“Maybe; I don’t know.”
“Are there other ways in which you believe Karen jeopardizes Dawn’s safety?”
“I have no sense of security that Karen will not again sink into a deep depression, like she did before. She’s always been moody.”
“With Karen’s having always been moody, why did you decide to entrust her with your eggs?”
“I thought becoming a parent might make her a happier person. I had no idea she would become so depressed that she needed to be hospitalized.”
“How would you be better able to protect Dawn in such an emergency as a legal parent rather than as a guardian?”
“We’d be able to rescue Dawn immediately, without having to seek a legal remedy first.”
“When you say Karen has always been moody, what do you mean?”
“Sometimes she is very withdrawn and doesn’t want other people around her. When we were growing up, sometimes she went for days without speaking to me.”
“Do you know that this is a current problem?”
“Well, I haven’t seen her much since she cut off contact.”
“You mean, since you filed this lawsuit?”
“No, since she terminated the guardianship.”
“So, for the last five or six months, you have not seen Karen at all?”
“Only in the mediation sessions.”
“You haven’t had any regular contact with Karen in the last year, have you?”
“No.”
“How would you describe Dawn’s relationship with Ian and Sandra?”
“Ian and Dawn have always been close; they love each other’s company. Ian misses Dawn and asks when he can see her again. He is a protective, slightly older brother to her.”
“What about Sandra? How does she relate Dawn?”
“Well, Sandra is three years older and not that interested in her younger siblings.”
“Would you describe Sandra as sisterly toward Dawn?”
“No. Well, maybe as a jealous sister.” As soon as these words come out, Patty bites her lip.
“Please describe how she is jealous.”
“She doesn’t want her younger siblings to have anything she doesn’t have.”
“Does she treat Ian the same as she treated Dawn?”
“Not really. I mean, he’s a boy and she’s a girl.”
“How did Sandra treat Dawn? Was she ever friendly toward her?”
“Sandra treated Dawn as an unwelcome outsider. She resented her presence in our home. With Ian, she’s just a bossy older sister.”
“How, if at all, do you think it might be better if Dawn were imposed on Sandra as a sister?”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘imposed.’”
“How, if at all, do you think it might be better if Dawn were determined by the court to be Sandra’s sister?”
“I think Sandra would have to make an adjustment.”
“How, if at all, would it be better for Dawn to have Sandra as her sister?”
“It would be better for Dawn to know that she has the security of two parents.”
“Not my question. How would it be better for Dawn to have Sandra as her sister?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Sandra in therapy now?” At this, Patty glares at Analee.
“Objection; privacy,” Stephen interjects. I think, how can he object if this is all the same family? But Analee doesn’t argue.
“Answer the question.”
At this, Patty glances at her lawyer for direction, but with the faintest of nod from him, she understands she needs to answer.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“About eight months.”
“What behaviors led you to put her into therapy?”
“She was demanding all of Doug’s and my attention, was not getting along well with other children….”
“Sandra was never kind to Dawn when she was in your home, was she?”
“Sandra ignored Dawn when she could. The age difference made that easy for a while, since they had different skills and interests.”
“What about when she couldn’t ignore Dawn, such as at the family dinner table?”
“She would try to talk over Dawn and keep the attention on herself. We had to remind her it’s rude to interrupt others. We’re working on it.”
“Sandra is now ten, am I right?” Patty nods, and her lawyer nudges her to answer out loud. But Analee has gone on to her next question.
“Does Sandra know about this lawsuit?”
“I intend not to tell her or Ian abut it.”
“But, if she did learn of it, what do you think would be her reaction?”
“She would be upset.”
“So, if you are found to be Dawn’s parent, how will you present this to Sandra?”
“We will deal with that in her therapy.”
“What does your husband Doug think of your having brought this lawsuit?”
“He respects my right to protect Dawn in the way I have chosen.” She has practiced this answer.
“Do you think it may be confusing for Dawn to have you as a second mother, Doug as her uncle and Ian and Sandra as her cousins and brother and sister?”
“Not at all. She has her own names for Doug and me that the children found themselves. Doug is ‘Daddy Too’ – t-o-o – and I am “Mommy Too.’ Dawn is already comfortable with this family construct.”
“Have you and Doug ever disagreed over the family structure you are trying to create?”
“What I have described to you is a family structure that already exists.” Patty insists.
“Have you and Doug ever disagreed over your seeking to be legally determined to be Dawn’s second mother?”
Patty shrugs.
“You need to answer verbally.” This time it is Analee reminding her.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t want to answer that question.”
Patty’s lawyer asks Analee if they can step outside the room for a moment, and Analee consents. While they are out of the room, I ask Analee if this is part of the agreement she made about Doug not being a witness. She tells me it is related but not the same.
When Patty and her lawyer come back, he speaks up.
“My client claims the spousal privilege and will not answer the question.”
“The privilege belongs to Doug, not to Patty.” She asks the reporter to certify the question so that she can pursue it with the court.
“Do you recognize that, if you are determined to be a second parent of Dawn, that you will be legally responsible for her support and may have to pay child support?”
“Of course.” Patty is well prepared on this one. “In fact, I have already set up a Scholar Share account for her as well as for Sandra and Ian.”
“What money did you use for this account for Dawn?”
“Doug and I pool all our money, so we used our joint funds.”
“Am I correct that you have no earned income?”
“Yes; we agreed that I would not work while our children are young.”
“So if you were ordered to pay child support for Dawn, you would be using joint funds which are actually Doug’s income?”
“Yes.”
After Analee finishes Patty’s deposition, she signals me to follow her as she struts back to her office. She sinks dramatically into her chair, throws me a beaming smile and all but gestures with her hands to praise her performance.
“You did a great job,” I tell her with what little spirit I can muster. I had felt early in the day how thoroughly she had debunked Patty’s grounds for the lawsuit, but as the day wore on, what struck me was how destructive this whole process is becoming. I want no part of it, but I am
mired in its center. While I know I am lucky to have Analee defending me, I just want to run as far as I can from all these personal attacks. How could anyone reconstruct a life after this?
I thank Analee and tell her I need to pick up Dawn. Before I leave, she reminds me that my own deposition is scheduled soon – on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving – and that I should make an appointment with Gerta for preparation. I obey. Gerta gives me a half-day appointment on the preceding Tuesday, when I have no classes.
I drive as if released to vacation. Dawn is visiting Alana at her home for the first time. Alana has come to our home after school once before, and I have spoken to her mother Zara on the telephone, but I have not yet met her. Their home is somewhere north of Nevada City off one of those roads that seem to trail off into wilderness, but I have directions drawn by Alana’s mother or father. As I pull off the Interstate onto Highway 49, I start to relax. When I weave into the woods north of Nevada City I feel a deep relief, emanating from the very scent and sway of the trees. My directions tell me to pull off onto Ray Lane just past a row of ten mailboxes. As soon as I do, I catch sight of a beautiful log cabin, with a larger home structure going up behind it. I lower my window and just close my eyes for a moment, to listen to the calm rustle of the trees.
“Karen? Are you okay?”
Startled by the voice next to me, I jump in my seat. To my left stands one of the most astonishingly beautiful women I have ever seen, with smooth skin the color of medjool dates, a compact flat nose, eyes the color of amber, and a head of African hair a foot long, descending in every direction from the top of her graceful head.
“I’m sorry. I just drove from a meeting in Sacramento and closed my eyes for a moment to rest them in this lovely quiet. You must be Zara.”
“Welcome. The girls are inside.”
As I follow her into the cabin, I notice a woven scarf looped around her neck, with reds, oranges and yellows of varying hues in a loose pattern. When I admire it, she tells me she made it. “That’s what I do.”
“Mommy!” Dawn throws herself at me. “Alana and I are counting freckles. She has as many as I do. See?” She holds up a piece of paper with lines and hatch marks on it, seven groups of five.
“How did you learn to do that?” Before letting her answer, I turn to Alana and introduce myself as Karen.
“Ms. Haskins,” Zara corrects, and Alana stands up and says, “good to meet you, Ms. Haskins.” She then explains that her dad has taught her to count by lines and hatches. “He told me I only need to be able to count to five, and then he can count how many fives.”
I see now for the first time that Alana’s face and forearms are covered in freckles, though not as noticeable as Dawn’s because her skin is tawny.
“Did you get them all?” I ask.
“No, that’s impossible.” We all laugh. Zara offers me some iced tea, and we go sit in the living room while the girls return to their freckle counting. I admire the rocking chair she offers me, with graceful curved spokes and a silky woven seat that looks like it might be Zara’s work. She explains that her husband John is a master wood craftsman and furniture maker and that she has indeed woven the seat. I ask if I had seen his work in the gallery on Broad Street, and she tells me they both exhibit there.
“He uses his own name, John Reinholdt, but I use Alana’s middle name, Sahar, because there is already a clothing line named Zara.”
Zara shifts the conversation to me, telling me that Alana says I am an artist who paints illustrations for children’s books.
I laugh. “I see I have a good agent in my daughter.”
She laughs too, revealing a huge, bright smile. I already want to paint her portrait and am beginning to wonder how I could ask. She explains that Dawn had told Alana she already knows how to paint and Alana wants to learn. I offer to have Alana come over some Saturday for lessons, and she leaps at the invitation.
John walks in from a back door, brushing sawdust off his overalls. Unlike Zara, he is tall and robust, with short blonde hair and a pale mustache. He could be a Swede or German.
“Hi,” he greets me warmly, with a smile nearly as bright as Zara’s. They invite Dawn and me to stay for dinner, which is already heating in the oven. Zara allows me to help construct a salad, into which she breaks small pieces of flatbread. “Fattoush,” she explains. She quickly mixes lemon juice and olive oil to dress the salad, and places the casserole on the table. It is an aromatic concoction of chicken, black olives and lemons, accompanied by a bowl of rice. All the food is delicious and new to me. Dawn eats with as much enthusiasm as the rest of us. Conversation is easy, and I cannot resist asking John and Zara how they had met.
They exchange a quick look, which I read as their decision to let John tell the story. He explains that seven years ago he had spent six months in Ethiopia, partly learning some ancient carpentry techniques and partly with an aid organization, where Zara was also donating her time. At this point, Zara picks up the story. Originally from Tunis, the daughter of a banker and his wife, she found herself at loose ends after graduating from university. She and John fell in love in Ethiopia and he persuaded her to move to the United States with him, first to Santa Cruz, where he had gone to college, and then here, where he had grown up.
“It was much easier for me to fit in in Ethiopia than in Nevada City,” she explains. “When we go to crafts fairs in the Bay Area or Chicago, I fit in just fine, and I can even get Tunisian food, but here I am a strange one.”
“I grew up here. You don’t have to explain.” I add, thinking how my teen-aged differences pale by comparison to hers.
“I’m glad our girls made friends with each other so quickly.”
John asks me if I am married, and I tell him no, I’ve always been single.
“I have a donor,” Dawn pipes up unbidden.
“She’s right,” I acknowledge. I have never heard this social admission from her.
“What’s a donor?” Alana asks, and her parents pause to give me the first go at it.
“A donor is a man who allows a single woman like me to use his genes so that I can become a mother.” That is apparently enough information for her, for she does not ask another question.
Before we leave, we make arrangements for Zara to bring Alana to our little house in Rough and Ready the following Saturday for painting lessons. On the drive home, I feel excited. I revel in this unfamiliar emotion all evening, to the point that I can hardly get to sleep.
20
ANALEE
Karen was already twenty minutes late for her dep prep session when I asked Gerta to call her, but there was no answer. I still have to pick up the turkey and brine it, not to mention clean my house before family arrives tomorrow. I am becoming cranky about all the other things I could be doing besides waiting for Karen.
When she arrives five minutes later, she apologizes profusely, complaining of traffic on the road. When I ask why she didn’t call to let me know, she explains that she didn’t want to phone while driving, both her phone and car are too old for a Bluetooth connection. Trying to let go of my irritation, I ask her plans for Thanksgiving. Expecting to hear of a miniature dinner for two, I am happily surprised to hear she will be part of a celebration of twelve people – old friends since high school and their children, plus a new family and their child who is in kindergarten with Dawn.
“Take lots of pictures,” I tell her. “We can use them at the trial.”
Although she agrees, she casts me a peculiar look. Is trial all there is? I have occasionally read the same look on Adam’s face at home.
I explain that we will role-play questions and answers this morning as if I were Patty’s attorney and she were answering on the record. When we need to make corrections, I will stop to tell her. I began with innocuous history: her education and occupations since college. When I ask what books she has written and illustrated, I suddenly rem
ember that she had given me one for the boys but that I had never taken it out to read to them. I can’t even remember where it is, but make a mental note to find it. I review with her the places she has lived since Dawn was born, covering her hospitalization and rehab only by periods of time, and ask her to describe her present home.
“It’s an old cabin from the mining era, with a pump next to the sink and what used to be an ice box, and an outhouse. We have a real kitchen sink with faucets and running water, of course, and a refrigerator, and a working indoor bathroom, but the relics are part of the atmosphere. We have two bedrooms and a living room/studio for our painting.”
I ask her about the nature of her relationship with Patty, as they were children, in high school, college and throughout their adulthood. Her descriptions of early life with her sister are tender. In high school, even though Patty led the life of a popular girl in groups and Karen had been an artist with purple streaks in her hair, Patty had made time for the two of them to be together alone and compare their lives. Karen’s answers were good: short, real and sympathetic.
I begin to test her gently.
“What traditions have you developed with Dawn?”
“Traditions? She’s five years old.” We share a look of recognition that this is a bad answer. I toss out a prompt.
“For example, what do you do on Thanksgiving?”
Karen glances off to the side, as if recovering memories.
“For Dawn’s first and second Thanksgiving, we went to Jenny or Megan’s, which I always did before she was born. For the next two years, she was staying at Patty and Doug’s and I went there to be with her. For the first of those I had to be released from rehab for the holiday. This year, Alana, Zara and John are joining us at Megan and Jeff’s home.”
“I know I’m not supposed to volunteer, but I remember one lovely thing about the Thanksgivings at Patty and Doug’s. His parents were there, and he clearly made them understand that Dawn is my daughter, even though she was staying with them at the time. He always respected me, even when I was down.” Karen lowers her head.
“It’s too bad he couldn’t convince her not to bring this action,” I remind her. She looks at me plaintively.
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