When I first came to the bench, the state did not provide for this circumstance. Until the General Assembly rewrote the law, a man was allowed only one legal name change per lifetime. In taking a hyphen, he would use up his one change. I still remember the bemused smile on the face of an ex-wife when her cheating husband realized that her name was legally linked to his in perpetuity, and that if the new wife-in-waiting wanted to take his name, it would have to be the hyphenated name.
I’m fairly sure that he was one of those who pushed for the change in Section 1 of G.S. 50-12.
Phyllis Raynor had clerked for me that afternoon. After we finished with the Bledsoe-Jernigan papers, we waited around for another half hour in case anyone else showed up needing a judge’s signature.
“Y’all get many requests for name changes?” I asked her as we kicked back in our chairs.
Except in divorce cases, they are normally handled by the clerk of court’s office and it’s considerably more complicated. In addition to a hefty filing fee and filling out a two-page form, the petitioner has to submit a copy of his birth certificate, a valid photo ID, and a notarized criminal history record check for every county or state he’s lived in within the past ten years. Changing one’s name is not something to be entered into lightly.
“Several,” Phyllis said. “My first was right after I started working for Mr. Glover. He had a weird Polish name— like eight consonants and only one vowel—and he was tired of nobody being able to spell or pronounce it. These last few years we’ve had a run by young men who want to change their names for religious reasons. Mr. Glover tries to talk them out of it because so many have come back and wanted to take up their original names again and he can’t let them. And just this past spring, we had a young man who’d been adopted by his stepfather when he was a baby and he wanted to take back his birth name. Mrs. Brewer did the paperwork on it for him.”
I nodded. “Charlie Barefoot.”
“You know him?”
“Not really. Portland mentioned it to me when we were talking about his sister—his half sister, that is. She’s the girl who was killed in a car wreck last week.”
“Really? Too bad right here at Christmas.” She did not speak callously, merely as someone who had no personal connection. “What’s his legal standing right now? I mean, if both parents suddenly dropped dead without a will?”
“His mother and his stepfather?”
“But it’s not his stepfather, is it? Technically, I mean. Wasn’t he legally adopted? Changing your name doesn’t cancel out your adoption, does it?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “You’re right. And without a will, he would be legally entitled to everything a natural child would.”
“And now he’s the only child left,” said Phyllis as she began to gather up her files and close down the computer. “Are they rich?”
“Certainly comfortable, I think. The father’s a partner in Triple J Insurance.”
“Well, yes, then,” she said with a laugh. “I’d say that’s pretty darn comfortable.”
CHAPTER 19
—“The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding,” Agatha Christie
MAJOR DWIGHT BRYANT— MONDAY AFTERNOON, DECEMBER 22
As long as he was almost in the neighborhood, Dwight decided that he might as well swing past the house and make himself another ham sandwich to replace the one he’d left back in the office. Besides, even warmed-over breakfast coffee would taste better than the weak dishwater he could get at any Cotton Grove fast-food joint.
Two white trucks were parked by his back door when he got there and Bandit was out of his crate, wagging his docked tail happily from the top step. Inside, he found Reese and Annie Sue at the kitchen table with half-eaten sandwiches on paper towels in lieu of plates. The decimated ham sat on the counter with bread, mayo, and lettuce they had pulled from the refrigerator.
“Oh, hey, Uncle Dwight!” Annie Sue said brightly when Dwight walked in on them. “Want me to make you a sandwich?”
“You sure there’s enough left?” he asked. He noted that the coffeemaker was now empty, that the door of the microwave was ajar, and that two steaming mugs sat beside their paper plates.
“No problem,” said Reese. He jumped up and flourished a sharp knife while Annie Sue slathered mayonnaise on the bread. “In fact, I think I’ll have another one, too, if that’s okay.”
“Help yourself,” Dwight said, amused. He should have known that the labor for upgrading their circuit breakers wouldn’t come totally free and hoped Deborah didn’t have plans for the leftover ham because there clearly weren’t going to be any leftovers once Reese got through. He washed up at the kitchen sink and started a fresh pot of coffee.
“So how’s it going?” he asked them when they were all seated around the table and the smell of newly made coffee filled the kitchen.
“Fine,” Annie Sue said. “We decided to install another box to accommodate the new breakers and give you some extra space if you ever want to wire another room or add a shed or something out back.”
In retrospect, Dwight would realize that he should have been suspicious of her innocent-sounding remark, but it sounded logical, so he just said thanks and turned to Reese. “I hear you saw a big buck down in one of the back fields the other day?”
“I didn’t actually see him. Just his tracks. The dewlaps left such a deep mark, though, that I’m sure it was a buck. If I get him, I’ll bring y’all some of the meat.”
“So,” said Annie Sue with what he would later recall as studied casualness. “You working in the area today?”
