The Thin Wall (Corona Heights Book 1)

by E. M. Parker

  “We’re aware of that,” Paul said. “And given the circumstances and short notice, we appreciate Mr. Lawson’s time.”

  Kirk sat rigidly in his chair. Fiona could feel the weight of his glare.

  Michael continued. “We have to admit that your request came as a bit of a surprise.”

  “Surprise is an understatement,” Kirk chided.

  Still unable to look him in the eye, Fiona focused on Kirk’s hands, specifically the left one. Bare. She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

  “I get that it was unexpected,” Fiona said, finally able to make eye contact. “But I was hoping that by meeting like this, we could–”

  “Could what, Fiona?” It was the first time that Kirk’s expression revealed any kind of emotion. It was not the emotion Fiona was hoping for. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  His reaction caught her off guard. She scrambled for a response from the script that she had mentally prepared during the drive here. “I think it’s obvious, Kirk.”

  “Are you really thinking about Jacob? Or are you thinking about yourself? Because if you were truly thinking about him, about his well-being, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “I can’t believe what you’re saying.” Fiona’s voice was rising and faltering at the same time. “What do you expect me to do? Pretend that he doesn’t exist? It’s bad enough you move him halfway across the country without–”

  “Like I had to get your permission,” Kirk interrupted. “I’m sorry, but you lost that right.”

  “You had to know that I wasn’t going to start some new and improved life in Seattle while my son was living a thousand miles away.”

  “Maybe I should have moved him two thousand miles away.”

  Kirk’s words nearly took the air out of the room. For a long moment, the only audible sound was the squeaking of Paul’s chair as he shifted uncomfortably in it.

  “Why do you hate me so much?”

  Kirk’s stare was suddenly distant, traces of regret in his downcast eyes. “I don’t hate you, Fiona.”

  “Then why do you say the things you do?” She was determined not to cry, but that determination was wavering with each passing second.

  “Because I don’t understand what this is.”

  “This is me trying to see our son, Kirk. Our son.”

  “Ms. Graves,” Michael jumped in, “The judge’s order was clear.”

  No matter how many times she heard her maiden name, she still hadn’t gotten used to it. “Why does everyone think they have to remind me of what the judge’s order was?”

  Michael continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “If you are interested in visitation, you need to petition the court, demonstrate your sobriety, and that you are otherwise not a risk, either to yourself or to Jacob.”

  “What part of that isn’t clear?” Kirk barked.

  “I’m better now.”

  “Until you can prove that, how do you expect me to ever trust you with him?”

  “You know I would never do anything to intentionally hurt him.”

  “And you know that I would never allow him to be in a situation where he could be hurt.”

  “Are you saying I would–”

  “It’s not about what I’m saying, Fiona. It’s about the fact that you got behind the wheel of a car, totally shit-faced, with our son inside, and proceeded to wrap yourself around a goddamn telephone pole.”

  “Okay everyone, let’s do our best to remain civil,” Paul interjected. “No good can come from this bickering. Not for either of you, and certainly not for Jacob.”

  “It’s obvious he doesn’t have the first damn clue about what’s good for Jacob!” Fiona finally allowed her simmering anger to boil over. She welcomed the release.

  Kirk stood up. “You’re absolutely right. No good can come from this,” he said to Paul. “I was out of my mind to agree to this in the first place.” He quickly made his way to the door, his lawyer close behind.

  “Mr. Lawson, please wait.”

  Kirk stopped before he left the room, this time turning his attention to Fiona. “I don’t know what you hoped to accomplish by coming here, but you aren’t doing anyone any good. Not Jacob, not me, not even yourself. His life is just fine, Fiona. He’s happy for the first time in a long time. You know how difficult this ordeal was for him. He took it twice as hard as either of us. He’s finally over it now, and just when he is, you show up out of the blue. Do you really want to put him through that hurt all over again? Do you?”

  “Kirk, I don’t…” Fiona suddenly couldn’t find the words. Nothing in the script had prepared her for this scene.

  “Because that is exactly what will happen. And God help me if I don’t do everything in my power to prevent it.”

  Fiona trembled as Kirk walked out of the room.

  Michael turned to her before he exited. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here, Ms. Graves.” One last nail in the coffin. “Goodbye Paul.”

  “Michael.” Looking just as shell-shocked as his client, Paul put a hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that didn’t go better.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be representing me,” Fiona said bitterly. “Why did you let him talk to me like that?”

  “Unfortunately, he had the right to say whatever he wanted. We weren’t in court, I couldn’t object.”

  “He treated me like I was some kind of monster. Like I tried to hurt Jacob, like I would hurt him now.”

  “I hate to say this, but I warned you this could happen. Legally, the power rests with him.”

  “You heard him. He doesn’t want me to see my son at all.”

  “He can’t prevent you from seeing Jacob altogether. It’s the court’s responsibility to ensure that you have proper visitation per what has already been mandated. And they will do that. Trust me, you still have options.”

  “What options, Paul? Even if the court grants me shared custody, by the time Kirk is finished, Jacob will want nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t already turned him against me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Fiona began pacing the room. “Kirk didn’t agree to meet me because he wanted to see how I was or because he wanted to hear what I had to say. It didn’t matter how I looked or what I said. I didn’t have a chance. He wanted nothing more than to make me feel like shit. And guess what? He totally succeeded.” Fiona abruptly stopped pacing and sat on the windowsill, her face buried in her hands. “I’m such an idiot for thinking it could be any different.”

  “Please tell me you’re not giving up,” Paul said as he sat down beside her. “This is the time to dig your heels in and fight. You’ve come entirely too far to turn back now. I know how much you want this; how much you’ve been through to get here. This battle is just beginning, and I absolutely believe it’s one we can win. I need you to believe that too.”

  Fiona wished that she could have summoned a defiant response; some “hell no, I’m not giving up’ rah-rah speech; some hint that she still had the strength to persevere.

  Instead, she could only walk out the door, all the while dwelling on the words she had tried so hard to ignore.

  False hope.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NOT YET FAMILIAR ENOUGH WITH THE CITY to have a favorite spot where she could go to clear her head, Fiona retreated to the only place she could. In the harsh glare of daylight, her apartment looked even more cold and soulless than it had the night before.

  She had tried to pass the time by creating work for herself: scrubbing countertops that were already spotless, sweeping floors that didn’t have a crumb in sight, wrestling with the faulty bedroom window that was beyond repair. She even re-hung the pictures that had mysteriously fallen the night before, this time finding a brand-new spot on a completely different wall.

  None of it provided adequate distraction.

  The image of Kirk hovered like a dark cloud over her entire being, as did the humiliation of his seething judgme
nt, judgment that bordered on disgust. Aside from Paul, there was no one to call, no one to provide a comforting word of encouragement. No one to tell her it would be okay.

  It didn’t matter. It would have all been a lie anyway.

  She paced her apartment for hours, afraid of being still. Something was chasing her, and Fiona worried that if it caught her, the outcome would be dire beyond any worst-case scenario she could have ever constructed.

  Despite her best efforts, it eventually did catch up to her.

  It began with the screaming in her head, followed by the red-hot burning in her throat. This time, water did nothing to quench it.

  Even though she had fought tooth-and-nail to keep it at bay for the last three-hundred and ten days, the craving for a drink had settled into her instantly and completely, like the warm comfort of a favorite blanket. Giving in to that comfort meant not having to distract herself anymore. It meant no more embarrassment or regret. It meant feeling nothing. And right now, nothing was good.

  But time and experience told her that it was all a façade. The comfort, the warmth, the numbness. It was simply there to mask a truth that would always make itself known, no matter how much she attempted to suppress it. And tonight, she would have to face that truth again. Tonight, the veil would be lifted, and it wouldn’t reveal a changed woman ready to make her world right again. The woman revealed tonight would be the one that she had always feared: the hopeless alcoholic who never learned how to cope with her father’s death, her mother’s neglect, her own inability to connect, or her propensity to sabotage herself and anything good that found its way into her life.

  The cravings told her that she had no business coming here, and if she truly wanted what was best for Jacob, she would have stayed right where she was. The cravings told her that the last year of A.A. meetings, the self-righteous chest-beating, and the empty promises of a different outcome now meant nothing.

  You’re a fraud, Fiona. Jacob is better off now, and you know it. This is all you’ve ever been and all you’ll ever be. Stop conning yourself. You’re better at controlling it now. You know how to stop at one. Just one, then you can throw away the rest. No more hurting.

  Sinking deep into the nylon fabric of her air mattress, Fiona wept. It was the only thing she could do to quiet the frantic whispering in her head.

  As she wiped away tears, she recalled an incident with her father that occurred just days before his car drifted across a highway median and into the path of an oncoming semi-truck. No matter how late it was, no matter how long the shift, he would always peek inside her room before shuffling off to bed. Most nights she awoke to the sound of his heavy footfalls. On this night, she stayed up in anticipation of his visit. But something different happened this time. This time he passed her bedroom without peeking inside, continuing instead down the hallway toward his own bedroom. The first sound Fiona heard was her mother’s strained voice.

  “Nathan, what is it? What’s the matter?”

  The second sound she heard was one that she has never forgotten in the twenty-six years since it happened.

  Her father was crying.

  Alarmed, Fiona ran out of bed and into the hallway where she saw her mother and father embracing. He had nearly collapsed in her arms.

  “I can’t stop, Maggie. I’ve tried. I swear to God I have.”

  “I know, honey. I know. That’s why you have to let someone help you.”

  The image shook Fiona to her tiny core. Without saying a word, she ran up to her father and wrapped herself around his waist. By now she was crying too.

  “Daddy, are you okay? Please don’t cry. Please don’t.” She said the words repeatedly; words that were now replaying in her mind just as clearly as when she first spoke them.

  With the fog of sadness casting an ever-widening net around her, Fiona kept hearing that seven-year-old voice. “Don’t be sad anymore. You’ll be okay.” As if prompted by the words, she sat up in bed. After a few deep breaths, her nerves settled.

  Calm quickly gave way to the blunt force trauma of guilt.

  “Christ, what am I doing?”

  Through the haze of damp eyes, she looked at the unopened bottle of Bushmills whiskey resting on her nightstand. The instant she picked it up, the frantic whispering returned.

  Open the bottle. Take one sip, then toss out the rest.

  Throw it against the wall and watch it shatter into pieces.

  Calmly walk into the bathroom and pour it down the sink.

  Who in the hell are you fooling? Drink the whole goddamned thing!

  Fiona slowly unscrewed the cap, the thick, peppery smell filling her nostrils with warmth.

  One sip, then down the sink.

  The rim of the bottle was touching her lips before she even realized that she had raised her arm. Her grip tightened as she tipped the bottle up.

  Just one.

  But before the first taste could cross her mouth, Fiona heard something.

  “Are you better now?”

  She froze. The voice sounded like the seven-year-old from her memories, but unlike a memory, this voice did not exist in her mind.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  It was in her room.

  “Can you hear me?”

  A knock on the wall caused her to jump out of bed.

  She held her breath as silence fell upon the room. With the bottle suddenly feeling heavy in her hand, she put it back on the nightstand, screwing the cap on as tightly as she could. “Not one drop and I’m still losing my mind.”

  “So you are still there.”

  Fiona jumped again, this time covering her mouth to stifle the involuntary yelp that had escaped her chest.

  The young voice was coming from the same spot where she heard the knocking. The same spot where she heard the crying a day earlier.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Fiona approached with cautious steps. She placed an ear to the wall and stood there for what felt like an eternity before finally summoning the courage to speak. “Are you talking to me?”

  “You’re not crying anymore. Does that mean everything is okay now?”

  Against her already failing judgment, Fiona answered. “Yes, I’m okay. How long have you been listening to me?”

  “Long enough to get worried. You sounded really sad.”

  Fiona was suddenly embarrassed. Not only did she have to deal with the fact that she had become a blubbering fool who nearly fell off the wagon, but now this little girl, and possibly the rest of the building, had to deal with it as well. “I’m doing better now so you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t wake me.”

  Fiona glanced at her clock. Nine forty-three P.M. “You’re up awfully late. Isn’t it a school night?”

  Silence, then: “Why were you so sad?”

  Fiona still felt tears in her eyes as she looked at the bottle that would soon find its way into the garbage. “I guess I just had a bad night.”

  “I have those sometimes.”

  Fiona thought back to yesterday and the sounds she heard coming from the girl’s apartment. “I bet you do,” she whispered under her breath.

  “What did you say?”

  Mind your own business, Fiona. “Nothing.”

  “I’m glad someone is living there now,” the girl continued. “The apartment was empty for a long time.”

  With each passing moment, Fiona was wishing that someone wasn’t her. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Since I can remember.”

  “How do you like it?” She regretted the question the instant it came out of her mouth.

  “I wish we could live someplace else, but my mom says we can’t move.”

  “Why not?”

  “She says we belong here. I don’t agree, but I’m just a kid so my vote doesn’t really count.”

  Fiona smiled. “Not until you’re eighteen.”

  “Only eight more years to go. Lucky
me.”

  At least she now knew how old the girl was. That left one other question. “What’s your name?”

  “Olivia. What’s yours?”

  “Fiona.”

  “Nice to meet you Fiona, even though we’re in separate rooms and can’t actually see each other.”

  “Nice meeting you too, Olivia. And yes, talking from different rooms is a bit strange.”

  “How do you like it here?”

  Fiona took a moment to consider her answer. “Let’s just say it’s a little more active than what I’m used to.”

  “You’re talking about my mom and her boyfriend fighting, right?”

  Fiona felt bad about broaching the subject and suddenly felt compelled to lie. “No, not at all.”

  “It’s okay. I know you think they’re bad people.”

  “I swear that wasn’t what I was thinking.”

  “Noah is a bad person. My mom is always sticking up for him, no matter what he does, so I guess that makes her just as bad. But she really does try to be a good mom.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Fiona declared, not believing a single word of it.

  “Besides the noise, how do you like living here?”

  “I moved in only a few days, so it’s hard to say. Sometimes the only thing that matters is having a roof over your head.”

  “Even if you aren’t safe?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean having a roof isn’t everything. You also have to feel safe, right?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Do you feel safe here?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  Olivia seemed to hesitate before answering. “Things happen here that make me feel not so safe sometimes. I wondered if they happened to you too.”

  Fiona briefly lost her breath. “What things?”

  “This.”

  Three heavy knocks on the wall broke the silence in the room.

  “I hear it all the time,” Olivia continued. “Not so much since you moved in, but before that, when your apartment was empty, it happened almost every night. Sometimes it was a light scratching; sometimes it sounded like someone was trying to break down the wall. Have you heard anything like that?”