The waiting room inside the courthouse was alive with the unique energy of folks going about their business on a Tuesday morning. Seated between Max and his mother, Grace strobed the fabric of her cream-coloured dress while spotting a constant flow of attorneys, defendants and citizens as they made their way through the town's administrative labyrinth.
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" For the third time, Max's father inquired, comparing his watch to the timetable that Lyla had printed and laminated for every member of the family.
According to Lyla's own laminated calendar, "Courtroom 3B, Judge Martinez, ten-thirty appointment," she verified. "We're exactly where we need to be."
Grace met Max's sight and saw a reflection of her own amusement and apprehension. They had envisioned
