Chapter 6: The Name on the Old Photograph
Monday morning arrived with a pale blue sky and sunlight spilling across Emily's kitchen floor.
Her graduation gown hung over the back of a chair. Her diploma rested on the table beside a mug of untouched coffee, and three documents lay spread before her.
The photograph.
The court notice.
The scholarship coordinator's card.
Emily had barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father's face in the faded photograph. She remembered almost nothing about him beyond fragments: a deep laugh, the smell of motor oil, and a hand lifting her onto his shoulders when she was very small.
Then came the silence.
Her mother's explanations had changed over the years.
When Emily was little, her mother said Daniel was working far away.
Later, she said he had made choices that hurt them.
By the time Emily was ten, her mother stopped mentioning him entirely.
After her mother died, Emily learned to stop asking questions.
Questions didn't fill the refrigerator.
Questions didn't pay the electric bill.
And questions certainly didn't make anyone come back.
At eight-thirty, she dialed the student support office.
A woman answered after three rings.
“Student and Family Services. This is Ms. Reynolds speaking. How may I help you?””
Emily straightened in her chair.
“Hi. My name is Emily Carter. I graduated from Westbrook High School on Friday, and I was told I need to resolve an old guardianship record for my scholarship.””
“Of course, Emily. Do you have your student identification number?””
Emily read it aloud.
The woman typed for several seconds.
“All right. I can see the scholarship referral. The record appears to reference an older family court case.””
“Can you tell me what it says?””
“I can explain the process, but I can't disclose restricted court information without verifying your identity and determining what records you're legally entitled to access.””
Emily closed her eyes briefly.
“Okay. What do I need to do?””
“First, we'll need a copy of your birth certificate and the court notice you mentioned. Then we can request the archived case file through the appropriate office.””
“How long does that take?””
“It depends on the archive. Sometimes a few business days, sometimes longer.””
Emily looked at the scholarship deadline.
“I'm supposed to resolve this by Friday.””
“I understand. I'll flag the request as time-sensitive, but I can't guarantee the archive will respond before then.””
Emily swallowed.
“Thank you for trying.””
After the call, she sat motionless at the table.
Then she took out the card Jace had given her.
She stared at the number for several seconds before sending him a text.
*Emily:* I called the district. They need the old court file, but it might take too long.
His reply came less than a minute later.
*Jace:* Did they tell you where the file is held?
*Emily:* County family court archives.
*Jace:* Okay. Don't panic. I'll meet you at the public records office after lunch if you want company.
Emily hesitated before typing.
*Emily:* You don't have to keep helping me.
The response arrived almost immediately.
*Jace:* I know. See you at one?
She smiled faintly.
*Emily:* Okay.
At one o'clock, Jace was waiting outside the county records building, wearing jeans, boots, and his familiar leather vest.
He held two takeaway coffees.
Emily approached, carrying a folder beneath her arm.
“You remembered.””
Jace handed her a cup.
“You told me yesterday you like coffee with too much cream and enough sugar to qualify as dessert.””
She laughed.
“I did not say that.””
“You absolutely did.””
“Maybe I said a little cream.””
“That's how it starts.””
They entered the building together.
Inside, the public records office smelled of paper, floor cleaner, and old air-conditioning. Fluorescent lights illuminated rows of chairs and a long counter behind which two clerks sorted documents.
A digital display showed the current service number.
Jace glanced around.
“Looks cheerful.””
Emily gave him a sideways look.
“You don't have to pretend you like being here.””
“I don't. But I like being useful.””
They took a number and sat down.
While they waited, Emily opened her folder.
“I found something else last night.””
Jace turned toward her.
“What?””
She handed him the old court notice.
He read it carefully.
“Temporary guardianship petition. Withdrawn by petitioner.””
“Does that mean my father tried to become my guardian?””
“Possibly. Or it could mean someone filed on his behalf. We'd need the full case file to know.””
Emily stared at the paper.
“What if he tried to come back and my mother stopped him?””
Jace didn't answer too quickly.
“That's one possibility.””
“What if he never tried at all, and someone just put his name on the paperwork?””
“That's another.””
She pressed her lips together.
“I hate not knowing.””
Jace folded the notice and handed it back.
“Then we're here to find out what we can.””
Their number appeared on the display.
Emily rose immediately.
At the counter, a clerk with silver-framed glasses asked for her identification and documents.
“My name is Emily Carter,” Emily explained.
“I'm trying to locate an archived family court file connected to a guardianship petition filed after my mother's death.””
The clerk examined the notice.
“Do you know the year?””
Emily gave the approximate date.
The clerk typed into her computer, then frowned.
“I'm seeing a case with a matching surname, but the archive record is incomplete.””
Emily's heart sank.
“Incomplete how?””
“The case number was transferred to an older paper archive. We need to retrieve the physical file before we can confirm its contents.””
“Can you request it?””
“Yes. I'll submit the request today.””
Emily gripped the edge of the counter.
“Is there any way to expedite it?””
The clerk looked at her face, then at the scholarship paperwork.
“I can mark it urgent and explain that it's connected to a financial aid deadline. I can't promise when the file will arrive.””
Emily nodded.
“Please do.””
The clerk handed her a receipt.
“Keep this number. You can use it to check the status.””
Outside the building, Emily stared at the receipt.
“Another waiting list.””
Jace stood beside her, hands tucked into his pockets.
“Another step.””
She looked at him.
“Do you ever get tired of being positive?””
“I'm not positive. I'm stubborn.””
That made her smile.
He pointed toward a bench beneath a tree.
“Sit for a minute.””
They sat in the warm afternoon light while cars passed along the street.
Emily watched a father walk by carrying a little boy on his shoulders.
The child laughed and patted his father's head.
She looked away.
“Can I ask you something?””
“Anything.””
“Why did you become a biker?””
Jace leaned back against the bench.
“That's a long story.””
“We have time.””
He studied the passing traffic.
“When I was younger, I thought being strong meant never needing anybody. I kept people at a distance. Made decisions without asking for help. Sometimes I hurt people because I was too proud to admit I was wrong.””
Emily listened quietly.
“Then I got older,” he continued.
“Lost a few people. Made a few mistakes. Eventually, I figured out that strength isn't about doing everything alone. It's about knowing when to stand beside somebody.””
He looked at her.
“That's why our club does community work. We can't fix everything. But we can make sure people don't have to face everything alone.””
Emily looked down at her hands.
“I think my mom tried to teach me that.””
“What happened?””
“She got sick when I was eleven. We didn't have much money, and she kept working longer than she should have. She hated asking people for help.””
Jace listened without interrupting.
“She told me not to worry,” Emily continued.
“She said we'd figure it out. And we did, until we couldn't anymore.””
Her voice grew quieter.
“After she died, I promised myself I would never need anybody.””
Jace nodded slowly.
“That's a hard promise to keep.””
“I know.””
“And you don't have to keep it.””
Emily looked at him.
For a moment, she thought about the bikers standing and cheering at her graduation. The card in her pocket. The photograph beside her diploma.
Then she nodded.
“I'll try.””
Jace stood.
“That's all anybody can ask.””
Before they left, Emily checked the scholarship office's email on her phone.
A new message had arrived.
She opened it.
The hardship grant review had been placed on hold pending verification of the guardianship record. If the documentation wasn't resolved by Friday, the grant would be deferred to the next review period.
Emily stared at the screen.
“Jace?””
He leaned closer.
“What is it?””
She showed him the message.
His jaw tightened.
“That's not the answer we wanted.””
Emily let out a shaky breath.
“No.””
She put the phone away.
“I guess I'll have to figure out how to cover the extra costs myself.””
Jace shook his head.
“You'll figure out the next step. That's different.””
She looked at him, then nodded.
They walked toward the parking lot.
Halfway there, Emily's phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.
She nearly ignored it.
Then she remembered the records office had said they would call if they found anything.
“Hello?””
“Is this Emily Carter?”” a man's voice asked.
“Yes.””
“My name is Thomas Walker. I'm calling from the county family court archives regarding your request.””
Emily stopped walking.
“Did you find the file?””
“We located a box containing the original case documents. There's a petition, several correspondence records, and a sealed attachment that requires additional authorization before we can release it.””
Emily's fingers tightened around the phone.
“What does the petition say?””
“I can't discuss the full contents until we've verified your eligibility to receive the record.””
“Can you tell me who filed it?””
There was a brief pause.
“The petition was submitted under your father's name, Daniel Carter.””
Emily looked at Jace.
He had gone still.
The man continued.
“But there's something unusual about the file.””
Emily's throat tightened.
“What?””
“The petition was filed several months after your mother's death. However, the signature on the withdrawal form doesn't appear to match the signature on the original petition.””
Emily stopped breathing.
Jace stepped closer, his expression suddenly serious.
The archivist continued.
“We'll need to compare the original documents before making any conclusions. But if you're available tomorrow morning, I'd recommend coming in person.””
Emily barely managed to speak.
“Why?””
Another pause.
“Because the person who withdrew the petition may not have been your father.””
The call ended.
Emily stood beneath the bright afternoon sky, the phone pressed against her ear.
For sixteen years, she had believed her father had abandoned her.
Now a government archive had revealed that someone might have signed his name to make sure he stayed gone.
She looked at Jace.
“What if my father didn't leave me the way I thought he did?””
Jace didn't pretend to know the answer.
He simply placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
“Then tomorrow, we find out who did.””
Emily looked down at the court receipt in her other hand.
For the first time, she wasn't afraid of learning the truth.
May you like
She was afraid of what the truth might take away from everything she had believed about her life.
And somewhere inside that old courthouse, a sealed document was waiting to be opened.
