August didn’t answer as he flipped slowly thought the photos in his hands, as if they were the pins to a grenade. His back was hunched over them as he shifted the rectangular squares idly in front of him.
“Mr. King, at this stage, if I asked you what your interest was in a young single mother with a son who had no other predominate protective male, or female, figures in their lives, would you be answering as the liar or the cheater? Because we have established you are one of the two.”
August looked up and swallowed thickly.
Without an answer, the attorney continued. “Mr. Olivier was quite a bit younger than you. Would you state that’s the type of male you prefer? Young?”
“Objection!” Solomon shouted. He was angry, as was I.
“He is like a son to me.” August repeated, his mouth cringing disgustedly.
“Do you mean the young boy in question, Mr. Baird’s son? But he’s not your son. Not by law or blood.”
“I have cared for them both. I love them both as if they are my partner and my child. That is why I have cared for them. Miss Valentine and I don’t have any secrets from each other. There is nothing here she’s unaware of, if your wish was to blindside her.” August said in calm defense.
The attorney smiled gleefully. “Your honor please put on case record that the witness has stated Miss Valentine is in open knowledge of the duplicity of Mr. King’s lifestyle and sexual conduct outside their relationship. I submit this, the statements from his male lovers, coupled with documents stating the child has been tested for sexually transmitted diseases sporadically throughout his childhood.”
Solomon was contesting something but I spaced out. Daniel wasn’t going for a win. He was going for total decimation of our image.
Solomon was still making an argument when August stood up, slapping down the photos. “You are making a disgusting and libelous inference, Mr. Kord. I suggest at this point you and anyone you represent whom authorized this line of questioning be prepared to hear from my attorney. And, to the Baird family, please, from the bottom of my heart, accept this as my notice. I quit.” August tugged on the bottom flaps of his suit jacket and stepped down from the stand calmly.
With incredible character he carried himself back to the seat behind me. I reached my hand to his and squeezed it.
“Next we call Mary Gabrielle Valentine,” Alec Kord said from his table.
“I’m so sorry, August.” I said, hesitating. I stood and looked at him.
“Be brave,” he pleaded, eyes brimming with emotion and childlike fear. Tarred and feathered, he had lost hope. My heart hammered. I took a deep breath and mounted the stand.
“Ms. Valentine, do you believe yourself to be a responsible person?”
“People have often told me, yes.”
“Then answer, how is it you came to be pregnant?”
“The same way as everyone else,” I answered, gritting my teeth.
“Ms. Valentine, why have you allowed your young, impressionable child to be so closely surrounded by this group of self-titled family? . You have created a father figure out of a man you appear to be in an alternative lifestyle relationship with.”
“I have never been with him how you are implying. Or any of them for that matter.”
He laughed. “Ms. Valentine, you are aware you swore an oath.”
I snapped, “I’m telling the truth.”
He tucked his hands behind his back. “Do you then deny fornicating with Mr. Baird the night after meeting?”
“No—I don’t know,” I slipped.
“You either do or you don’t.”
“I don’t remember.” I said more firmly. Solomon and I rehearsed this, I reminded myself, closing my eyes. Play it through implication as a commonplace co-ed one-night stand, a forgettable one, nothing more.
“And the only reason you are acknowledging him as a sexual partner during conception is because you have a child to show for it?”
“Yes.”
“Then one could conclude that you potentially have had dozens of partners in the days of conception that didn’t result in pregnancies, because you only acknowledge the one you bore a child for.”
“I am not a whore!” I defended, because that was the truth. I was not what they were painting me to be. My pride was getting the best of me. It didn’t escape the attorney’s notice this wasn’t an answer.
The judge called order and my attorney objected. “Having a private life does not constitute losing parental rights. If his questions aren’t paramount to the health and safety of the child, they are immaterial and, frankly, prejudicial.”
“We’re not judging the defendants lifestyle, per se,” the attorney rebutted, “but these are material facts pertaining to the atmosphere the child is being raised in.”
The attorney looked at me sharply, and I swallowed. There was something in the sand and he had caught a scent. He was like a vulture cautiously circling before me; unsure if he was onto a strike or a trap.
“Has Mrs. King ever spent the night in your bed?” He threw me off.
I gave him the easy point. “Yes, slept.”
He grinned, and dug in. “Ms. Valentine, do you currently, or have you ever used or abused drugs or alcohol?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.” Brows lowered, he snapped his mouth closed, and the gears began grinding so hard now, I could almost hear it.
He was thoughtful. “Ms. Valentine, do you experience blackouts?” he fished. “I take that back, strike the question.”
The attorney halted and strode back to his table. A young woman who looked to be an intern extended some documents, which he waved away, instead seeking something that seemed to have been cast aside. He skimmed it and headed back to me with deliberate steps.
“In the child’s medical records,” he began slowly. “It shows that he was tested for a HIV, AIDS every six months, starting at birth. By your request.” He peered at me, disgusted and intrigued all at once, then took the paper back to his desk, laying it down neatly, and returning, with the look of a man one word short of solving Sunday’s crossword.
“Ms. Valentine, I am only going to ask you this once. Understand that I am here to get the truth for the welfare of the child. Understand also that perjury is an absolute crime, and you have sworn yourself to honesty; to truth. Now, I ask—why is it that you deny knowledge of Mr. Daniel Baird as your sexual partner during conception, when it is scientific fact, and why is it, you cannot, and did not—just minutes ago—categorically repudiate the possibility of having had hundreds of sexual partners or a personal experience with substance abuse?”
I was cornered. It was a broad enough question that I couldn’t avoid. My attorney was worriedly fuming because—I knew—he couldn’t object; and I was trapped. I remember seeing the faces of certain faces in the courtroom; most of all, I remember thinking, I’m sorry.
“Because,” I said sighing heavily. “I have a condition that has given me a loss of time in my life. The doctor called it psychogenic amnesia.”
The opposing attorney’s desk quietly erupted. It took a few moments for the room to collectively regain itself. Most didn’t know what it meant, not realizing the can had merely been opened—the meaty worms hadn’t crawled out yet. They simply liked the new twist. I felt defeat and despair radiating from my side of the room, and I found I couldn’t look. But the sour heat of it created a fire in my belly, and for once, I was glad for it; I welcomed it. I looked to the source of this tumult to feed it, people were leaning into him and conferring around him, but Daniel’s eyes were trained on me; and a malevolence I’d never known filled me.
The attorney approached for redress, and only then did my gaze snap away, but there was new vigor in the lawyer’s step. He had something; he knew. Unfortunately, he struck gold on the first try.
“Ms. Valentine, do you now, or have you ever had a diagnosis of a mental break—”
“Objection.”
“Your honor, it think it is very clear, there i
s something suspect about Ms. Valentine’s answers thus far. I promise you I am well within my jurisdiction to pursue this line of questioning.
The judge pursed his lips. “Proceed”
“Ms. Valentine. Do you now or have you ever been treated for any other type of psychological condition.” he asked, and although I knew it was coming, a volcano of hate erupted in me.
I seethed. “The answer is yes, I have. In fact eight months of my life are a blank, deleted. And you have no idea how that feels. But I am perfectly fine now and that has nothing to do with how I care for my son!” I finished breathing heavily, and I knew I didn’t look perfectly fine.
Both sides exploded, but they were quickly silenced.
“Ms. Valentine, your mental competence is imperative to the—”
“Me! Do you have any idea who you’re representing?” I jabbed an accusing finger towards Daniel’s table, who I expected to be reveling in the chaos, but looked, for lack of a better word, totally confused.
“She’s being hostile, your honor,” his lawyer complained then raised his voice a notch. “Ms. Valentine, have you ever—” Before he could finish he was cut off. By Daniel.
“Let her speak,” he thundered. I saw both Kate and his father speaking protests, but he silenced them with a hand like a steel wall. They were all here to witness my humiliation, and although I couldn’t process Daniel’s actions, I knew he was the source of this pain.
“You. I know it was you,” I hissed, and for the first time, he seemed to truly understand me, absorbing what I was saying then addressed the room. “They found me in the park,” I started. “I was…filthy…erratic…and pregnant. I was squatting somewhere and living on the streets. They called it a psychotic break. My sister—the social deviant, you said—was the one who tracked me down and took me to a hospital. Jill—the reckless whore—protected me; stopped me from an abortion, and August…the best human being I’ve ever known,” I said meeting his eyes, but they seemed blurry, and mine were too. “The one you insinuated capable of the most unspeakable acts….August saved our lives. So, no, I can’t give you straight answers, because I don’t have them. I don’t know if I’ve ever done drugs, but I do know that I’ve never done any before or since. And I don’t know for certain how many people I had sex with while on the streets, but I do know that I never had sex with anyone else before the episode…or since.”
The room was bursting again, but the attorney spoke over it. “Ms. Valentine, we already have sworn testimony that you’ve recently had a casual sexual relationship with Mr. Baird himself,” he interrupted, with a look that said Nice try.
“Yes,” I said finding Daniel in the room. “No one else but him. I’ll never regret anything more.”
The attorney was determined. “Ms. Valentine, you cannot expect us to believe that, and I think you’re dodging around the real issue. Are you currently on any psychiatric medica—” Alec Kord began floundering to reign in, but I’d felt Daniel watching with full attention, and finally, not wanting to be weak in this moment, I met his eyes. But he looked different, and something was changing inside—it looked like it was breaking.
“Leave her be,” he ordered, blinking away from me. His command carried through the room, silencing everyone. His attorney stuttered and stopped.
“Son,” Hawk ordered, leaning forward, with a threatening look.
Kate grabbed his arm. “Daniel,” she said—it was a plea. He seemed to take them in slow motion, but Daniel didn’t look present, and when he finally came back to himself, Kate flinched away. He rose to a stand.
“Your honor,” Daniel addressed, squaring his shoulders, pinning his hands down on the table. “I formally withdraw my request for full custody of the child.” The room exploded, but he kept going. “Or any legal custody at all. Additionally, I henceforth wave all manner of claim regarding custody and visitation,” he finished. My world tilted. The judge struggled for order. He pounded his gavel.
“Mr. Baird, if you’re trying to get out of child support—” the judge warned.
“I am not,” Daniel clarified. “I will pay whatever amount the court and Ms. Valentine desire.”
Everyone was giving Daniel the same look I’d gotten from Violet when I told her I’d found Tristan’s dad; like he’d gone skydiving sans chute. The judge frowned and gave him a look, man to man. “Mr. Baird, do you fully understand the legal implications of what you are saying?”
“Yes. I apologize to the court for the misunderstanding,” he said, looking impossibly tired. “But there has been a grave mistake. I have no rights here.” He looked at me as he spoke the words, and I gasped at what I saw. Violet had jumped from her seat. She was clapping. Ian wrapped Jill in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground. She was crying. August leaned over the pony wall from the gallery whispering fervently with Solomon. At the council desk, Solomon nodded, and August leaned back in his seat. He raised his face to the ceiling, eyes shut. And then there was a broad shouldered figure in a black suit making for the partition. The fabric was like liquid. People were calling to him. Some angry. He was leaving, and without thinking I climbed down from the stand and rushed through the courtroom, down to the aisle, catching his blazer sleeve.
“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t understand why, but I knew I had my son back.
“Don’t,” he said harshly, the sternness in his green eyes waned when looking down at my hand on his sleeve. “I’ve ruined you,” he said; a simple statement of fact. I let go and didn’t watch him leave.
Part Two
Chapter 25 - The Bairds and the Bees
It was over. As quickly as it began, it was over. I took Tristan home that day. I’d met him on the steps of Daniel’s townhouse standing beside Jeeves and lifted him in my arms, with no intention of ever letting go again. He cried happy tears on my behalf. When we got to our apartment he said he liked the new open shelves in our kitchen, and his new bed. His reunion with his lizard Herman was just as great. Herman flicked out his trim-ribbon tongue as Tristan nuzzled him. I swore it was a kiss.
I was happy again. For my friends and me, it was a time of shaky reconciliation. For our relationships and our lives. August was officially unemployed. He had to live through some scandalous blurbs in the paper as well. But he came to visit that Sunday for dinner anyway. So did almost everyone. Jill was the only holdout, but I intended to fix that. Although there were moments of residual tension, it was dealt with. We’d stood on the pyre together, bound, and we came out together; bonded. A week after the mistrial, we went out for brunch.
“Waffles. Pancakes. Bacon,” Violet said, leaning down, pinching Tristan’s cheeks. “Get whatever you want.”
“Go on. Before long you’ll be counting calories like the rest of us. Enjoy that metabolism,” Justine encouraged, petting his head.
He looked at me wide-eyed, for permission. I smiled and gave him a nod. Solomon and August exchanged a humored smile. We’d already eaten. Vi was encouraging him to order a to-go for later.
“Bro. You can’t pass that up. Get some of that bananas froster’s toast,” Ian suggested, goofing the words. Zach was there, too, and brought along Annie and Chen. “You too, Chen-man.” They huddled over menus, devising a high-calorie take-away plan. The waitress brought the check and waited as I insisted on paying over other offers. She paused, slapping down the ticket.
“No charge for baby boy’s stack,” she announced, like The Godfather gifting a Benz. Her name tag read Cardis—a young girl Zack’s complexion with a strong Bronx accent. “And look you don’ know me but we just want to tell you nice work. Me an’ my friends knew awl along you was gonna come out on top. That guy deserved to get bagged.” She grinned then rushed to her other tables. Solomon and August turned to me. We exchanged impressed looks as I pulled my attention to my wallet.
“Gotta say, I agree,” Zack said, having overheard, while preening around the breakfast diner like a king.
Justine peered up from where Tristan and Chen buried their n
oses in the menu. “Pride comes before the fall, young man. Nothing costs nothing,” she said lowly to Zack. “Remember that.”
I thought about Daniel sometimes.
“Kick the ball!” Chen shouted. I kicked the rolling ball back on the frozen turf of Madison Park where bundled Tristan and Chen played winter kickball with Zack and Ian.
I tucked my gloved hands in my coat pockets and brushed my heel against the ground, bristling up some frost. The world was mostly okay for everyone except Tristan. I wasn’t one to carry grudges, but I could get past this. Daniel dragged us through the dirt, and when I thought about what my little family had been through, it did something strange to my spine; made it lock into a jagged steel column. I was brought back from thoughts again as Tristan barreled into me. He was smiling and giggling. He looked up and frowned.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I drew down his hat more snugly, and he ran back to play.
A week before, I was in the work studio. Claire buzzed me out when lunch arrived. I popped open the clear plastic container and ripped the fork from its plastic.
“Do you want me to have Ari drop off Tristan after school?” Claire offered, knowing we were buried in deadlines. I took the scarf off my head and shook out my hair. It was itching.
“That would be great. Tell him thanks,” I smiled, shaking out sawdust. I had five original prototype designs that needed to be on a crate the next day. She gave me a thumbs-up and went to the large corkboard across from my desk and began pinning up freshly torn out pages. She had turned my board into a motivational collage and Baird burn book. A picture of a striped cat saying Keep on Meowing made me chuckle.
“If you think that’s hilarious wait till you see these,” she said pinning up pages with typeface. I joined her, holding my lunch under my chin as I shoveled in a fork load. I scanned a few. More of the same. The press showed no mercy. Only one new storyline.
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 31