She turned and looked at my father.
“Dad?” I murmured.
He didn’t answer.
Across the room, Brian had gone pale.
Ezoic
He wasn’t looking at the table anymore. He was looking at my father. And his face was the color of skim milk.
Ezoic
My father raised his hand slightly. The way you’d raise it in a classroom.
“Your Honor?”
The judge looked up, surprised. In eight months of hearings, my father had never said one word in that courtroom. I don’t think she knew what his voice sounded like.
“Yes?”
“If the court permits,” Dad said, “I’d like to address something directly.”
Mr. Pruitt was on his feet in a second.
“Your Honor, I object. This man is not a party to these proceedings. He’s not on the witness list. He—”
The judge lifted one hand. Pruitt stopped talking.
“I’ll determine whether it’s relevant,” she said.
