As Andre Marshall’s assigned lawyer, Lee was expected to have some knowledge of him - his whereabouts, his current place of employment, a phone number that could be used to contact him. But all Lee had was an email address, provided by his son, Dwight; his social worker had said Dwight was uncertain if his father checked it at all, but he did know that Andre would occasionally use a computer at the library located around the corner from their apartment.
Lee eventually tracked down Andre at that library, sitting alone at a table and reading a paperback; he agreed to meet with Lee when she offered to buy him a coffee and a sandwich from the deli across the street. Taciturn and rude, Andre had thought Lee was assigned to him because of his latest parole violation and responded tersely to her attempts at conversation, but when he realized she was there to discuss his son, he stopped speaking entirely. And though she explained that Dwight had been picked up late one night at a seedy bar by a plainclothes detective, that he’d been removed from Andre’s custody and placed in a foster home, and that he could potentially be adopted, Andre merely ate his sandwich and drank his coffee. He took the list of court dates from Lee, but when she asked if he was willing to accept the court’s standard family services, he rose from the table and left the deli, sandwich tray and coffee cup left behind.
Lee watched him throw a crumpled piece of paper into the trash as he walked out the door. She watched as he ran across the street against the light. She watched as long as she was able to keep him in her line of sight, then she quietly cleaned their table and returned to her office.
Dwight Marshall never once asked Lee about Andre’s whereabouts, but it hadn’t been difficult to see his longing for his father. So as much as Lee believed he was safer with his foster parents, who had expressed their desire to adopt him after spending only a month as his guardians, Lee made as much effort as possible to haul Andre to at least one court hearing, or one family counseling session with his son. Lee sent him a reminder email the day before each of Dwight’s hearings, and periodically sent requests for meetings to discuss the ramifications of his absences. During the weeks of his basketball tournaments, Lee turned up at the apartment at odd hours, to knock on his door and to check with his neighbors; she even dropped by the library with his photo, to see if any of the staff had seen him using a computer.
But she never received any read receipts for the emails she sent, she never surprised him at his apartment, and though the library staff remembered Andre well (“quiet, would come in once a week to check his email, liked to read young adult fiction”), they hadn’t seen him in weeks.
So it was with no great effort that she wrote her final email to Andre Marshall. Over the course of the year, her one-sided correspondence had become increasingly formulaic and routine. She just could not find the energy to try any longer.
Twelve months. An entire year. An entire year spent futilely hoping that she would receive a response or, better yet, see Andre in court. Futile indeed.
Twelve months. An entire year. An entire year spent futilely hoping that she would receive a response or, better yet, see Andre in court. Futile indeed.
