
The dignified woman intoned, "All rise!" at which Olivia's book vanished, and Randall hastily shoved the spinner into his pants' pocket as they followed instructions.
The door of the judge's chambers opened, and a man of medium height, silver predominating the black of his short-cropped hair, wore his robe so naturally that he looked as if he were gliding from the other room, trailed by a youthful court clerk carrying his case files. He was of Japanese ancestry, as his last name suggested, with alert, piercing dark eyes, a slim nose, and a mouth that revealed neither humor nor intractability. He took his seat, and the male clerk set the files to his right, placing the top file--Randall's file--open in front of his superior.
Bobby had called Ron Carver, who phoned contacts in Connecticut that reported back. "Straight arrow," Bobby told Alex, who had consulted other friends with different contacts and came up with similar results. "Same story as Wilma--old-fashioned but just. Inclined to keep families together unless the parent is offensive in some way."
Alex's sarcasm bit like a piranha. "A father who went from con man to drug dealer? What could be offensive about that?"
"He didn't physically abuse his child," was Bobby's equally dour response, "only ruined his self-respect. Perhaps he overlooks damage that leaves no physical marks."
Sakai did not appear to be someone who overlooked anything.
Bobby turned his head to the side, catching Shaw scoping out the judge, marking the effortless way he walked, smoothly moved into his seat, and reviewed the file with neutrality. He recognized the tell at once: the con man was working his own profile.
As soon as they were re-seated and court proceedings begun, Olivia returned to her Paul Revere book, and Randall slipped from his suit jacket pocket one of his his comfort reads, the battered Scholastic paperback of Hound of the Baskervilles, one of the six books he had remaining after his mother died. He tried to concentrate on the pages as Judge Sakai first questioned Ruth Dunbar and later Hannah Love, but as he heard his name being repeated, he paid more and more attention, finally returning the book to his pocket and then groping for Alex's hand as the judge discussed his academic progress with Brother Michael.
The questions for Robert Goren and Alexandra Eames were clinical: Why do you wish to adopt Randall instead of continuing to foster him? "We've come to love him," which, after being asked the question numerous times, sounded like parroting but was the strict truth. Was parenting difficult, what with Randall's specific emotional needs? No, Your Honor. We give him love and support, the two things he wants most. We've adapted in some ways, and he's had no trouble adapting to other ways when the need for them was explained. It doesn't matter. We love him unconditionally. You're aware that he will be an additional financial burden. We don't consider him a burden. As a family, we don't require expensive vehicles, clothing, or electronics. We buy healthy and basic foods and good but non-exclusive clothing, follow a budget, travel frugally, and save our money for the children's education.
Alex's shoulders relaxed with painful relief when they were done, and Bobby's tense face softened as they sat down, and she smiled at him with a positive nod.
Finally, Judge Sakai's face softened, and he gently requested, "Miss Mignon Goren, would you please approach the bench?"
Olivia obediently dropped her book and rose.
"Do you wish to have one of your parents accompany you?"
Olivia glanced at Bobby, then lifted her chin and shook her curls. It was totally a gesture her mother would have made. "No, Your Honor. I'm fine, but..."
As she slipped from the bench and stood before the judge, she curtsied and added, "...if you please, Your Honor, it's Olivia, thank you."
Randall was astonished at her temerity, but Alex only bit her lip, her expression neutral, and Bobby's smile flickered and was gone.
"Well, Miss Olivia," Judge Sakai questioned in a slightly amused voice, "how do you feel about having a brother?"
Olivia's wiggle and body shift told her parents she was puzzled by the question. "It's brill! I mean...you don't know, but I sort of...picked him out? No...wait...that makes him sound like a puppy, and it wasn't like that either. I was the first to speak to him, you see."
When the judge asked if she would elaborate, Bobby and Alex exchanged glances at how carefully she chose her words, telling the story truthfully but omitting that their first meeting was in the police interrogation room of the Manhattan Special Victims Unit or that Captain Olivia Benson was anything more than a kind friend who sympathized with Randall and thought that the Gorens might fit his needs. She also avoided his attempt to read Mindhunter (totally inappropriate), the visit to Goodwill (lest the judge be snobbish and consider them too poor to care for Randall), and their quarrel over her stuffed fox. Bobby was reminded that Alex had once commented that Olivia was fit for the Diplomatic Corps.
"Have you ever felt that having a foster brother took attention from yourself?"
Now she pulled herself up indignantly. "No, Your Honor! We're both treated the same, and when we do things, we've usually planned it together." And then she bit her lip and confided, "And if we're unruly and are dressed down for it, it's usually for something we've planned together, too. It's not as if we're angels, you know."
Was that a smile emerging on the judge's lips? Both Bobby and Alex were certain, despite being behind her, that Olivia was using her expressive brown eyes to good effect.
After several more questions focusing on their home life, Olivia finished up meekly by pleading, "He's my brother now. Can't he be for always?"
Judge Sakai had said kindly, "We'll see," and dismissed her.
She chose to sit next to Bobby upon her return, leaning against his sleeve as she settled and murmuring, "I was dreadful."
"Tu étais parfaite, petite," he whispered in return, and she turned pink.
Now, very formally, Sakai requested, "Master Randall Shaw, would you please approach the bench? You may ask a family member to accompany you."
For a few seconds, Randall panicked, glancing appealingly at Alex. He couldn't...he couldn't...
His mind flashed upon the morning he'd learned Rosalind was dead.
"If you want to stay with us," Alex had told him, "we'll do our best to make it happen."
"That will mean a lot more inspections," Olivia warned, "and I had ever so many."
"I don't care," he'd said, and added, "I'll look 'em in the eye if they want."
He could look this judge in the eye for them. For his mom. For Kenny Shepherd and Aunt Agnes and Captain Benson and Brother Michael.
So he took a deep breath as Dr. Allyson always advised, then replied, as Olivia had, "No, Your Honor, I'm fine."
Sterling Shaw straightened in his seat, his expression one of disbelief. Even as he had watched Randall change over the last year and a half, he had not believed the boy confident enough to stand before someone in authority without support. But it was right before his eyes: Randall out of his seat purposefully, his shoulders set back, and his head erect.
"You've got this," Brother Michael whispered as he stepped past.
Now Randall stood at the judge's bench, which was positioned so that they were face-to-face, and he looked firmly ahead and kept eye contact, but Alex saw his hands trembling.
Sakai had also noticed and commented gently, "You're not being judged, Randall. I need to confirm that what's being proposed here is appropriate for you."
"Y-Yes, sir...Your Honor." And he told himself, No stammering!
"First, I'd like to hear about your earliest memories with your mother and father."
Randall obliged him by starting from toddlerhood, of the apartment in Wilton and the neighbors surrounding them, including Raul, the friendly bodega owner next door (and how he'd "borrowed soup" from Raul the day he'd left home and had Bobby and Alex take him back to repay him). Next, he progressed to watching mystery movies with "Mommy" and playing catch with his father, although he didn't particularly enjoy catch. Shaw smiled covertly at his honesty when he admitted, "Mommy said I should, because it would make Dad feel bad if I didn't." Judge Sakai had to steer Randall away from tangents several times, but he did so with patience.
"Did you have any relationship with your grandparents?"
"Just Grandma Antona. She visited us until she died. Grandpa Micah wouldn't leave his farm, and Dad’s parents were gone by the time I could remember them." Randall looked wistful. "I loved Grandma Antona. She taught me Spanish and made the best pupusas. She started cooking Salvadoran foods again just for us. Mommy loved trying them."
"Your mother never ate them growing up?" Sakai looked surprised.
"Grandpa wouldn't let her. He rescued Grandma from El Salvador--at least that's what he told Mommy. She was an orphan and a servant in a big house and learned English that way, but they didn't treat her nice. Grandpa was on leave from a ship and said she was so beautiful that he had to take her back to Pennsylvania, and he did. But he said she had to be all-American now that she lived in Pennsylvania, so she had to cook American food."
He continued with a fond smile, "Aunt Abbi reminds me of Grandma Antona. She learned to make pupusas just for me. She's Carlos and Ana's abuela and they live next door. Aunt Abbi--Mrs. Diaz--is originally from Puerto Rico, and Ana and Carlos are Olivia's and my best friends. They like to share special foods with us, and both Olivia and I are really good at Spanish now. Olivia speaks French, you know, because she was brought up in France first, and I know American Sign Language like Brother Michael told you. So we're 'trilingual.' That's a good thing, my guidance counselor says."
"It is. Thank you, Randall." Sakai nodded. "Now, I'd like to hear more about your relationship with your father. Were you aware of what he did for a living before his trial?"
"You mean his real job? No, sir. He told Mommy and me that he had a job on Wall Street. I guess that was kinda true. He did sell drugs to some stockbrokers. But we didn't find that out until the trial."
"Do you remember when your father's attitude toward you took a negative turn?"
Randall considered. "Maybe...second or third grade? Before that...I usedta play with the kids on our street. You know, tag and kickball. When we were little, it was okay. Then the older kids--mostly the guys, but even girls--they got mad if you messed up. They wanted to win. They'd rag on you, yell at you, push you around if you dropped a ball, instead of it being fun.
"So, Dad...he didn't like that I got pushed around and didn't care to win. He said that's how you worked your way up in the world, and I had to toughen up. He started practicing with me, b-but I don't like competing...not sports, anyway. What I want is to get good marks and know things." He bragged, "Olivia skipped, so she's a year ahead of me, and I still get better grades in algebra."
He grinned back at her, and she wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes in return.
"And when I go to the Upper School next year..." His voice caught as he realized, What if I'm not at St. Greg's next year?
But he forged on. "There's a running club. I plan to join that. Just to run, like I do with Mom. No races."
Judge Sakai smiled, and Alex and Bobby began to relax. "You mentioned the trial, Randall. What happened afterward?"
Randall stared at his shoes, then reminded himself of his promise and faced Sakai once more. "Mommy...didn't know what to do. She...cried a lot, wouldn't get up. I cooked soup for her--well, out of a can--but she didn't eat it. And...then she got fired for not showing up to work. We ran out of money pretty fast. And that's...wh-why she started working with that guy H-Hank that Dad knew, and left me alone during the week. She tr-trusted me to follow her lists."
He stopped and took a cleansing breath, willing the stammer to stop, for he had to defend Rosalind. "She knew people would get mad that she left me, but we'd sold everything we could, even our books and DVDs, so we could eat. She wrote every step on the lists and had me swear--like on Perry Mason--to follow them exactly. I wouldn't break a promise to my mom." He added proudly, "I did everything on her lists, and no one at school or in the neighborhood knew she wasn't there during the week--she made sure people saw us on the weekend--and I ate okay, went to bed on time, and got good grades. I even said 'Goodbye, Mom!' real loud as I left for school so people would think she was home."
"But you knew what she was doing for a living."
Randall shifted, embarrassed. "Yes, Your Honor. Just marijuana at first. Then Hank talked her into selling...they call 'em party drugs? Sounds weird. It was extra money--but...she worried about it. One weekend, we were watching Hawaii Five-O and Columbo--Mommy showed me how to spot all the clues--and she said she was thinking of going to the police. But th-they found out and g-got her f-f-first."
Tears welled in his eyes, and Wilma O'Donnell intervened quietly, "Excuse me, Your Honor, but-"
"Yes," the judge agreed, and handed Randall a tissue. "Should we take a recess, Randall? Or would you want Mr. or Mrs. Goren to stand with you?"
Randall's eyes flickered over his shoulder, then he repeated staunchly, "No, sir. I'm fine. We can finish."
Sterling Shaw had, ever since Randall began to speak of Rosalind, bowed his head; now, as he looked up, he observed his son's self-possession rekindle.
"Your other foster homes," Judge Sakai questioned. "Why did you run away?"
He sighed. "I would have stayed with the Carstairs, but he broke his leg, and she had to care for him. Mrs. Carstairs cried when I left. The others...Mr. Heggen and Stan wanted me to play baseball and football. Football's worse than baseball! Ms. Phillips kept taking me to loud places, even though I said I didn't like them, and she called me 'Randy,' though I asked her to stop. And the Stantons smoked pot. Yuck."
"And how is it different with the Gorens?"
Randall's shoulders relaxed, and he brightened. "They don't force me to do things I don't like. I can read all day if I want, as long as I've been outside and done my homework and made my bed and all that. Dad," and he indicated with a turn of his head that it was now Bobby he was referring to, "reads--he has a whole room full of books--and so does Olivia, and Mom reads, just not as much.
"And new stuff--they don't spring it on me and expect me to be chill about it. Like...I don't want some of my foods to touch. I want my meat to taste like meat, not vegetable, not potato. Nobody else understood. But Mom..." and he flicked an adoring glance at Alex, "...Mom got me plates with dividers. When Dad made stuff like stews and casseroles, he let me try them first, so I could see how good some flavors tasted together. Now I eat lots of things together." He made a face. "Dad's foods're much better than school lunch, too! And you know what? He's teaching me to cook! So during the blizzard, 'Livia and I made breakfast. I made scrambled eggs and the toast, and 'Livia did oatmeal and set the table, and we figured out the percolator, and it was all ready when Mom and Dad came in from shoveling."
"That's very good," and the judge nodded, then continued, "Tell me about the visits to your father."
Randall stiffened slightly. "I see him once a month, sir." He looked over his shoulder at Shaw briefly to acknowledge him. "We...Brother Michael always says that sometimes you haveta compromise. So...we both do. My dad asks me about school and what we're doing, and I bring him a few bucks...um, dollars...to spend at the prison sundry shop. He works there. And I tell him about Astronomy Club and learning new ASL--I learned sign language to be Kenny Shepherd's homeroom buddy, you know. So, yeah...we get along better now. We talk."
"That's the sort of report I enjoy hearing. It tells me your father is making progress in turning his life around."
Alex shifted in her seat and looked sideways at her husband's abruptly sober face. Look at O'Donnell.
Bobby nodded, for their attorney had shifted warily in her seat, ready for what came next; in the meantime, Judge Sakai dismissed Randall, and he returned to his seat next to Alex.
"I'm satisfied," Sakai pronounced, closing the file before him and substituting another, "that the Goren family has been a positive influence on Randall Shaw and should certainly remain his foster family. But I still have reservations about the adoption. Several of you in the courtroom," and he nodded at O'Donnell, "know my concerns. In the past, little effort was made to preserve ethnic and racial heritage or specific family ties. Children were indiscriminately removed from their parents, some at an early age, and grew up unaware of their forebears and ancestral customs. I feel that, even today, too many adopted children, especially those of color, lose their culture when adopted.
"In the case of physical, sexual, or mental abuse, I have no choice but to protect the child, and I do see that some aspects of Randall's past have been…irregular. But, since the boy's father is still living, and my understanding from the files and testimony is that Randall and Sterling Shaw's emotional relationship has improved, it makes me wonder if adoption is the best recourse."
A man he sees once a month from behind glass! As the thought flickered through Alex's mind, she felt Bobby's hand squeeze hers.
Whether Judge Sakai noticed their nonverbal exchange or if he was merely curious, he asked, "Mr. and Mrs. Goren, if I told you now that I was willing to continue only with your being foster parents, what would your response be?"
Bobby shot a glance at Alex, and she nodded in confirmation.
He stood up to respond, catching the judge's attention, aware that, even after twenty years of confronting criminals of all persuasions, even stone-cold killers, at the moment nothing intimidated him more than this man who held Randall's future in the balance. "We would, of course, accept whatever judgment the court deems suitable, Your Honor. Randall is welcome in our home for as long as he wishes to remain with us." Olivia sucked in her breath. "But, if it please the court, my wife and I--and Olivia--don't consider Randall a 'foster' child. We're his parents now. He is our son."
"And brother!" Olivia piped up, unafraid, as he knew she would.
"He may leave us," and here Bobby's voice thickened, "but he will always be part of our family."
He glanced over his shoulder again and saw Shaw meet his gaze appraisingly, then concluded, "Thank you, Your Honor," and resumed his seat. Randall leaned forward to whisper his thanks.
The judge was silent for a few seconds, then his professional mask draped his face again, and he requested dispassionately, "Officer Mackensie, please escort Mr. Shaw to the bench."
"Yes, Your Honor," and without being prompted or prodded, Sterling Shaw rose, balancing himself with manacled hands on the rear of the bench in front of him, and stepped forward with Mackensie close on his heels.
He slowed, freezing for mere seconds to look down the family in a row: Olivia with her bright hair, blinking at him steadfastly; Bobby Goren with his head tilted, capturing his attitude with one quick exposure; Alex Eames with her chin raised, only a telltale quirk of her mouth revealing her feelings; and Randall, having looked so tall and proud a few minutes earlier, now slump-shouldered and introspective.
Shaw's lips twisted into a tiny smile, then he took the final steps to stand before the judge. His head lifted, his eyes sparkled, and with no effort at all, he slipped back into doing what he did best.
"Good morning, Mr. Shaw."
"Good mornin', Your Honor."
Bobby watched him, quietly amused. The con man was back. Indeed, Shaw was charming, yet almost insouciant, deepening his slight Southern accent to soften his voice as he promptly and respectfully answered Judge Sakai's inquiries about his past: grifter parents, learning the trade, meeting Rosalind Troyer while working a con on her father. The experienced judge probably had seen through his polite discourse, but Shaw kept up the façade.
"So...the usual things happened after a pretty girl like Rosie meets a young man such as I was, handsome and sweet-talkin'...she was an innocent little thing, homeschooled until high school. Next thing I knew, Rosie was pregnant...but I did right by her, and we were married." His smile shifted until it was a trifle cocky. "First right thing I'd done in my life, I reckon. Her father gave us a nice bit of scratch as a wedding gift, so we started over in Connecticut. But...grifting's no stable way to make a living: feast one month, famine another. I'd gone hungry as a kid, didn't want it for Rosalind-" He waited an almost imperceptible beat. "-and the baby."
Not "our baby," Alex realized, raising one eyebrow to Bobby.
Bobby's mouth twitched. Telling the truth without telling the truth.
"So you moved from grifting to...selling drugs?" Judge Sakai challenged sternly.
Shaw shrugged, easing his body into a more comfortable stance, standing slack-hipped as an old horse might. "What can I say, Your Honor?" He almost chuckled. "It was...steady work."
Bobby heard Mackensie hiss through his teeth, "Straighten up, Shaw, and show some proper respect."
Shaw did, but with an insolent, tiny swagger.
"Mom!" Randall whispered urgently, the change in demeanor evident even to the children. "What's he doing?" but Alex pressed her forefinger to her lips.
Sakai forged on with his interrogation. "Do you feel that your son's estrangement is easing and, conversely, that yours is as well?"
Alex thought back on the prison visits, how Shaw had softened from the first one, and how he listened patiently each time to Randall's stories and posed questions that seemed sincere. He certainly hadn't acted like the man they expected.
So Shaw's response startled her.
"Well, if his 'estrangement' isn't easin', I'm doing my job mighty poorly."
"Your job as a responsible father," Sakai clarified.
"I'm tryin' for the appearance of that, Your Honor."
"Appearance?"
Shaw chuckled. "Well, I want to make a good impression on the Gorens, after all. They really like that boy and want to keep him--dunno why."
Alex shot her arm around Randall when he sucked in his breath, then shivered in a combination of shock and rage.
"I mean, he's the strangest kid," Shaw went on in recollection, voice tinged with bemusement. "He told you the straight truth. Foods can't touch, nose stuck in a book, and whoever heard of a boy who didn't want to be outside doing something fun? Never seen anythin' like it. My wife took him as he was, and I put up with him because I loved her."
Bobby put his hand firmly on Olivia's shoulder because she appeared to be ready to leap from her seat; her jaw clenched so tightly he was afraid she'd crack a tooth. "Min," he whispered. "Let it ride." And, reluctantly, she sat back.
"Mr. Shaw," was the disapproving rebuke from the bench, "I had been led to believe you had made progress in this matter."
"Well, I have, haven't I?" Shaw asked, his manner remaining affable, but puzzled. "We meet once a month, and we talk. What more did you expect? You talk about his 'heritage,' Your Honor, like it's something special. Heck, my daddy probably descended from horse thieves, and Momma once turned tricks in Vegas. I hardly think that's the kinda 'heritage' someone of your stature wants to hand down to a kid. Besides, I've been tryin' to be cooperative, give the kid a future. You shouldn't expect him to get one from me--even if I get parole, it'll be when he's almost finished with college. Kinda stupid to start fresh then, when he's a stranger. Why not get him off my hands now? It's worth the trouble."
Randall gave an audible sniffle.
"There he goes," and Sterling Shaw shook his head ruefully. "See there? Always such a mama's boy." He chuckled. "Besides, after all those years in the joint, why would I want to end up with him? I'd rather go find me a beach and some fine whiskey somewhere."
"Mr. Shaw!" Judge Sakai rebuked.
Shaw returned soberly, "Excuse me, Your Honor, but I'm here at the request of the court, aren't I? And I took an oath? So if I want to keep my nose clean, earn my parole, I have to tell the truth, don't I?"
Sakai bridled, his face flushed. "Take him back to his seat, Officer Mackensie."
If looks could kill... Shaw remembered that old chestnut as he walked past Olivia and her burning eyes. Straight through the heart.
Randall had his face pressed against Alex's sleeve, refusing to have anyone else see him cry.
Sakai stared at the file before him, then collected himself, pulled a pen from the cup on his bench, and stolidly signed his way through a sheaf of papers, then closed the folder. "It is evident that the adoption petition submitted by Mr. Robert Goren and Mrs. Alexandra Eames Goren is in the best interest of the minor child Randall Epifanio Shaw." He rapped his gavel as if he hoped it were Sterling Shaw's head. "The adoption petition is approved. The clerk will schedule a date. This court is adjourned."
With a scalding look at the rear of the courtroom, he added tightly, "Please escort Mr. Shaw from the building immediately," and rose from the bench, stalking back into his chambers with the court clerk and his armful of folders scurrying behind.
Bobby tilted back his head, expelling a sigh of relief. When he relaxed, he saw Dr. Chaudry smile at him. Wilma O'Donnell nodded in agreement and began to stack her briefs.
Alex pulled out of the hug, automatically smoothing Randall's hair. "I wondered if he would follow through."
"The moment he spoke, he gave it away," Bobby agreed.
Olivia, still stunned, stared at him. "Gave what away?"
Bobby said in a confiding voice, "Throwing himself under the bus, as it were."
"But...he-" Olivia blinked, then whispered, "He...did it on purpose?"
"Insulted me?" Randall hissed.
"Deliberately made himself look bad," Alex explained, "so the judge would rule against him."
Randall blinked, then stared first at Alex, then at Bobby. Alex smiled and nodded, and he sprang to his feet, his cheeks flushed. "'Scuse me!"
And he bolted from the courtroom, staring wildly down the long, overly bright corridor with its knotted groups and shuffling lines of people approaching or departing courtrooms, craning his neck and balancing on his toes to see over heads in time to spy Jack Mackensie frog-marching Sterling Shaw around a corner, heading for the rear entrance where a prison vehicle waited. He pelted after them, skidding around the corner to gasp, "Dad!"
Shaw halted and turned, scowling. "Don't you think it's a bad idea to be seen with me? My name is mud around here now. So much for being truthful!"
He had not dropped his act. Randall choked, swallowed, sniffled, then stammered sotto voce, "M-Maybe. But I h-had to say thank you."
"What for? Save your whining," Shaw returned brusquely. "I did it for your mother."
Randall scrubbed his eyes, straightened. "Yes, sir." He saw Mackensie tighten his grip on Shaw's arm, so he added quickly, in a whisper, "See you next month?"
"Yeah," Mackensie answered for him, jerking Shaw's arm. "If he keeps his nose clean."
"Randall?" came the call from around the corner.
"Coming, Mom!" and he started to turn away, then blurted urgently, "Dad..." and pivoted back. His hand came up, sheltered from view at chest level, palm forward, index and pinky finger and thumb extended, his other two fingers curled.
Shaw looked around with suspicion for cameras, bit his lip, then covertly flashed the gesture, ASL shorthand, he recalled from Randall's endless stories, for "I love you."
Then Mackensie marched him through the stairwell door, and he was gone.
. . . . .
"Alex?"
Startled, she opened her eyes to discover Bobby pulling into a parking space in the county courthouse garage.
"We're here! We're here!" Olivia caroled, unfastened her seat belt, and then threw up her arms triumphantly. "Huzzah!" And she gathered up her crossbag and popped out the rear door.
"I don't know why 'Livia's so hyped," Randall said. "Aren't we just here for the judge to sign papers for me, then we'll go out to eat with whoever came? I'm already starved. Do you know where we're eating?"
"I'm sure someone's already made reservations at a place you like," Bobby returned mildly, watching Olivia spin around with unsuppressed happiness. "And your sister's just excited that today is happening."
"Yeah, finally!" Randall joked. "But Mom's not hyped at all. She fell asleep."
"I was not asleep," Alex defended, with a chuckle. "I was woolgathering."
"Betcha can make a sweater by now," he teased back, and she laughed aloud. The small, insecure boy with the backpack was truly a memory now.
"Come on!" Olivia called from the elevator.
The boss is waiting, Alex's impish glance said clearly.
So they proceeded upstairs by way of steps, security, elevators, and sterile passages, Olivia in the lead, walking backward most of the time to make conversation, but carefully, as attorneys, witnesses, and clients gathered or passed in the long corridors. Eventually, Bobby pointed ahead, and Olivia stopped dead in her tracks.
"Papa! It's the same courtroom...Randall!" And she tugged him by the arm toward the placard. "See! This is where I was, too!"
Randall nodded, already dazed. This courtroom was located on a different floor from the previous hearing, and the sun shone through the huge windows at either end of the hall, giving the setting an edge of light he would remember forever.
He reached for the door, but Bobby took his arm and reminded him, "Ladies first, okay?" and motioned Alex to go ahead with Olivia. Randall swore he heard Olivia giggle, then detected another sound he couldn't identify, but that was strangely familiar. Then the door was swinging shut, blocking his view, and Bobby caught it as it was about to close.
He put his hand on Randall's shoulder. "C'mon, buddy, we're almost there."
They walked in, Randall expecting to see Abbi Diaz and Ana and Carlos, Mrs. Perrino, perhaps the crowd from the Dark Crystal, and Liz and Steve Hogan and Jack and Patty Eames at the most. But, as it had been for Olivia, the courtroom was elbow-to-elbow full, and Randall halted, staring, as he surveyed a blurry sea of faces, and Alex and Olivia waiting for them in the center aisle.
"Rand?" Bobby ventured, hands resting on his shoulders to steady him.
The faces began to focus, and Randall first recognized the dark-haired woman in her black blazer and skirt at right.
"Captain Benson!" he exclaimed, and she was already on her feet to meet him, hugging him tightly. Behind her, her son Noah, dressed in what looked like a new suit, grinned smugly.
Alex chuckled. "Don't look now, Liv, but he's as tall as you."
Benson arched her eyebrows at Randall. "Don't laugh, girl, you're next."
Assistant district attorney Dominick Carisi's cheerful voice interrupted, "There's my little guy!" He was waiting in the next row, face merry under his silvering hair. "Only not so little anymore, huh? Hey, bud, since the Cap's here, 'Manda and Fin had to stay behind to mind the store, but they wanted me to give you their love."
And Randall was enveloped in another hug while his daughters, Jesse and Billie, chimed in behind him, "Hi, Randall!"
Now that the first shock was over, more faces made sense: Mike and Carla Logan, Margo Wheeler and her mother Megan, the entire staff of the Dark Crystal, their neighbors Bess Atherton and the Danielsons and the Berkowitz brothers, Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Steve--and cousin Eddie!--and Uncle Jack and Aunt Patty with Sophia and Eleanor, Bobby's nephew Donny, and...
"Aunt Agnes! You're here!" he cried out and dashed across the aisle into the arms of Bobby's elderly aunt, with her granddaughter and grandson, Molly and Paul, behind her.
"You blessed boy, as if I would miss this!" was her tender response, along with a tight hug, where she whispered, "Welcome to the family," in his ear.
Next, he saw his enthusiastic classmate Kenny Shepherd, the big redheaded teen, kept in check by his smiling mother, waving his hands to signify "Yay!" in ASL.
"Here's someone else who wants to say hello, Randall," Alex coaxed, and as he took three more steps, he saw a person from his past that he'd never thought to see again, a plump, tawny-skinned woman whose sunny grin made her look like an angel with a halo of dark curls shot with white. "Mrs....Deenie!"
He fell into the arms of his favorite, most supportive teacher, who uttered the usual adult babble of "Oh, how tall you are now!" and he didn't mind it a bit.
Nor did it faze him when two-year-old Penny Hastings escaped her father's clutches and wound herself around his leg, chanting, "Wandall! Wandall!" She offered to share her very battered blue stuffed dog Puffy with him, and he would, he promised, later, as Donna Hastings scooped up her truant child with one arm and kissed his forehead at the same time.
And he definitely didn't care, breaking into a shining grin, when Olivia's handsome half-brother leaned from his seat and called him mon petit frère.
Carlos and Ana called him that, too, but in Spanish, as he reached the front row. Abbi Diaz squeezed him so hard she nearly choked him, murmuring, "Mi dulce sobrino..."
Randall felt he could stand anything that day, even sirens and a rock concert.
Olivia had backstepped as Randall made his way down the aisle, then wheeled to notice the judge already seated at the bench, a familiar woman with a crown of fluffy white hair and laughter in her eyes. She had a scant moment to note the walker beside the judge's bench, but Jerusha Abbott smiled at her so warmly she forgot to worry.
"Hello, Miss Olivia. I'm mostly retired these days, but when I saw the name 'Goren' on the docket, I couldn't resist."
"Yes, ma'am," Olivia responded happily, and involuntarily curtsied, then pulled at Randall's arm. "Randall! It's Judge Abbott! She was my judge, too!" She beamed at Abbott. "Same routine as usual?"
"Yes, indeed, except no intrusive questions this time, as Judge Sakai has taken care of that part."
But Olivia insisted, eyes shining, "All of it, even Judge Carver?"
Abbott inclined her thumb at Ron Carver with a wink, for he was seated in the front row further down, already in his robes. "Check for yourself."
"Then, please, can't we get started?" Olivia requested urgently as if she were nine again, not almost thirteen, and chuckles rippled from every corner of the courtroom.
Alex had worked her way back to Bobby as Randall and Olivia had made their individual processions, and now she tilted her head upward when he cleared his throat.
"The boss has spoken," Robert Goren observed in a droll voice, offering his arm. "Captain Eames, shall we...um...'boldly go'?"
Alexandra Eames hooked her left arm into his right, her eyes full of mischief. "Undoubtedly, Agent Goren." She arched her brows and extended her right hand with a flourish. "Ahead...Warp Factor...4?"
Olivia giggled, Randall chortled, and they walked into the future together.
Epilogue
"Shaw!" barked John Mackensie as he strode down the row of cells.
"You in trouble now!" came a rowdy voice.
"Go get 'im, Mack!" shouted another.
"Pipe down," Mackensie ordered brusquely, and they did. He was their most impartial guard, and they knew to keep in line for him, or they'd be stuck with...shit, it might be Whitmore, that dried-up old stick.
Sterling Shaw and Thomas Gibson, playing chess with the upgraded set Randall had gifted his dad one Christmas, merely glanced up as Mackensie planted himself at the door to their cell.
"What'd I do now, Mack?" Shaw asked plaintively.
"Don't call me 'Mack,'" the guard grumbled, "and get up here." His voice raised sharply. "You and I need to have a good talk."
"Ooooh...Silver's been a naughty boy!"
"Larabie, knock it off," Shaw called jauntily, as he thrust his hands through the cell opening so that Mackensie could cuff his hands, "or I'll find another jalapeno to hide in your American chop suey."
As he matched Mackensie's firm stride past the long line of his jeering fellow prisoners, Shaw ventured, "Hey, this isn't about the jalapeno, is it? Because..."
Mackensie shoved him into one of the two-man "conversation rooms" in full view of two chuckling younger guards, anticipating what kind of dressing-down "old Mack" would give today. "Don't confess your sins, and I won't need to act on them."
On the single, battered, bolted-down table was a laptop, with a video frozen on the screen. "Sit. Uploaded about an hour ago."
Shaw sat, hands folded in his lap. Richard Carver was as faithful a recorder of his friends' life milestones as Alex Eames was of photos of her kids. His video camera--no paltry iPhone or iPad for Shard--had been set up at the front of the courtroom, and he'd captured every face, every emotion.
Some participants Shaw recognized from Randall's endless stories: Olivia and Noah Benson, Ben Siler--Bobby's former FBI partner--holding up a big photo of two women hugging and waving with the legend "On a case! Love you, Karin--and Jenn!", the white-haired man he recognized as Bobby and Alex's former captain James Deakins, Olivia's half-brother and wife and baby daughter, and more.
Alex had helpfully included a cheat sheet of everyone in her text, and Mackensie pointed out each of them. "The sturdy woman is the schoolteacher Randall liked, Wilhemina Deenie. The shrink you know, Dr. Chaudry. Funky guy with the glasses is Goren's car buddy, Lewis. Big guy with the square face and the tall woman with him are Captain Hannah and..."
Judge Abbott called the court to order, and Mackensie added, "Same judge as for Olivia's adoption...the judge doing the ceremony is their old friend the ADA from Major Case."
Shaw, watching Randall take the adoption vows Judge Abbott favored, thought only, Judge and cops, brother and cousins--all here for him, Rosie.
Judge Abbott signed papers with a flourish, then announced proudly, "Members of the courtroom, I officially present the Goren family."
Mackensie thrust a tissue at Shaw as tumult broke out on screen.
As the congratulatory furor calmed, Shaw was puzzled as Randall approached the camera, then momentarily disappeared from view. Unintelligible whispers followed. Then he reappeared, and Shard's bass voice instructed, "Back up...one more step. There."
The courtroom went silent. Randall stood at attention, then raised his right hand, fingers together, palm toward his face, so his fingers touched his lips, then moved his hand outward and forward as if pointing to Shaw, with a grin that encompassed the moon.
Then he extended all his fingers and his thumb, and with his hand perpendicular to his head, tapped his forehead twice with the thumb.
Shaw nodded and murmured. "You're welcome."