CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
As soon as the bus picked Josh and Sasha up for day camp on Monday morning, Chloe was in her car, on her way to the Cambridge District Court in Medford, hoping to convince a judge to issue a restraining order against Matt.
The police had suggested it, and Paige had been adamant she follow through. Once Chloe had informed her about the events of Saturday night— the threatening phone calls, the certainty that someone had been watching the house—“Well, who other than Matt could it have been?” Paige had argued—combined with the knowledge that Matt had a gun—good God, he’d showed it to their children, allowed them to hold it!—well, what choice had he left her?
The city of Medford was located a little over three miles northwest of downtown Boston on the Mystic River in Middlesex County. It had a population of close to sixty thousand people and was home to Tufts University. The courthouse itself, described as a “sad place” in a not-too-flattering online review, was a two-story, sprawling white building on Mystic Valley Parkway, with limited parking and a staff that, again according to multiple online reviews, was neither particularly friendly nor helpful. Still, it had one thing going for it that the Middlesex District Court—located a brisk five-minute walk from Chloe’s house—did not, and that was distance. There was less chance of her running into anyone she knew in Medford.
The reviews were certainly right about the limited parking, Chloe found out quickly enough. It took her longer to find a parking spot than the drive to Medford itself. She ended up leaving her car several long blocks away and then running through the persistent morning drizzle in open-toed pumps that were neither comfortable nor waterproof. She’d left the house in such a hurry she’d forgotten her umbrella, so by the time she reached the building’s front entrance, the floral-print silk dress she’d selected, hoping to make a good impression on the judge, was spotted with rain, her feet were soaking wet, and her hair clung tightly to her head like layers of damp feathers.So much for making a good impression,she thought, entering the main lobby and shaking the rain from her shoulders like a wet dog.More like a drowned rat,she thought, catching her woeful reflection in a nearby pane of glass.
“My God,” she whispered, her eyes taking in the unexpectedly high number of people in the crowded waiting area, lining up to have their belongings go through the X-ray machines. What had she expected? That she would be the only person in need of the court’s services? But this many? At barely nine o’clock? What were all these people doing here?
Please don’t let there be anyone here I know,she prayed, getting in line behind an elderly black woman and a pink-haired teenage girl with a small silver hoop between the nostrils of her upturned nose.
“What’s the holdup?” the pink-haired girl whined to no one in particular. “How long can it take to put your things through an X-ray machine?”
The elderly black woman smiled. “You might as well get used to it, hon. Nobody moves too fast around here.”
“Great.” The girl tugged at the side of her spiky pink hair and twisted her skinny torso toward Chloe. She was wearing a cropped white T-shirt that exposed her belly button, her belly button sporting a bigger variation of the hoop that pierced her nose. “This is such bullshit,” she said, extricating a piece of paper from the back pocket of her low-rise jeans and using it to scratch the side of her cheek. “I shouldn’t even be here. I got a ticket because this Nazi cop claims I went through a stop sign, which is total bullshit.”
“You didn’t go through the stop sign?” Chloe asked, relieved for the distraction the girl provided.
“I didn’t evenseethe stupid thing. There was this big tree right in front of it. It’s not my fault the city’s too cheap to trim its stupid branches. Anyway,” she said, continuing her indignant rant, “that’s not even the problem.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. I tried explaining all this to the cop, that it was the city’s responsibility to trim the stupid tree so people could see the stupid stop sign, and there was no way I could afford a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar ticket, and he said he sympathized but the ticket was already written and there was nothing he could do. He said that people were being caught by that stop sign all the time and I could fight it if I wanted. I asked him, how do I do that? And he said to wait for a second summons. But I swear I never got one. And then I get a notice telling me I’ve been fined an additional hundred dollars, and I’m gonna lose my license if I don’t pay up. So that’s why I’m here. To talk to somebody who can help me. Because it’s not fair. None of this is my fault.”
Chloe smiled. A girl with spiky pink hair and piercings through her nose and navel expected life to be fair. Somehow she found that both sweet and reassuring. “Well, I wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” the girl said. “Why areyouhere?”
The smile faded from Chloe’s face as she tried to think of a suitable response.
“We’re moving,” the woman in front of the pink-haired girl informed them.
“Thank God.” The girl turned away from Chloe, getting her large, fringed handbag ready for the X-ray machine. “Have fun,” she called as she waved from the other side, disappearing down the long hall.
“Excuse me,” Chloe said to a security guard, “but where do I go for—”
“File clerk. Upstairs,” the guard told her with a jerk of his thumb.
Chloe pushed her body toward the stairs, thinking it wasn’t too late to turn around and forget the whole thing. Except itwastoo late. Matt had a gun.
She had to wait another ten minutes in line at the file clerk’s desk. The file clerk was a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and deep bags under watery gray eyes that said she was already exhausted and the day had barely begun. “Yes?” she said as Chloe approached.
“I need a restraining order,” Chloe whispered.
“Sorry. Can’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”
Chloe lowered her head and glanced surreptitiously from side to side, leaning against the high desk and hoping no one in line behind her could hear. “I need a restraining order.”
“Family Court,” the file clerk announced loudly. “Down the hall to your left.”
Chloe stepped away from the counter, not lifting her gaze from the floor, sure that all eyes were following her down the hall.Still not too late to turn around and go home,she was thinking.
“Can I help you?” another middle-aged woman asked when she reached the appropriate room. The woman had dark skin, dark eyes, and dark, curly hair, all of which emphasized the white of her teeth when she smiled. Chloe was grateful for the smile. It almost made up for the stale smell of cheap perfume and perspiration pulsating from the beige walls.
“I need to take out a restraining order.”