Claire stared up, regretfully wide-eyed, through her black frames. “Got it, boss.” She glanced at the paper on the desk, and sighed. “Would you like to cancel all our subscriptions?”
I leaned on my hip, peering at the black and white print. “No. I need to know what lies they’re spreading. But after I read it, you know where it belongs.” I tossed it in the trash in demonstration then changed my shoes and headed in a cab to my destination.
I told Tristan when I first had to bring him to Daniel’s with his suitcase packed that mommy and daddy were working out a plan for sleepovers. In the meantime, he was staying with Daniel to spend some special catch-up time. It wasn’t a lie as I had every intention of getting him back, full tilt. That strength stayed with the entirety of each visit.
I was waiting on the front stoop of Daniel’s house to enter. Jeeves opened the door with Tristan beside him. I gasped.
“Hi, mom,” Tristan said confusedly.
“Hi, honey,” I said. “Give me a hug.”
We played at the park with Jeeves attending. I told him I was beginning a remodel on the apartment for us, so he couldn’t come home yet. I described wallpaper I hadn’t selected and a bed I hadn’t built. The whole time, in a total misdirection of anger, fuming about the haircut he now sported that was an exact replica of Daniel’s. His boyish mop of honeyed hair was gone.
When I got to my apartment, Violet was waiting for me at the door.
“I brought you a decaf vanilla latte and a cookie,” she said enticingly, wagging the bag as she followed me through the entry, closing the door behind her. I grabbed the bag with the cookie. “How is he? How did the visit go?” she asked, slowly sitting at the dining table.
“He looks good. I mean, fine. It’s just not right, Violet.” What are the chances I could get fake passports made and make a run for it with him?”
“I know someone who does false documents, but I’m pretty sure…” she trailed off and took a sip of latte from the brown paper cup.
“He’d find us. He would freaking find us anywhere. How did this happen? Why did it have to be him who was the dad? Why did we have to find him?”
“You got me,” she said, dumbfounded. Then lowered her eyelids in thought. “Look, remember when you moved here and you were so determined to be a CPA? You studied like a maniac. Your life was mapped out.”
“Yes. And?”
“Then, you had Tristan,” she said with a trepidatious shrug, sipping the latte. “It didn’t work out how you thought then. It turned out fine. So, maybe this is what’s supposed to happen.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Not that he’s taken away,” she revised her stance. “But maybe that this is some journey in life you are meant to walk. Like when they make people walk hot coals at those seminars.”
I folded my arms and she took another sip, eyeing me nervously over the rim. I unfolded my arms and strutted into the kitchen, opening the utility drawer. I pulled out my hammer.
“Geez! Relax, I only meant it would turn out fine!” she said, staring at me holding up my hammer menacingly. “I’m trying to be positive. I know it sucks. He sucks, okay?!”
“Violet, when I went to visit Tristan today, do you know what he said?” She shook her head, clutching the cup. “He said he loved Daniel. He said he knew what was going on, that Daniel and I were fighting over him. The kids at school tease him. He said the same as you, it would be okay. But Daniel cut his hair. And he was dressed…he was dressed like a little man. He put him in a collared shirt and khakis. My little Tristan sitting there beside me in the park, dressed like a copy machine salesman, telling me it would be okay. He loved us both, and it would work out.”
“I’m really sorry, Bree,” Violet said, water spilling from her eyes.
I clutched the wooden handle tightly. “Then, time was up and I had to take him back. I walked him back to that fucking mansion and I had to leave him there. I don’t know if he doesn’t have enough toys or too many. I don’t know if Daniel bought half of Toy Town or if he’s in there trapping beetles with the butler for entertainment. How is he going to raise him? Who is he going to turn him into?”
“Even if he doesn’t get to see us, he still has you. No court would take him away from you completely. As much as that would hurt, I can live with that, for your sake. What are doing?!” she shrieked as I swung the hammer at my kitchen cabinet door. I reached back in the drawer and pulled out a small dust mask I’d brought home from the shop.
“I told Tristan I was remodeling. Before he told me he knew what was going on, I told him he couldn’t sleep over here because I was remodeling and it was a mess. Rather than tell him he can’t come home because I’m not allowed to have him.” I snapped the mask on. “I am following through. And by the time it’s remodeled he will be back, living in his own house.” I banged the hammer again.
“I’ve heard of stress therapy, but those are perfectly good cabinets. Ugly, but fine,” she said. I swung again, and she covered her ears as I made contact. She rushed over to me, and I paused mid-air so I wouldn’t hurt her if she was attempting to grab the handle. Instead, she went in the drawer and came out with a black permanent marker.
She etched a name, big, on the cabinet in fat black lines and stood back appraising. “There. Should I do Kate next?”
I banged the head of the hammer on where she’d scribbled Daniel and smiled. “More of those. His attorneys name is Alec Kord. Throw some of those on there, too,” I said behind my mask.
She grinned and got to work. Violet played music and moved a safe distance away to my dining table, propped up on her elbows, while I banged away on my boring white cabinet doors. My arm cramped, but I didn’t quit until I’d taken down one side of door fronts in my wide-lane galley kitchen, sensibly hammering away just like the hosts of home renovation shows. I got why they demolished good cabinets now.
After she was gone, I cleaned obsessively. At bedtime, I was too pumped up on adrenaline and recklessness. I pulled on my warm jacket over my sweater and jeans and went for a walk to the park.
On a bench in the moonlight, Daniel was sitting. I knew it was him from fifty yards away. I contemplated leaving before he noticed me, but adrenaline combined with fresh anger is a funny thing. I rushed over and kicked the bench hard.
“Get up,” I ordered. It was the first time I’d seen his face since our first hearing, where he sat, refusing to face me. Daniel looked up—surprised. “Get up, damn you!” I fought, anger broiling at his stupid guileless face. “This is my bench!” I yelled, unhinged. “You can’t have it!”
He slowly stood up. Without protest, he left.
I didn’t calm down until after his seat went cold.
On Sunday night, everyone cancelled on dinner, even Vi. I ate pork chops on the countertop alone. After dark I went for another long walk. It was a three-mile city walk in the dark. Only someone out of their mind would do it, with a sprained toe no less. To my surprise, Daniel was there again. When he looked up, I met his guarded gaze in show-down but didn’t move an inch. Inside my shoe, my big toe throbbed in its splint, and I decided it wasn’t worth it. Shooting him a heat-seeking missile of a glare I turned my back to him and returned home.
I avoided that spot until my toe felt better, but it didn’t change anything. Another Sunday passed with everyone too busy or too cowardly to deal with me and my growing pervasive hostile temperament and face the absence of Tristan. So for the third time in less than a fortnight, I found Daniel sitting in my spot. In my head it was my spot because I wanted it.
In the pitch black, I held my ground. He pretended to not notice, not angrily, more like a bigger dog feigning submission to a Chihuahua that didn’t know how small it was. I marked my territory by sitting, and he kept up his ruse.
“What are even you doing here?” I snapped. I tightened my jacket and crossed my legs from the chill.
Long moments passed, and I decided #147 on the list of things I hated about him was his silence.
Enough time had elapsed to compile two more things. I shot, “What’s the point?”
Warily, he peered. I shoved to the edge of my seat, frustration coming fast and thick. “You’ve got him. He’s right in there,” I said, jabbing a finger towards his house. “He’s in there sleeping, and you’re out here. Just give him back! You don’t even appreciate him. If he were with me, I’d be cherishing this time. I’d be watching him sleep! You don’t even care.”
He was calm. “It’s not that simple.”
“It was before you showed up.”
“I have rights, Gabrielle.”
“Why? Because you forgot to wrap it up? I raised him! He’s my son!”
“The boy is mine, too.”
“Do you hear yourself? The Boy! Like he’s The Car or The Jet. You don’t own him! You can’t own a person!”
Daniel exhaled while perfectly still. It was long and strained, like a volatile can of helium depressurizing. Finally he moved, his chin bowing minutely.
“This is painful,” he said in spite of himself.
“Good. I hope you choke on it.” I needlessly readjusted my scarf. “Who in the hell gives a five-year-old a thirty-thousand-dollar watch!”
“It was no trouble,” he said simply, referring to the Breitling Tristan was wearing at our visit this week. It’d had links removed to bring it down to the size of his small wrist.
“You don’t give a child anything they want! You have no clue what you’re doing!”
“I will learn,” he replied confidently, like a man with a new hobby confident on a lifetime to master it.
I stared at him in profile, giving my order. “Give him back, Daniel.”
“We can’t go back, Gabrielle.”
I added #158 to the list, the fact that sometimes, privately, or perhaps in honesty, he sounded a little more American.
Then, I addressed #1.
“Fuck your pride.”
“This has nothing to with pride,” he replied patiently.
It annoyed me. “I’m not ignorant. You and your family are trying to make him into a little Baird. Grooming him for what? So he ends up like you?” I scoffed; it was a cruel sound.
“I will try to prevent that,” he promised.
“Geez, you don’t even like yourself! How can you—”
“Enough, Gabrielle,” he instructed tightly.
I prodded the nerve. “How can you take responsibility for something so pure, knowing you’re just going to screw—”
“I said, ENOUGH!” thundered Daniel, eyes blazing.
I froze. My heart was already beating out a chant because of the exchange—it nearly leaped from my chest. I quieted, trying to make it look like my own idea. I wasn’t a pacifist, but I was a survivalist. A few dozen yards away, I observed a vagrant resume shuffling trash and I was glad for the witness. As it were, when Daniel’s tensed frame finally tilted away from me, I let my gaze wander aimless and palmed the mace in my pocket.
“Why aren’t you leaving?” I said finally, more quietly.
“Tonight is my birthday.”
I pressed my lips together, before saying, “You should go spend it with someone who cares.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
His reply was flippant enough but had invoked #158 on the list.
I got up and left.
~o~
The next day we had a meeting at Solomon’s. When he asked if I’d had any contact with Daniel, I answered no.
“Good,” my attorney replied. “It’s important to maintain that.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” August assured him. My stomach squirmed.
“Gabrielle,” Solomon started as his mother refreshed his coffee, “is there anything else you can tell me today about your relationship with Mr. Baird that could be helpful?”
“You could admit that he’s a predator,” Zack sniffed from the corner.
“Hush, dork,” Violet said.
“Grow up,” Jill silenced. “Both of you.”
They were stir-crazy. The group was here, by order, reviewing being called to the stand. It made an average size office small. Ian was making the best of it perched precariously on the rolled arm of Jill’s chair. She leaned away.
Solomon raised questioning brows meant for me at Zack’s outburst. I shook my head.
“If we’re done, perhaps we’ll get out of your hair,” August suggested.
Solomon nodded. “You may go. I need a few words with Gabrielle and we’ll be done today.”
We’d been here going on two hours, and I could see their relief. They got up, stretching, and made to leave. All but August.
“Everyone except Ms. Valentine, please,” Solomon added pleasantly.
“Certainly,” he said, August rose reluctantly. Solomon stood, too.
“You’ve been a great help today,” Solomon complimented and smiled. I’d come to know it as a rare but sincere gesture. August’s face warmed, and after a slight nod he departed.
Solomon sat. “Ms. Valentine, are you lying to me?’
The directness was startling. It took a moment to realize he was addressing Zack’s accusation.
“No.”
He assessed me. “I’m satisfied with that,” he said finally, pulling a file from his drawer. “I don’t know what the whiskey is going on here, but your son’s father is proving to be additionally challenging.”
“How so?”
“You really don’t know him at all, do you?” He gazed perplexedly at me. I looked down at my clasped hands. “We got our investigation of Daniel back. Right now we are facing a man who runs a Fortune 500 and was so moved while earning his MBA in China, he set up a clean water fund and established an astoundingly generous scholarship program for his alma mater. He is so clean its squeaks,” he said, sounding troubled. “Huge cancer research donations in Ireland, he’s in a stable long-term relationship—he speaks four languages and has connections worldwide. Bree, we need to step away from defense and be able to counter. Any information you come up with is valuable, understood? Even, say, an admission that contradicts what you’ve told me. I’m not here to judge. I’m here to help.” He studied me.
“Understood,” I said, seeing he still wasn’t sold on Zack’s outburst being false. “I shared everything, Solomon. I don’t know about our time together in the distant past, but I’ve been honest.”
“I appreciate that, Ms. Valentine. It will only help,” he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “But since you qualified it, is there anything about your not-so-distance past with your son’s father I should know?”
It was inevitable, I sighed inwardly. I proceeded to disclose to him my sexual encounters with Daniel.
Fifteen minutes later, I checked my messages on my way out. August wrote everyone was having a bite at the Jamaican restaurant on the corner so I met them there. Violet was absent. She’d been in a hurry to get back to work. That was too bad. Zack offered me the end cap of their booth, but I pulled up a chair. A Reggae song melodically haunted through the hallway-width eatery.
“You took long enough. I could have used your vote to pick healthier fare,” Jill complained, her mood sour as she tossed fried plantains off the basket onto a napkin.
“I like it,” Ian said, looking around, popping his last plantain in his mouth. “This place is the real McCoy.”
“Humph.” Jill impatiently blotted oil from her tasty fried concoction on the napkin. “Are you going to order or are you here to add ambiance, Bree?”
“I have something I need to tell you. I had sex with Daniel.”
“We know,” Ian laughed. He was the only one.
“More than the once. Since Tristan.”
“Oh.” He understood now.
“You did what,” Jill said slowly.
“How many times?” Zach asked, aghast.
I looked at them both. “It happened.” I said, praying that was explanation enough. After disclosing every
thing to Solomon, he cemented there was no way it wouldn’t come out during the trial from Daniel’s side. I resolved myself to come clean the same day, but resolve doesn’t shield you.
Jill’s face flushed hotly, only made more intense by her strawberry blond hair. “Hurricanes happens. Getting a zit happens. Having sex with someone as repugnant to humanity as Daniel Baird doesn’t happen,” Jill said, balling her napkin and tossing her food back on her plate. She jerked up from her seat.
“Jill, it just happened. Zach,” I said, stopping them. Ian paused from getting up, blocking her in for me. Zach was outside the booth already.
“I’m not staying for this,” he sneered as he left. “I can’t even look at her.”
“You’re not as innocent as you seem, are you, Miss Priss? Or as smart,” Jill said, half leaning over the table poised to storm out behind Zack. “Do you have any idea what I am going through right now because of you? Do you care?”
“I care,” I said. “We wouldn’t be fighting if I didn’t.”
“That’s great,” she snapped. “Still, not a single damn tear from you. I’m D-listed all over the city. My family is pissed off at me. I am humiliated by people I don’t even know wherever I go for crap that is no one’s business.” She wiped an angry tear away.
“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated that way.”
“Screw them,” she snapped tearfully flicking her hand at the world. “You caused this. It didn’t help, did it, or we wouldn’t be here? Don’t play dumb, I freaking warned you who he was. Can you honestly say we wouldn’t be suffering if you hadn’t been one of his sluts? Oh, you think you were the only one? The only other woman?” she asked, reading me with incredulousness. “He probably has five girls on his roster right now. He’s the same as Nathan. You were out of your weight class, Miss Priss.”
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 28