Blake
Blake
As I walk into the house four days later, the house feels almost dead. I walk by the room that the kids slept in, and all of a sudden, I think of changing it to maybe add a television, so the girls can watch it in here if they want.
The last four days have been tough, and Samantha is on edge again. Being at home, she is going back into her shell. Just yesterday, she got groceries from Amazon so she wouldn’t have to see the delivery guy for fear that they would tell her in-laws. We speak every single night, and they even FaceTime me right before dinner.
I dump my bag on the bed, looking over at Frankie’s picture. I kick off my shoes when my phone rings. “Hey, Dad,” I say, answering right away.
“Hey, son, are you still on duty?” he asks me, and I sit on the bed.
“No, just got home,” I tell him. “I’m going to sleep for a bit. What’s up?”
“Can you come over for dinner tonight? We need to talk,” he says, and I know something is wrong.
“What’s the matter?” I say right away. “What happened?”
“Nothing yet, but I think we need to talk about some things,” he says, and I nod even though he can’t see me.
“Okay, I’ll be over for dinner,” I tell him.
The next person I call is Samantha, who answers after one ring. “Hey, you,” she says softly.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“I’m painting my bedroom today.”
“Really? What color?” I ask her, wondering what else she googled.
“Earthy brown,” she says, laughing. “According to the internet,” she starts, “it’s the most relaxing color to have in the bedroom.”
“Is that so?” I say, and she laughs again.
“Go to sleep,” she says, “and call me later.” After she hangs up, I grab the pillow she used when she slept in my bed, and her smell helps me fall asleep.
When I pull up to my parents’ house, the front door is unlocked. “I’m here,” I say loudly, walking into the kitchen while my mother pulls out a pot roast. “That smells so good,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “Where is Dad?”
“He’s coming,” she says, and he walks into the kitchen right then. I see him look at me and then my mother. I wait for us to sit before I ask the loaded question.
“What’s the matter?”
He looks at my mother and then at me. “The Schneiders are going to be putting Samantha’s house up for sale after the trial.”
“What?” I say, my heart speeding up.
“I got a call from the lawyer this morning; it seems they own the house. Eric got it as a wedding gift. But they are going to gift it to their other son.”
“They can’t just do that?” I say, pushing away from the table, not even hungry anymore. “What about the girls?”
“They feel they’ll get custody of them, so they don’t want Samantha staying in their house. So …”
“Does she know?” I ask, and my father nods his head. “I told her this afternoon.”
“What did she say?” I ask him, worried now how she must be doing.
“She actually laughed and said that she would give them whatever they wanted as long as she got the girls.” He looks down and then up again. “She wants me to sue them for payment.” My eyebrows pull together. “She figures she’s maintaining the house, like a janitor, so she wants back pay. Oh, and money for her paint.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Well, I can’t say she’s cowering in the corner.”
“Son,” he says softly, “they have a shit load of witnesses.” He looks at my mother. “They have many willing to sit on the stand and tell everyone she tricked him into marriage, getting pregnant without his consent.”
“Oh, please”—I roll my eyes—“how can she force him to make her pregnant?”
“I know, I know.” He holds up his hand. “But she has two people on her list.”
“Well, then we gotta make fucking sure that we bury Eric even deeper than they have him.”
“Son”—he looks at me—“you know they are going to try to paint you into a corner.” He looks down and then up. “Especially now.”
“Especially now what?” I ask.
“Son, she spent the weekend at your house.”
“I’m her friend,” I tell him, and my mother laughs, rolling her eyes.
“So she slept where?”
“In the spare bedroom,” I tell them, and I’m not lying.
“Alone?” she asks, and I close my mouth. “Exactly.”
“I don’t think we should put you on the stand,” he tells me. “We can put your mother instead.”
“There is no way Samantha is going to be okay with that,” I tell them.
“You’re right,” my father said. “She shot it down and took your name out of it also.”
“What?” I whisper, looking at him.
“She said there was no way you were going to be painted as the bad guy; she didn’t give a shit,” he said. “Her words, not mine. She has the letter Eric left plus the letters from the teachers. I think her case is strong.”
“Dad, she can’t lose those girls,” I tell him; my heart hurts with even the possibility that it might happen.
“The social worker is going to talk to Lizzie tomorrow, and then Daisy the day after,” he tells me. “The court date is scheduled for next Friday,” he says. “I take it you’re coming?”
“Yeah,” I say and then look at them. “I think I’m going to go.” I look at my mother who only nods her head.
“Drive safely.”
“Son, these people. I wouldn’t put it past them to have someone following her and tracking her.”
My head snaps up. “It’s not going to look good in court if you spend the night.”
I run my hands through my hair. “Fuck.” I didn’t even think of that. “One week,” he tells me, “just one more week.”
“Dad, I swear to God …” I look down, tears coming to my eyes. “If they hurt her …”
“I know, son,” he says, and my mother sniffles, so he covers her hand with his. “I know.”
I sit and eat, the food sitting like lead in my stomach. I FaceTime her as soon as I get home, and she must see it on my face. “What’s the matter?” she asks.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” I ask her. “Something perhaps you should have maybe called me about?” I see her try to hide a smile and then bite her lower lip. “Yeah,” I say.
“So,” she starts, and I see that she is in bed, “apparently, my in-laws want me out of their house.” She rolls her eyes. “Which I’m more than happy to do.”
“But?” I say, and she continues.
“I told the kids,” she says, “I’m not keeping anything from them when it has to do with them. Daisy cried because she thought that they would keep her room. Lizzie, well, she was pissed and told me to tell them to take the house because she wants to move anyway.”
“Sounds like her mother,” I say, smiling now.
“Yeah, so we sat down and talked about moving,” she says, and I dread she’s going to say she’s moving farther away, but I don’t give a shit because it’s not keeping me away from her. “Yeah, and I also took your name off my list for court.”
“I heard,” I tell her, almost snapping.
“There is no fucking way I’m going to let them paint you as a bad guy. There is no fucking way they get to touch the only pure thing I’ve ever had in my life,” she says. “No fucking way. I’m a good mom. Actually, I’m a great mom, and I have faith the court will see it.”
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, looking at her. “So fucking beautiful.” She looks down and then up again as I stare into her brown eyes, eyes that were dead, eyes that were broken, eyes that somehow have mended, the cracks gone, shining back to life. “I wanted to come to you tonight, but my father said maybe you’re being watched.”
“I know. He told me that too,” she says. “I almost don’t
care, but it’s only one week.”
“I’m still coming over tomorrow,” I tell her, and she smiles.
“Okay,” she says, yawning. “I miss you.” We spend the rest of the night talking about her next painting spree.
I set my alarm for four and make my way to her house. I want to see the kids before they leave for school. So I pull up to the house at seven o’clock sharp, carrying a box of doughnuts in one hand and coffee in the other. I ring the doorbell and hear footsteps coming to the door. Samantha opens it just a little bit and then sees me. Her face lights up. “Oh my goodness,” she says, reaching out and dragging me inside. Closing the door and grabbing the box of doughnuts and coffee, she places them on the floor and then jumps into my arms. I grab her around her waist. “I missed you,” she says softly and then kisses my lips. “The girls are just getting up.”
“I brought doughnuts,” I tell her, “and coffee.”
“Girls,” she yells, getting out of my arms, “look who brought doughnuts.” The girls walk to the staircase, rubbing sleep out of their eyes.
Daisy waves with one hand. “Hi, Blake, it’s early,” she informs me.
“It is, sweet girl, but it’s time to get up for school anyway,” I tell her, and she comes down the stairs holding on to the railing. I pick her up, kissing her cheek, then put her down. Lizzie is next. “Hey, you,” I say, bending down kissing her cheek, when she side hugs me and walks to the kitchen. I sit at the table while Samantha gets the girls ready. They both yell goodbye when they walk out. I get up and start putting the dishes in the dishwasher while I wait for Samantha to come back. When I hear the door close, I know she’s back.
“I so can get used to this,” she says, walking into the kitchen and wrapping her arms around my waist.
“The doughnuts or the coffee?” I joke with her.
“Definitely the doughnuts.” She laughs into my back. I turn the water off, grabbing a towel and drying my hands. “I haven’t seen you in four days,” she says when I turn in her hands, and her arms go around my neck this time. “You know what that means, right?” she asks me with a twinkle in her eye.
“No,” I tell her, reaching around her waist to hug her. “What does that mean?” One hand comes up to move the hair off her shoulder to her back.
“You owe me four days of kisses,” she says, getting on her tippy toes. “That’s a lot of kissing,” she says.
“I think I’m up for the job.” I bend to kiss her, my tongue sliding against hers while I pick her up. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I carry her upstairs where we spend the day making up for the four days I was without her.
Samantha
Samantha
All week, my stomach was in knots; from the minute the social worker spoke to the girls, my head has been all over the place.
Lizzie told me she asked simple questions like who she did her homework with? Did I yell at them? Did I ever hit them? Who dressed her? I’m sure she asked Daisy the same questions, but she didn’t remember.
I hug the girls extra hard the morning of the trial. I tried to keep their routine and tried not to let my nerves show, but I didn’t take them for granted—every hug lasted longer, every kiss lasted longer.
Placing my coffee cup on my dresser, I go to my closet and pull out my black pencil skirt with the long-sleeved white chiffon shirt, my heart pounding the whole time I get dressed. My stomach turns, flips, and flops, my armpits start sweating. My shirt criss crosses in the front, and my black pumps complete the outfit. I walk downstairs just as the doorbell rings. I open it up and find Blake in a suit. If he looked good in jeans, he pushes the bar in a suit. His blue suit fits him perfectly, and he pairs it with a baby blue shirt, no tie. The top couple of buttons are unbuttoned, and my hand goes to the inside of his shirt, my finger sliding in. “Look at you all dapper,” I tell him as he looks me up and down.
“You look like a sex kitten,” he says, and I back up.
“Should I change?” I ask him, but his father comes in followed by his mother. “Is this okay?” I ask them about the outfit. His father just nods his head, and his mother smiles at me.
“You look wonderful,” she says, and I can see she is nervous also.
“What time is court?” I ask them. Looking at my watch, I see it’s almost eight.
“We need to be there by nine thirty,” Henry says, and I breathe out and shake my hands.
“It’s going to be fine,” Blake tells me, grabbing my one hand.
“I hate them,” I say, and everyone looks at me. “I hate them for pushing me like this. I hate them for putting this fear in me. I hate them for not supporting them and making the girls go through this. I just fucking hate them,” I finally say. “How long do these things last?”
Henry, who is wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie, puts his hands in his pockets. “It can be just today, or it can go on for weeks. It really depends on the judge.”
“I won’t survive if it’s longer than a week,” I tell them and look down, a tear escaping.
“We get to make our argument first,” Henry says. “So you will take the stand today.” He looks at me as I nod my head. “They are going to come at you hard,” he says. “They will try to paint you in a really bad light.” He puts his head down. “And I have no doubt that they will bring up Blake.”
“I don’t care,” I tell them. “I don’t care; we did nothing wrong,” I say, holding Blake’s hand. “Nothing. Blake has the answers to the questions I had, and that is the truth.”
“I know,” his father says. I offer them something to drink, but they all decline. Everyone’s on pins and needles.
“Excuse me,” I say, walking upstairs and closing the door. Putting my hands on my knees, I bend over, breathing heavily. “Oh my God, oh my God.” The tears run down my face, and I think I’m going to be sick. A knock on the door startles me.
“Baby.” I hear Blake whisper softly. “Let me in.”
I open the door, and he takes one look at me. “One last fight,” he tells me.
“It’s the biggest fight of my life,” I reply, and he nods his head. “I’m leaving after this,” I tell him. “The girls and I decided we are moving.”
“What?” he whispers, and I see his face searching mine.
“Yes,” I tell him. “They can have the house; they can have everything in the house. I want nothing.”
“Where?” he asks me, and I didn’t want to tell him like this. The girls wanted to be here when I told him.
“The girls and I were talking, and we really like this little town that we visited. They have great parks, and the zoo is out of this world.” I smile when he finally gets it. “Minus the monkey who tries to steal candy.” He comes to me, pulling me into his arms. “I don’t want to pressure you,” I tell him, and I don’t continue because his lips are on mine. And just like that, the nerves go away, my stomach settles, my hands stop shaking, and my heart beats normal.
“I want you and the girls to come down this weekend,” he tells me, and I just nod my head. “Stay with me.”
“Okay,” I whisper to him. “We have to go,” I say, smoothing down my skirt.
We don’t say anything in the car on the way there. We don’t say anything when we walk into the courtroom. I don’t even turn my head when my in-laws walk in. They hold their heads high as they sit at the table next to us. I don’t even make it seem that my heart is beating so fast I think I may pass out. I put my hands on my lap to stop them from shaking. “Here we go,” Henry says under his breath.
The bailiff announces the judge, who walks in and nods at him, opening the file on her desk. “Your honor, the case of Schneider vs. Schneider.” He turns. “Please be seated.”
The judge starts, “In the interest of not doing any more damage to this relationship, I’m going to skip the opening statements.”
Mr. Feldman jumps up. “Your honor.” And she puts up her hand.
“I think it’s safe to say you are going to tell me what a
horrible mother the defendant is”—she leans forward—“but I also have to think about the kids,” she says, “and the fact that after this, it will be hard for everyone to move on. So, in the interest of the kids, we shall refrain from the bashing of both sides. You can still cross-examine.”
I see Henry turn his head and get a nod from Blake. “Mr. Williams, please call your first witness,” she says. My neck gets hot, my knees start to shake, and I don’t know if I can do this.
Henry stands up. “Your honor, the defense would like to call its first witness.” I hear him say from next to me, and I push my chair away from the table when he puts his hand on my arm. “The defense calls Hailey Williams to the stand.”
Blake
Blake
Forty-eight hours earlier
I pull up to Hailey’s house with my parents. “This is it,” I say to them. “What if she hates me?” I look at them.
“Only one way to find out,” my father says. Getting out of the car, he helps my mother out of the backseat.
We walk up the steps to the door, ringing the bell. She has no idea we were on our way, none. And you can see it in her eyes when she opens the door and sees us. Her squeals of happiness echo on the small porch. She opens the screen door, jumping into the arms of my father. “I can’t believe you guys came and surprised me,” she says. When I finally look at her, her happiness is all over her face. She lets go of my father, going to my mother, who holds her face in her hands.
“My girl is glowing,” she says with a smile and tears. “So glowing.” She looks down at the floor and then up again.
The sound of a truck behind us makes us turn around. I told one person I was coming and that was Jensen; he needs to be here for Hailey.
I watch him step out of his truck and come up the stairs, nodding at me. “Mom, Dad,” Hailey says, moving between them to Jensen’s side, “this is Jensen.” She grabs his hand, and he brings their hands to his lips.
Love Series (Complete Series) Page 54