Perfect Match Read Online Free Page A

back to Rachel. “I see you bro ught a friend with you today. You know, I think you're the first kid who's e ver brought in a hippo to show to Judge McAvoy.”
    “Her name is Louisa.”
    “I like that. I like your hairdo, too.”
    “I got to have pancakes this morning,” Rachel says. That earns a nod of approval for Miriam; it's crucial that Rachel's eaten a goo d breakfast. “It's ten o'clock. We'd better go.”
    There are tears in Miriam's eyes as she bends down to Rachel's height. “This is the part where Mommy has to wait outside,” she says, and she's trying hard not to cry, but it's there in her voice, in the way the sounds are too round , overstuffed with pain.
    When Nathaniel was two and broke his arm, I stood in the ER as the bones wer e set and put in their cast. He was brave-so brave, not crying out, not once -but his free hand held onto mine so tightly that his fingernails left littl e half-moons in my palm. The whole time I was thinking that I would gladly b reak my arm, my heart, myself, if it meant my son wouldn't have to hurt like this.
    Rachel is one of the easier ones; she is nervous but not a wreck. Miriam is do ing the right thing. I will make this as painless as possible for both of them .
    “Mommy,” Rachel says, the reality hitting like a tropical storm. Her hippo fal ls to the floor and there is no other way to describe it: She tries to crawl i nside her mother's skin.
    I walk out of my office and close my door, because I have a job to do.
    “Mr. Carrington,” the judge asks, “why are we putting a five-year-old on the stand here? Isn't there any way to resolve this case?”
    Fisher crosses his legs and frowns a little. He has this down to an art. “Your Honor, the last thing I want is for this case to proceed.” I'll bet, I think.
    “But my client cannot accept the state's offer. From the first day he set foo t in my office, he's denied these events. Moreover, the state has no physical evidence and no witnesses. . . . All Ms. Frost has, in fact, is a child with a mother who's hell-bent on destroying her estranged husband.”
    “We don't care if he goes to jail at this point, Your Honor,” I interrupt. “We just want him to give up custody and visitation.”
    “My client is Rachel's biological father. He understands that the child may h ave been poisoned against him, but he isn't willing to give up his parental r ights to a daughter he loves and cherishes.”
    Yadda yadda yadda. I'm not even listening. I don't have to; Fisher grandstanded to me on the phone when he called to reject my last plea barga in. “All right,” Judge McAvoy sighs. “Let's get her up there.” The court is empty, except for me, Rachel, her grandmother, the judge, Fishe r, and the defendant. Rachel sits by her grandmother, twirling her stuffed h ippopotamus's tail. I lead her to the witness box, but when she sits down, s he cannot see over the railing.
    Judge McAvoy turns to his clerk. “Roger, why don't you run into my chambers and see if there's a stool for Miss Rachel.”
    It takes a few more minutes of adjustments. “Hi, Rachel. How are you?” I be gin.
    “I'm okay,” she says, in the smallest voice.
    “May I approach the witness, Your Honor?” Closer up, I won't be as intimid ating. I keep smiling so hard my jaw begins to hurt. “Can you tell me your whole name, Rachel?”
    “Rachel Elizabeth Marx.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Five.” She holds up the fingers to show me proof.
    “Did you have a party on your birthday?”
    “Yes.” Rachel hesitates, then adds, “A princess one.”
    “I bet it was fun. Did you get any presents?”
    “Uh-huh. I got the Swimming Barbie. She does the backstroke.”
    “Who do you live with, Rachel?”
    “My mommy,” she says, but her eyes slide toward the defense table.
    “Does anybody else live with you?”
    “Not anymore.” A whisper.
    “Did you used to live with someone else?”
    “Yes,” Rachel nods. “My daddy.”
    “Do you go to school,