A Work of Art by Melody Maysonet

the twenty thousand dollars I had in my account. I needed to start working right away.
    Just typing the words sex crimes attorneys into the browser felt sleazy, but at least my dad wasn’t alone. Going by the number of attorneys who specialized in sex crimes, I thought there must be a sexual predator lurking around every corner. I liked how all the lawyers acted like getting arrested for rape or child pornography could happen to anyone. Maybe it could.
    All the attorneys’ webpages said the same thing. People got frantic when it came to child pornography charges. It didn’t matter if the charges were bogus. The tiniest suspicion could trigger a witch hunt. And the longer you waited to hire a specialized lawyer, the greater your chance of being burned at the stake.
    I felt time slipping away. A full day had passed since Dad’s arrest. Everything I read said the other side was already hard at work, building a case against him.
    I picked up my phone to call the first lawyer on my list. Then I noticed how my room had grown dark. No lawyer would be in the office on a Friday night. I’d have to wait. I turned off the light and tried to sleep.
    Before all this happened, I used to lie in bed and think about art school and what it would be like to live in Paris. But that night, all I could think about was my dad in his jail cell. Sitting on a bare cot, his head in his hands. Pacing his cage, trying to figure out what had happened. Closing his eyes in that empty darkness, hoping to sleep, waiting for someone to rescue him.
    â€¢ • •
    The next morning, I stayed in bed and let myself pretend it was all a dream—that my dad had never gotten arrested, that I was still going to the Paris Art Institute. I let myself imagine the scenario I’d played over and over in my head, before any of this happened. Me sitting up late in my apartment, talking with my classmates about colors and technique, about professors and boys. Only now the imagining wasn’t fun anymore. Pretending hurt too much. And I didn’t have time for that anyway. I had to find my dad a lawyer.
    I dragged myself out of bed and started calling the lawyers on my list, but none of them picked up. One of them had a voice-mail message that said to call back Monday during regular office hours. That’s when I figured out lawyers don’t work on Saturday.
    I closed my eyes, frustrated. Already it had been two days since Dad’s arrest. If I waited till Monday, the lawyer going against Dad would have a four-day head start.
    Time to try something else. I pulled the computer onto my lap and typed, 24-7 sex crime attorneys, Decatur, Illinois.
    Most of the links were junk, but one stood out. When I clicked on it, the words Do Not Panic and Do Not Lose Hope! marched across the top of the page. I kept reading.
    If you have been accused of a sex crime, you are no doubt wondering how anyone could believe such outrageous allegations. You probably feel frustrated that the police are not being objective when looking at the so-called evidence. You may question why the authorities seem intent on convicting you without a full investigation. Undoubtedly, you feel frightened, discouraged, and alone.
    That sounded exactly like what my dad was going through. When I scrolled down, I saw they offered free consultations. Their office was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
    I swept up my phone and punched in the number. A woman answered after the first ring.
    â€œDavid A. Kaufmann and Associates. This is Linda. How may I help you?”
    â€œUm, hi. I’m looking for a lawyer. For my dad, not me.”
    â€œWhat’s he charged with, honey?”
    â€œI guess it would be . . .” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Pornography.” I couldn’t bring myself to say child pornography.
    â€œWell, you called the right place.”
    I felt my shoulders relax a little. Someone was going to help me. Someone was going to