The line rang twice.
“Civil division,” a woman answered, voice brisk.
“I have a rid of possession for an eviction,” I said calmly. “I was never served. I need to know how to request an emergency stay and set aside a default.”
There was a pause, keys clicking, the kind of pause that meant she’d pulled the case number and was deciding how much mercy the system was willing to offer at 6 in the morning.
What’s the case number? She asked.
I read it off the page. She typed again, I longer this time. Then her voice changed just slightly less scripted.
Ma’am, she said, “This is an unlawful detainer filed by Mark and Diane Ward. Default judgment entered last week.”
“I was never served.”
I repeated the service address listed as Maple Terrace.
That’s not my address.
Another pause. More keys.
I see the return, she said carefully. It says substitute service accepted by an adult female occupant.
That would be my mother, I said. And my voice stayed even because if I let myself feel the rage, I’d lose time.
What do I do right now?
You need to file an emergency motion to stay enforcement, she said. And a motion to vacate the default.
How fast can that be heard? I asked.
She hesitated. Depends on the judge’s calendar.
It has to be heard today, I said. No, the deputy says he has to clear the house by noon.
The clerk exhaled quietly like she didn’t like what she was about to say, but she was going to say it anyway.
Come to the courthouse as soon as we open, she said. Bring identification and proof of your address. Bring any evidence you were not served. And if you have proof you own the property, bring that too.
I do, I said.
Okay, she replied. And ma’am, don’t delay. If the RIT is executed, it becomes harder.
Harder meant the kind of harder that destroys people financially and then calls it procedure.
I ended the call, grabbed the pouch, and walked back to my front door.
Deputy Romero was still on my porch, waiting with the patience of a man who didn’t enjoy his job. My parents were still across the street, unmoving.
I opened the door again with the chain on.
I’m going to the courthouse, I told the deputy. I’m filing an emergency stay.
He nodded once. That’s what you need to do.
My mother called out, sweetest poison.
You can file whatever you want. It’s already done.
Deputy Romero’s jaw tightened at her tone, but he didn’t respond. He just looked at me.
Ma’am, he said lower. I’m not allowed to give legal advice, but I can tell you this. If you get assigned stay order, you call our civil unit immediately. They’ll instruct me not to execute.
I understand, I said. Can you give me the civil unit number?
He hesitated, then wrote it on the corner of a card and slid it toward the crack in the door.
My father finally spoke again, louder this time.
Pack your things. Don’t make this ugly.
I met his gaze across the street and kept my voice quiet.
You made it ugly when you lied to a judge,” I said.
My mother’s face tightened, but she smiled anyway, like she thought my words didn’t matter anymore.
I closed the door without giving them another line. Then I left through the back door, walked around the fence, and got into my car without having to pass them like they owned the sidewalk.
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