I’d been looking forward to my appointment with the custody adviser, a chance to tell my side of the story. As soon as I entered her office, I was struck with the fact she held my entire life, Mya’s life, in her hands.
“Have a seat.” She offered a choice of either chair with a smooth sweep of her hand. She was casually dressed in a scoop-neck top and tailored denim. Her amber locks were pulled up and twisted over her head, landing in spirals. “I’m impressed with your little girl. She’s smart and full of energy. You’re a lucky mom.”
“Yes.” I gulped air along with my fear. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“First of all, don’t feel like this is an inquisition. I can see how much you love your daughter. I just wanted to go over a couple of issues that I have to deal with.” She opened the file in front of her.
I braced myself for what I knew would be the first question. Why did you try to kill yourself?
She offered a warm smile. “You spent a week in psychiatric counseling. Can you tell me a little bit about that …. what you remember?”
“Of course. I accidentally took a few too many pills.”
She gently leaned to the side and rested her face in her hands. “Why don’t you tell me how that happened?”
“My son was born prematurely. He never took his first breath. He was this beautiful tiny baby, the most beautiful I’d ever seen and he never took a breath.” I slapped my hands in my lap to say end of story. “That’s it.”
“How far along were you?”
“I …. seven months.”
She was quick in handing me a box of Kleenex. “Take your time.”
“I had a difficult pregnancy. My blood pressure shot up. There were complications.” I wiped and blew and counted slowly. “I had a hard time dealing with the loss. I didn’t mean to take so many pills but they didn’t seem to be working. I wanted the sadness to stop. I had a family to take care of, a daughter, a husband. I just wanted to be myself again. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to die.”
“I understand.” She made a couple of notes. “Are you still in therapy?”
“No. I’m fine. I mean, really.” I wiped at my nose before taking a few more tissues just in case. “Don’t I look fine?” I’d hoped she got my joke.
She did not. “Don’t take offense. It would be in your favor. Therapy is a good thing. It would show that you’re being monitored and focused on being whole and healthy. Mental health …. especially in this situation, is a huge factor in a child custody case.”
I cleared my throat. “I understand.”
She flipped past a couple of pages. “Quite a colorful life. Busy lady.”
“You’re referring to the arrest in Los Angeles. I was protesting the closing of a community hospital. Harmless protesting.”
“And your husband, also harmless?”
“He is …. the kindest man I know. The most gentle, loving man I know. He had nothing to do with that man’s death. Nothing. He was investigated and the case against him was dropped.”
She stood up, signaling the conclusion of our time together. “I’m going to refer you to a few therapists I know in the area. Someone you can trust, all right?”
“Thank you.”
Outside, Jake sat with Mya in his lap. We switched places. He saw the obvious signs of my tears and kissed me between the eyes. “It’s going to be all right,” he said reassuringly.
“I know,” I whispered to Jake before he went inside.
When we got home, we headed off in separate directions. I’d meant what I told the custody adviser. Jake was kind. He was loving. He was gentle. He was all those wonderful adjectives and more. He was also a man who had a nagging voice in his head that reminded him daily he was raising another man’s child.
I could hear his determined footsteps through the long hallway. He stopped, checked our bedroom first, expecting to see me wallowing in bed or taking a deep hot soak in the tub. Wrong, I was wallowing in the room down the hall, next to Mya’s. I could hear him peek in on her with a slower, more careful opening of her door. Hopefully she was still fast asleep.
Three door openings and closings later Jake found me. “There you are.”
“Here I am.”
When Jake noticed the box in my hands, there was a small detectable change in his breathing before he looked away. “The custody adviser asked me if there was some tension going on between us.”
“Hmmm, maybe it was something you said.” I found what I’d been looking for. The small white box was at the bottom underneath all the other baby clothing. None was as special as what was inside this one. A christening gown, the precious white bonnet, and baby mittens all lightly wrapped in tissue paper.
“I made sure she understood I was Mya’s father, I was in for the long haul. No walking away.”
“Good. Thank you,” I said curtly. “Glad you’re doing your civic duty.”
“It’s not going to work, so give it up. We’re going to get through this. I’m not going anywhere.” Though strangely enough he left me sitting there alone in the middle of the floor.
Falling out of love was a torturous process, never as easy as falling into love. The warning signs were everywhere. The basic and most obvious: Jake and I hadn’t made love in nearly a year before we moved to Atlanta. No sex, not even Bill Clinton–style. Some might find that completely odd and unbelievable, even insane. Why live with someone you couldn’t share the basics with a, such as the mating game? Easy. Far too easy as it turned out, one week turned into two, one month into three, six, nine, and on to twelve. Starting with the second trimester I was pregnant with our son.
I wasn’t buying the sex won’t hurt the baby story. They obviously had no idea of what I was working with. Jake was blessed with a large endowment and I wasn’t talking about a trust fund. We played kissy face and touchy-feely but I didn’t trust penetration.
Into my sixth month, the Byron Steeple case opened wide and swallowed us whole. I spent day and night worrying about Jake. I worried and prayed till my stomach charged in fits of acidic shock. I couldn’t keep any food down. What went in came right back up. I lost ten precious pounds in seven days when it should have been the other way around. Dehydration and a blinding headache sent me straight to the emergency room where I was finally diagnosed with preeclampsia, a condition that causes high blood pressure and could possibly damage vital organs in the mother as well as the baby.
After getting the condition under control I was sent home, where everything seemed fine for the next few days. Then I was back in the hospital again. Midway into the seventh month I knew there was something wrong but I kept praying it was my imagination. Praying that I felt a kick where I knew it was only a faint nudge. Talking myself into believing he was one of those gentle souls who decided not to give his mother any grief by staying in one position. The final time I arrived at the hospital the doctor said I had to have a cesarean.
Jake was by my side the entire time. He held my hand and kissed each fingertip, promising everything was going to be fine. I had my first hint to the contrary when the doctor made it clear he wanted me under full anesthesia. Putting me under was the best way to make sure I didn’t send myself into cardiac arrest. My blood pressure was sky high and my head felt like it would explode. I fell asleep hearing Jake’s soft whisper at my side. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” I heard the sadness in his voice and knew before my eyes closed that my baby had died.
The christening gown was never worn. I peeled back the tissue and ran my hand across the white satin. He was so perfect in every way. Perfect fingers and toes, a mass of black hair slick against his tiny scalp. His eyes, I never got to see, but I already knew they were Jake’s eyes. From all those nights having watched Jake sleeping, face to face, our heads against the pillow, I’d ask myself how I got so lucky to have a man like him.
We no longer faced each other on the pillow. Always one of us turned in the opposite direction. One of us wide awake at night listening to the o
ther’s breathing, trying to guess if the other was really asleep. Then the question would push itself into the darkness to join us. Are you ever going to stop blaming me? Sometimes it was me who asked, sometimes it was Jake. We proudly took turns in our guilt, sharing it like housework and cooking duties.
The sadness never proved to be a deal-breaker. I always believed true love surpassed the physical. The very thing my mother asked me each and every time I came home with claims of newfound head-over-heels love: Can you picture yourself spoon-feeding him, or changing his Depends? ’Cause that’s real love. Running around looking for passion and excitement will get you nothing but emptiness in the long run.
I’d go into my sunny room and ponder the question. I’d try to picture Johnny, Frank, or fill in the blank, sitting in a wheelchair, broken with old age and I’d be immediately shocked into a bleak reality. No. I absolutely did not love Johnny, Frank, or fill in the blank.
And it went on that way. I loved, but not really. I’d convince myself my mother’s grand standard was far too high. Until of course when I asked myself the question about Jake. And the answer was an unequivocal yes. Yes, I could spoon-feed him, change his Depends, curl up next to his limp warm body and still be completely, happily in love. Real love.
But what happened when both of you were broken? No one to spoon-feed the other. No one to wipe up drool and misspoken words.
What then? Who would save us if we couldn’t save each other?
I folded the tissue back over the christening gown. I put it away, closed the box, and shoved it toward the others. Then I kicked it hard, using my heel to chase it down. Before long I’d stomped all over the box until the sides were torn and the contents spilled out of every corner. Cute little onesies and two-piece sets I’d spent endless hours shopping for, all still with tags attached. Stuffed animals and the mobile for over the crib made of plush cars. There was more of the same in the other boxes. Tons of never-used baby goods.
I carried the boxes down the stairs one at a time. I came back with a trash bag and shoved any strays inside and carried that down, too. For a moment I felt invincible strength, like I could lift the entire house, so a few boxes were no problem. Weightless. By the time I was finished, sweat poured off my brows and stung my eyes. Where I thought I was invincible now felt like I’d been carrying concrete blocks. My back pounded and throbbed. My arms and shoulders felt stretched beyond repair, and the bruises against my thigh had already started to darken.
I picked up the yellow pages and found a shelter for battered women. I made it short and sweet. “I have thousands of dollars’ worth of never-worn baby clothes, car seats, strollers, all brand new,” I said. “Please come pick them up.”
I gave the tongue-tied woman my address. She must’ve heard it in my voice, recognized it from voices like mine before. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she responded, assuming what was true. “I’ll send someone over right away.” She paused, the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “I have a number you can call if you need to speak with someone.”
“No, I’m perfectly fine,” I managed to say. “Just fine.”
The only sign that sleep had visited me was seeing Jake’s side of the bed empty and not knowing what time he’d slipped out. I’d woken up thinking about the status of my life, and the changes that had to be made. I had to call the recommended therapists. The last thing on my list was to call Wendy and update her on the goings-on of the south. Over the years I’d learned the last thing on your list is usually the one thing you should do first.
So I dialed and put the rest of my burning duties on hold.
“Girlfriend, that you?” she answered on the first ring.
I smiled. “Yes, it’s me.”
“I’ve been worried about you.” Wendy sighed. “But what else is new? I’m always worried about you, right?”
“I’m in a state of denial,” I said quickly before she could lead me down the path of more palatable discussions like health, weather, or the status of the latest “new man” she’d met on her way to the grocery store. “I don’t see how Jake and I are going to make it work. This thing will always be between us, always.”
“This thing have a name?”
“No …. no names to protect the innocent.”
Wendy paused. “You two have been through so much. It’s going to take time to put everything back in place. Don’t you remember how happy you were? You used to always tell me how perfect Jake was, and after a while I actually believed you.”
“I believed me, too.” I took a long deep breath. “I don’t think I’m ever going to stop blaming Jake. And if I lose Mya, I’ll blame him again.”
Wendy stayed silent, a clear indication she thought I was off center.
“I know it’s a stretch but try to understand.”
“No …. no, I get it,” Wendy said, reserving judgment. “It makes sense in a strange Venus kind of way. You blame him for losing the baby, therefore you blame him for the depression that followed, therefore you blame him for giving Airic the ammunition against you he needed to take Mya …. it’s sad but I get it.” Once again she had a way about repeating everything I said to make me hear it from a fresh perspective.
“Thank you, Dr. Wendy. And to think I still have to pay good money for a real doctor,” I said with a much brighter outlook. I clicked on the television and saw the news channel with the caption at the bottom of the screen, shooting at sugar hill studios. That’s where Jake was working.
“Wendy, I have to go …. I’ll call you back.” I hung up and dialed Jake’s number. The call immediately rolled over to voicemail. “Jake, I saw something about a shooting. Call me.”
After rushing around gathering Mya and my purse I jumped into the car only to realize I had no idea where I was going. I called information. Got the address. Punched it into my navigation system and sped away.
Blue shiny police cars parked along the street as far as the eye could see. The giant SWAT vehicle angled to keep everyone out shook me to a whole other level of panic. If there was a SWAT team someone was being held inside. Hostages. Bodies. Jake.
A police officer with a thick mustache and bald brown head put up his hands to stop me from going farther.
I rolled down my window. “My husband is in there.”
“Is that a fact?” He pulled out a small notepad. “What’s his name?” By this time a helicopter was flying overhead casting a shadow on the street. NEWS TEAM was printed on the side of it, while it rained noise and a solid gust of wind. The officer was talking but I couldn’t hear a word of it before he walked off.
“Mommy, a helicopter.”
“A-huh, sweetheart.”
I picked up the cell phone and tried again. “Please, answer.”
“‘You’ve reached JP. Be honest, be sincere, live life without fear. I’ll hit you back.’” The beep sounded. “Jake, I’m in front of the building. Please tell me something.” I hung up and was just about to dial again when my phone rang.
“There’s a man in here with a gun,” he whispered. “I love you.” His voice trembled. Shouting from the other end and a loud popping sound. The phone must’ve dropped from Jake’s hands.
“Oh God.” I whispered under my breath. I signaled for an officer, waving like a madwoman. He stared straight through me, ignoring my desperate pleas. “Hello, please, my husband is in there.” I held up the phone. “I just talked to him,” I yelled.
“Mommy?” Mya worked her way out of the car seat. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life. A lot of things I would always regret but none could top what I was about to do. I stepped on the gas, gently at first. The car lurched forward and I was making my way past the cornered-off street. I stepped harder on the gas moving faster than the two officers who gave chase.
My car window was still down. “Stop her,” one of the officers yelled. Three or four blue uniforms moved in front of my Land Rover, obviously willing to sacrifice their own l
ives because I had no plans on slowing down. Footsteps trampled in my direction. Thick arms reached inside and unlocked my door. Those same arms pulled me out of the car and to the ground. The female officer charged me off in the opposite direction.
“My daughter’s in the car.” I fought with all my might.
“Move!” the female officer ordered. Her grip tightened, twisting my arm behind my back. She shoved me to the ground and crouched down, too. “You could’ve been hurt,” the woman officer said. “Not to mention your daughter.”
Another police officer carried Mya toward us. To my surprise, Mya was calm and cool. She reached out and grabbed ahold of my neck. I kissed her face and held on for dear life. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry, you all right?”
“Okay, let’s go.” The female police officer grabbed my arm.
“I’m not going anywhere. My husband’s in there at gunpoint with a crazy man. You’ve got to get him out of there.”
“You talked to him?” The female officer’s interest piqued.
“Exactly. That’s why I was trying to get through there. No one would listen to me.”
“Hold on. Don’t move from this spot,” the woman ordered before trotting off. She returned with a large-faced man wearing a SWAT vest and a hat. He kneeled down to where Mya and I were still crouched on the ground against the back of a squad car.
“You say your husband called you?” The large man stood over us blocking the sun.
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jake Parson. He’s working in the studio. He said the man had a gun pointed at him and he only had one chance to call,” I said, trying my best to keep it together. Mya stared between me and the dark figure hovering over us.
“I want you to call him back.”
“I’ve tried, he’s not answering.”
“One more time. Please.” He handed me a black cell phone. I dialed. The phone went to voicemail.
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