“I just got them in the mail yesterday. I had to talk with Weston first, so I wasn’t going to phone you until today.”
“And?”
“You’re the father. Are you happy now?”
Silence answered my statement. Several seconds passed before I heard a deep sigh. “Wow,” he whispered then paused. “I’m a father for the first time in my life.”
“So now what?” I asked, irritation in my voice.
“Now I have certain responsibilities, Brandy. I guess we should talk.”
“About what?”
“Do you have to make this any harder than it already is? You know, it takes two to make a baby. I wasn’t the only one on my couch that night, so stop blaming me for this entire thing.”
I let out a deep breath. He was right. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Of course it’s not your fault this happened. It’s just…It’s my life that’s going be ruined, not yours. I’m the one with the husband. You don’t have a partner you have to answer to, you know what I mean?”
“I understand. Unfortunately for you, that doesn’t change anything. I’m the father of your baby, and I’m determined to do the right thing. I have parental rights that I plan to exercise in whatever way I can, with or without your cooperation. If I were you, I’d cooperate. It’ll make this whole thing go a lot easier on both of us.”
I felt beaten and wanted to crouch in the corner in a fetal position to hide from the reality raining down around me. “What do you want from me?”
“I guess a judge will determine that,” he said, in a matter-of-fact way. “It has to go to court. There’s no way you can hide this.”
“It’s too late for me to hide anything, Edward,” I explained in a nasty tone. “I’ve already told Weston. I’m just not familiar with the law as you are. I guess I’ll get an attorney and we can go from there.”
“How did Weston take it?”
“That’s none of your business,” I shouted. “And I certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing that with you. I’ll retain an attorney, and he or she will be in touch with you. Are we done now?”
“I guess so. For now. I’ll talk to you soon. Thank you for doing all this, Brandy.”
“Oh, no, Edward. Thank you.” I slammed the phone down.
I stared out the window, numb. What a nightmare. My life was slowly deteriorating, unraveling day by day. What was I supposed to do now? Maybe Cecilia or Perry knew of a good attorney. Who else could I ask?
My knee-jerk response was to phone Weston and ask for help, but of course, I couldn’t do that. I didn’t know where he was staying anyway, and I wasn’t sure when I’d next hear from him Maybe I’d have to look for a divorce attorney, too.
Would he be willing to work this out? Could we stay together, and get through this? I loved him, and I knew he loved me. Nothing had changed except finding out I wasn’t carrying his child which was a surprise to both of us. But I believed if we were willing to work on our relationship after both having had an affair, we were strong enough to withstand a custody trial.
Chapter 17
I waited several days before calling Cecilia, overwhelmed by the enormity of what was happening. When able to talk about it, I picked up the phone. “I have a small favor I’d like to ask you. Do you have an attorney you could recommend for a paternity case?”
“Umm, I could ask around. What’s this about?”
“Maybe you should come over.”
Within moments, she arrived at my front door carrying a small plate of muffins and her personal coffee mug. “What’s goin’ on?”
She followed me into the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the table, pushing her mug toward me. I grabbed the pot of freshly brewed coffee and filled her cup.
I sat down across from her and breathed in the strong scent of Columbian French roast, then took a sip. “My baby’s father is Edward Barnes.”
Her mug slipped from her hands and dropped onto the kitchen table with a thud, brown liquid streaming over the sides of the table onto the floor. I pushed back my chair, stood up quickly and grabbed a towel, throwing it on the table to soak up the mess. After wiping everything down with a sponge, I refilled her mug and sat down again.
“You could have warned me,” she said. “Maybe give me the news after a prologue or something. How in the hell do you know this anyway?”
“Edward saw Weston and me at Starbucks and demanded to know whether the baby was his or not.”
“The guy’s got a lot of nerve.”
“As he so aptly said, he could do the math. Weston told him I was almost seven months pregnant. Edward simply counted backwards.”
“But how do you know he’s the—”
“He insisted I have the baby’s DNA tested or he’d approach Weston.”
“Pretty determined guy, huh?”
“He said he’d take me to court, do whatever he needed to get the truth.”
“So he’s the father?” she whispered.
“Yeah, he is. And Weston left me the night I told him.”
She shook her head, looking confused. “God, I never asked you when you had sex with Edward. I just figured you missed your period and Dr. Farney determined the date of conception.”
I stared out the window, wondering why I’d never seriously thought of the possibility that Edward could be my baby’s father. What had I been thinking? I guess I hadn’t been thinking at all.
Her hand covered mine and I turned toward her sympathetic gaze. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, Cece. I never…I didn’t mark the date I had sex with Edward on the damn calendar!” I shouted, bursting into tears.
I could hear her chair slide across the floor then felt her arm around my shoulders. I leaned in toward her and she hugged me while I cried deep gulping sobs, the dam of my heart bursting from holding in all my regret and sorrow.
“Have you and Weston talked about what you’re going to do?”
I pulled out of her embrace and she grabbed a napkin off the table and handed it to me.
“This is such a mess,” I said, patting my cheeks dry. “I’ve cried so much since the night Weston left, I didn’t think I had any tears left to shed.” I smiled at her, though it was obviously more of a sickening grimace. “I don’t know what to do. I haven’t heard from him in days. He won’t take my calls. The switchboard routes me to the secretary and it goes to voice mail. I haven’t been able to reach him.”
She leaned over and took my hands in hers. “Look at me.” Her understanding eyes locked on mine. “You’ll make it through this. I don’t know what will happen with you and Weston but I do know you’ve been through a lot—losing your baby, Weston working in New York, both of you admitting to having an affair.” She squeezed both my hands. “You lived through all of that, honey. You’re an extraordinary woman. Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. We’ll find you a good attorney, and you’ll go to court about Edward’s parental rights. I’m sure you and Weston will work something out.”
I nodded. I wanted to believe her. At the very least, I could handle myself better than I had after losing Christine. I had to give myself credit for how well I held onto my sanity, practicing the coping skills I’d learned. I wasn’t walking around in a daze, no scattered thoughts.
I had to be strong for the child I was carrying, no matter who the father was. Whatever happened now with Weston, I’d handle it. And whatever happened with Edward, well, I felt a strength in me I hadn’t known existed. Cecilia’s words resonated with truth. I’d be fine.
Chapter 18
Saturday arrived. Weston didn’t work on the weekends, and I needed to talk to him. Every time I called his cell phone, it immediately went to voice mail. I’d left numerous messages, asking him to phone me, but he wouldn’t return my calls.
Determined to communicate with him somehow, I decided to send him a confidential letter and mail it to him at work. What recourse did I have at this point? I felt helpless and unsettled, everything out of my control. If I coul
d do nothing to mend fences, at least sending a letter to his office might make me feel less impotent.
While sitting on the couch, trying to come up with the right words to express what was in my heart, I looked up and saw the mailman stuffing letters and magazines into our red mailbox near the front gate. I walked out to retrieve them, waving to him as he made his way down the block. There were two magazines, my Vogue and Weston’s House Renovation, and a few envelopes.
I brought the stack of mail into the house, to add to the other days’ arrivals I still hadn’t sorted through. Nothing seemed more important than saving my marriage, and I couldn’t concentrate on mundane chores. Sticking out the side of today’s pile I noted a legal-size envelope from the Law Offices of Lance Cook and Sons. I slid my finger under the flap and extracted a document several pages long titled “Official Request for Divorce Proceedings” initiated by the first party, Weston Chambers.
Unbelievable. I felt light-headed, my stomach queasy. Weston and I hadn’t spoken to each other since the night I’d revealed Edward was the father of my baby, and I assumed we’d get together to discuss what we wanted to do. I assumed he’d at least want to give us an opportunity to work things out.
Talk about blindsided! In my opinion, this was a knee-jerk reaction. He couldn’t possibly have thought this through. He needed time to mull things over then get in touch with me when he was less emotional. This was just wrong.
I was about to lose my husband.
I was about to become a divorcee.
Immediately I phoned Cecilia and asked if she could come over right away. I left the front door ajar and went into the kitchen to brew fresh coffee—not decaffeinated. The front door slammed shut, and I turned to see her rushing into the kitchen, hair sopping wet, wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.
“What the hell’s going on?” She pulled out a chair and plopped down on the seat with a huge sigh. “I’d just gotten out of the shower when you called. You sounded frantic.”
I poured two cups of the dark brew into mugs and brought them over to the table. My hands were shaking as I set them carefully on the place mats then sank down in the chair across from her.
“Are you ready for this?” She nodded, her brows clutched together in a frown. “Weston filed for divorce.”
She sat back in her chair, her face void of expression, and looked out the window overlooking our yard.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” I felt betrayed before I even heard her response.
“Perry told me this morning while we were still in bed. But he said you probably wouldn’t receive the papers for a couple of days.”
I tapped her on the hand lying next to her mug. She looked over at me. “Would you have told me?”
She paused, but her gaze never wavered from mine. “Yes, I would have told you. I swear to God, Brandy, I would never have kept this from you. I just hadn’t had time yet to think of how to do it.”
“Really?” It felt awkward knowing someone else was aware of my impending divorce before I knew about it, as if she held a secret that should have been mine to tell and not her.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it, hard. “Yes, I was going to tell you…even though Perry made me promise I wouldn’t. To me, it felt wrong for Perry and me to know and you not having a clue.”
I nodded. It still hadn’t sunk in—the reality that in the immediate future, I would no longer be Weston’s wife.
She cleared her throat, looked down into her mug of coffee. “I have a friend, a woman friend, who’s a divorce attorney,” she said meekly, in a half-whisper.
My lips curved up in a small smile. “What’s her name?”
“Claudette Delacroix. I’ve known her for years. We met at the athletic club way back when. Very French, and extremely good at her job from everything I hear.”
I stared into the bottom of my mug, which I’d drained in a couple of minutes, the caffeine kicking me into high gear, a buzz churning through my veins.
“Are you gonna be okay, hon? Should I stay for a while? What can I do?”
My head swirled with questions. What if Weston tried to take the house from me? Where would I live? Could he prove me an unfit mother because I was carrying another man’s child? This was a Weston I didn’t recognize, so I couldn’t venture to guess his intentions.
“Not to be rude, Cece, but do you think we could talk later? I want to call your friend.” I grabbed a pad and pen from the countertop and scribbled her name. “Claudette Delacroix, right?” She nodded. “I’d like to set up an appointment soon.”
She stood and put her arm around my waist as we walked to the foyer where she gave me a tight hug. I slowly closed the door behind her, gritting my teeth, edging toward the gaping maw of depression. But I had to stop this type of thinking. I could not go down that road again, giving up on life. I had to fight this with everything in me.
I’d raise my child in this city, in this house, send him or her to the best schools and I’d do it with financial help from the father of my baby. We’d work out that part during a court hearing. And if Weston didn’t want to be married to me any longer and refused to be a parent to this baby, I’d have to accept that, too.
I made an appointment to see Ms. Delacroix for Wednesday, anxious to find out my options and what Weston’s attorney would reveal concerning his wishes. I’d yet to find a lawyer to handle the paternity issue but surmised Ms. Delacroix would be helpful in that regard.
On Wednesday, I drove the few minutes to her office located in a beautifully restored Victorian house on Grand Street. After her secretary announced my arrival, Ms. Delacroix opened the door to her office with a smile.
“Mrs. Chambers, come in.” She gestured me into her office where I took a seat facing her desk. “Since we’ll be working together on your divorce, please call me Claudette,” she said in a heavy French accent.
I nodded. “Call me Brandy.”
“All right, Brandy. Do you have the papers from your husband’s attorney with you?”
I removed the documents from my purse and handed them to her. “I received these a few days ago. Somewhat of a surprise, I have to admit.”
Perusing them, she glanced up at me. “Sometimes that happens…Nothing premeditated such an action on your husband’s part?”
I took a deep breath, looked down at my folded hands. “Yes, something definitely happened, but I thought he and I would work through it. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for weeks, then suddenly I received these in the mail—”
“May I ask what happened, Brandy?”
A hot blush crept up my neck. I’d only told my story to Weston and Cecilia and felt embarrassed to have to explain it to a total stranger. However, she was my attorney, bound by complete confidentiality. “While my husband worked temporarily in New York, I had an affair. The man moved to Washington state but then he returned to Alameda, found out I was pregnant, and insisted I have the child’s DNA tested. He’s the father.”
She nodded, finished looking through the papers I’d given her, and tilted her head. “You were forced to admit to your husband you’d been unfaithful, no?”
“Yes. And after I told him about my affair, he admitted to having had an affair too. But when I revealed I was pregnant with another man’s child…” I shrugged. “He left me.”
She opened a side drawer, pulled out several sets of stapled documents. “I’ll need you to fill out these standard informational forms, which will explain your personal and financial status. Take them with you and mail them back to me. In the meantime, I’ll contact your husband’s attorney, Lance Cook, and find out what he wants to do with regard to alimony, your unborn child, any other concerns he may have.
“Depending on whether you and he agree on the details will determine how long it will take to finalize your divorce. It can be completed in six months if there are no disagreements. Or it could take much longer, depending on what I find out. I’ll contact you soon.” She leaned back in her chair,
placed her reading glasses on her desktop and frowned. “Do you want this divorce from your husband?”
My eyes blurred, the tears imminent. I was so embarrassed. I never cried in front of strangers, and especially now. I didn’t want to appear like the weak and helpless soon-to-be divorcee.
“I must ask the question, no?” she continued. “Your husband is the one filing for divorce, Brandy. What do you want?”
Clearing my throat, I blinked several times then replied, “I was hoping Weston and I could work this out. So, no, I don’t want the divorce, but he obviously doesn’t want anything more to do with me, won’t answer my calls…If we don’t talk, how can we resolve this?”
She stood, placing both hands flat on top of her desk. “It sounds like you’ve tried your best to get in contact with him, eh?”
“Yes, I have.” I stood and looked her in the eyes. “I surmise he thought about it, made his decision, took the time and effort to acquire an attorney. So I assume he’s determined to do this.” I paused. “I don’t like living in limbo. If my husband doesn’t want me in his life, I have to move on.”
She came around to the front of her desk and we shook hands. “I’ll take it from here.”
Before I left, she gave me the name of a gentleman who would handle the paternity issues between Edward and me, Mr. Harvey Denzel, who also had an office in Alameda. I left feeling much better. I tried to “let it go,” knowing she’d handle the details. I’d done all I could for the moment.
My life was in a stage of metamorphosis. I’d be a single mother in a few months. Though I would hope Weston and I could have an amicable divorce and Edward’s demands would be reasonable, I had to be realistic. I might have to battle it out in court with both men before the divorce and custody issues were final.
When I arrived home, I phoned Mr. Denzel’s office and scheduled a meeting with him the next day. I was anxious to go forward with my life, glad I didn’t have to wait weeks to meet with either of my attorneys.
I contemplated my upcoming appointment with Mr. Denzel. What if Edward insisted on shared custody? How would I feel about having my child live fifty percent of the time with me and the other half with the biological father? I couldn’t imagine having to force my son or daughter to live in two homes for most of his or her life. My stomach clenched at the thought of a potential fight in court over parental rights.
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