Ginny shook her head. “In this court, we don’t sit with our lawyers. In fact, unless they’re testifying, the parents don’t even have to show up. Sean says a lot of lawyers are happier if their clients stay home. It seems parents have a tendency to micromanage their cases. I’ve promised to be a model client: legs crossed demurely at the ankle, hands folded in my lap, mouth zipped.”
Sean’s table was close, and when he heard Ginny’s voice, he turned, winked at her, and gave Ed and me the thumbs-up sign. Obviously, he wasn’t bearing a grudge about being passed over for partner, and I had my own reasons for being relieved.
Jason Brodnitz’s lawyer, Margot Wright, was sitting at the table across from Sean. Even in her barrister’s robes, Margot was a man-magnet. She was a true blonde, with shoulder-length, softly curling hair, creamy skin, and a dust of freckles across a nose that a romance novelist would describe as saucy. She had made flame-red lipstick and nails her trademark, and that morning, she was, as always, riveting, but it gave me no pleasure to acknowledge her charms.
One night at a banquet for a retiring judge, Margot and I had had an encounter in the ladies room. She had been drunk. After she’d told me more than I cared to know about Zack’s romantic adventures before we met, she assured me that like every woman before me, I would be dumped.
Later, when she defended an old friend of mine, I came to respect Margot as a lawyer, but in my personal pantheon, she was still a question mark. Contemplating her history with my husband was not pleasant, so I turned back to Ginny.
“So what happens?” I said. “I don’t know much about custody trials.”
“Jason and I testify. Then it’s on to the girls’ teachers, whom I’ve never met; the principal of their school, whom I’ve also never met; the girls’ basketball coach, with whom I showered after a fundraiser for their school gym. Then the experts Jason and I hired to produce favourable assessments of our parenting skills testify. Then the court-appointed social worker reports on her talk with the girls. After hearing all that, the judge makes her decision.”
“Your daughters don’t have to testify,” Ed said, and his relief was palpable.
“No,” Ginny said. “We at least spared them that.” Her shoulders slumped, and for a beat, her mask of invulnerability slipped. Then the court clerk entered.
“All rise. Court is now in session. Madam Justice Susan Gorges presiding.” Madam Justice Gorges, a petite woman wearing the black and red robe of a Queen’s Bench judge, strode into the court.
“Do you know her?” Ginny whispered.
“No,” I said. “But Zack says she runs a tight ship.”
“Good,” Ginny said. “Because nobody wants this to drag on.”
Ginny was the first to testify. Not surprisingly, for a woman whose moves had been scrutinized since she was a seventeen-year-old bounding across the basketball court, she was a good witness. Head high, spine straight, she delivered her testimony clearly and factually. Sean phrased his questions about her work schedule in a way that allowed her to talk about the projects involving women and children that had been among her initiatives as minister of Canadian heritage and the status of women. She confronted the fact that the girls lived with their father head-on, explaining that she had given the twins the option of moving to Ottawa, but that they’d decided to stay in Regina and start high school with their friends. They had chosen a private school with an excellent reputation for academics and sports. Ginny had attended the school herself, so she had agreed. She said she came back to Regina as many weekends as she could manage, but cabinet business often kept her in Ottawa. Then she pointed out that Jason had become a stay-at-home father through necessity rather than choice. Business reverses had forced him to close his office and work from home. “Like many couples,” Ginny said, “our child-care decision was dictated by finances. I didn’t choose to stay away from my girls any more than Jason chose to stay home with them. It just worked out that way.”
Sean finished by asking Ginny how she would characterize her relationship with her daughters. Surprisingly, Ginny seemed taken aback at the question. “I’m not a milk-and-cookies mother, if that’s what you mean. But Em and Chloe are strong, independent girls. They can get their own milk and cookies.”
When Margo approached the witness box, she and Ginny eyed each other warily, taking each other’s measure. Successful and assured, they were, in every essential way, alike, but that didn’t keep Margot from going for the jugular.
“Ms. Monaghan, you say you’re not a milk-and-cookies mother. No one would dispute the fact that the work you do is important or that it’s time-consuming. That said, women in our generation are fortunate. We have options. We can be prime minister; we can be milk-and-cookie mothers.” Margot glanced at Madam Justice Gorges. “We can even be Queen’s Bench judges.” After Susan Gorges favoured her with what might have passed for a smile, Margot continued. “Ms. Monaghan, no one questions your right to be politically active, but you’re here today seeking custody of your daughters, so the court has a right to know how involved you are in your daughters’ lives.”
“They’re fourteen years old,” Ginny said. “They have lives of their own.”
Margot permitted herself a small smile. “Still, fourteen-year-olds aren’t allowed to live on their own.” She paused. “Of course, they don’t live alone, do they? They live with their father. My client has made a home for Emma and Chloe.”
“A home that I subsidize.” Ginny shifted her gaze to Jason Brodnitz. “My ex-husband has suffered some serious business reverses. I also pay for the girls’ school.”
Ed leaned towards me. “Did you know that?”
“No,” I whispered. “And judging from the fire in Margot’s eye, she didn’t know it either.”
Margot might have been taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “You wouldn’t dispute the fact that my client is the parental presence in the home.”
“Because he has the time,” Ginny said coldly. “And, Ms. Wright, I am present in my daughters’ lives: I talk to them every night.”
“From four thousand kilometres away.”
“If the need arises, I can be in Regina in five hours.”
“Did you come home when Em broke her arm?”
“No. It was a clean break.”
“And you were in Puerto Vallarta with a male friend.”
“Yes.”
“Did you come home last year when Chloe had her appendix out?”
“Yes.”
“On a direct flight from Ottawa?”
“No. I stopped in Toronto overnight.”
“Were you alone?”
“No. I spent the night with a friend.”
“A male friend?”
“No. Female.”
Margot shook her head. “girls’ night out, huh? How about when you’re in Regina? Are your daughters with you then?”
“Yes. They stay in the apartment with me.”
“And you’re there with them all night.”
“As a rule, yes.”
“I understand there was an incident when Em awoke in the middle of the night vomiting and you weren’t there.”
“Chloe called me on my cell, and I was home in twenty minutes.”
“Were you with a lover?”
Years in politics had taught Ginny how to sidestep landmines. “As I said, I was home in twenty minutes.”
Jason Brodnitz fared better in the witness box than his ex-wife had. Slender, physically graceful, grey hair cut very short, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the actor Richard Gere. Jason might have suffered business reverses, but the lightweight, single-breasted suit he was wearing hadn’t come off the rack, and he moved to the witness box with the assurance of a man who expected to do well.
I wasn’t an expert, but it seemed to me Margot had done a better job of preparing her client than Sean had. She made no attempt to present Jason as anything other than what he was. She dealt with the question of his
