He walked confidently around the courtroom stating his case and cross-examining the people who were there in defense of the kids. He had a stack of legal papers and referred to them often. He was good, and for a split second I wanted to clap for him. For a split second, I was proud of how smart he was and how well he was doing. For being a self-educated man, he sure could fake being a lawyer. He had such poise and confidence. Even I was convinced.
As soon as his grandstanding was done, the lawyer for my stepmom took his place in front of the courtroom. He began by calling my stepmom to the stand. I watched my dad give a small chuckle. She was no match for him. He could twist her until she bent in the direction he wanted her to go. Her time on the witness stand was short and for good reason. Her lawyer didn’t want her caught in my dad’s crosshairs. He got her up there and down again as quickly as he could. I could tell my dad had a sense that he was winning, and I saw his chest puff up a little.
Just as my dad was getting comfortable in his seat, the lawyer called my name. “I would like to call Candice Curry to the stand.”
I took an extra second to watch my dad’s reaction. He let out every trace of air he had just used to puff up his chest, put his face in his hands, and shook his head. He had thought I was there simply to support my stepmom. Never in a million years did he think I would be brave enough to take the stand. I stood and adjusted my skirt. I had to silently encourage my feet to make the walk that led to the witness stand. I wondered what everyone was thinking and whether those who didn’t know me had figured out that the defendant’s daughter had just taken the stand against him in his custody hearing. I had to remind myself that this was not about me and that I was there to protect my siblings. I wanted it to be about me. I wanted to get up there and throw things in my dad’s face. I wanted to cry for myself and everything I had lost. Instead, I tilted my head back slightly before I opened the half gate that led to the stand. The last thing I wanted was for my dad to see my fear and pain. I sat down and turned my body slightly toward the judge so that more of my back would face my dad. It gave me security.
The first lawyer approached and began asking me questions.
“Mrs. Curry, is Richard Snell your father?”
“Inside this courtroom, and for the purpose of this hearing, he is. Outside of this courtroom, he is not.”
From the corner of my eye I watched my father bow his head.
The lawyer was full of confidence and armed with the information I had given him only an hour before. He used every story he had heard in that big room. Almost all of my life was being laid out in that courtroom and, even though I knew it had to be done, I was dying inside. I couldn’t look at my dad, who was sitting closer to me than the lawyers I had befriended.
When the lawyer was done he thanked the judge and took his seat. I knew what was coming next. The judge turned to my dad and let him know it was his turn to proceed. I swallowed the lump in my throat so loudly it made my stepmom look up and smile at me to try to ease my fears.
He fumbled through a few papers as if he had prepared something for this moment. The truth is he’d had no idea I would be there, and he began to panic. He had chosen to defend himself in his own custody hearing and here he was face-to-face with his adult daughter whom, he knew, he had mentally and emotionally beaten down for years. He knew I had more on him than he cared to let loose that day, and he needed a minute to think about how he was going to pull off controlling my answers. As he flipped page after page, buying himself some time, my heart shattered into a million pieces. In my head I was almost cheering him on, wanting him to find something to use against me. I knew my thoughts were crazy, but I didn’t want to see him fail or panic as he was in front of me now. It was killing me. I was devastated for him.
Come on, Dad. Find something. Find anything. I was betting against myself, but it was emotionally easier than betting against him.
We hadn’t spoken in years. I had completely removed him from my life for the sake of my family. I knew I could go the rest of my life setting myself up for disappointment, but I couldn’t set my family up for it. And now here we were, finally able to speak to each other but in one of the worst scenarios possible. He would have to cross-examine me in his custody hearing. He would have to face the fact that not only had he lost me, he was also about to lose his other daughter. But this wasn’t about either of us. It wasn’t about me and it wasn’t about him. This was about three children who needed a hero. They needed someone to stand up for them and not allow the abuse to continue. I chose to sacrifice any emotions I had so that I could be that someone. Everything in me needed to make sure my little sister didn’t meet the same fate I had.
He slowly approached me.
“Mrs. Curry, isn’t it true that you wanted to live with me when your mother and I got a divorce?”
And with that he opened the floodgates. For once in my life I didn’t back down or hold anything back.
He questioned me in such a way as to maneuver me to answer the way he wanted. I refused. He’s the one who taught me how to word things in a way that would put me in the right every time. He taught me the art of manipulation, and now it was helping me beat him at his own game. Question after question I shot down his motive, and each time he walked over to his desk and fumbled through his stack of papers. It was the saddest and most satisfying thing I’ve ever done in my life. The daughter in me wanted him to win, wanted him to be this amazing father who was fighting for the right to see his children. I wanted him to come off as true and genuine, so much so that the judge complimented him on his parenting skills. However, the grown woman, mom, and big sister in me needed to put him in his place. I needed to show him that he was no longer going to control me and that he was not going to do to my siblings what he had done to me. I needed to show him that it was over—for good this time.
It took everything I had to do the right thing as I sat in that witness chair. I had to physically make myself look him in the eyes and not show weakness or sympathy. It felt like I was watching a movie because this just couldn’t be happening. Who cross-examines his own child in his custody case? It takes a true narcissist to think you can manipulate that many people, including the one who knew most of your secrets, into thinking you are something different from what you really are.
That was my dad’s specialty. He could make you think whatever he wanted you to think. When you knew something was wrong, he made you think it was right. It’s the talent of a sociopath. He could be so convincing that in order not to be lured by his lies, you had to completely remove yourself from his aim. My siblings were too little to move out of his line of fire, but I wasn’t. I was big enough to pick them up and move them to safety. That’s why I sat in that witness box that day.
I watched my dad fumble through the papers a little longer after answering each question, and I knew he was at a complete loss. He would have thrown anything he could my way. He wasn’t concerned about sparing my dignity or guarding my heart, and it didn’t matter that it was his own child sitting in front of him. He was cutthroat. Nothing ever stood in the way of my dad getting what he wanted. The consequences of his actions never mattered. He tried to get me to answer each question in his favor, but I responded in my siblings’ favor, refusing to play his games. One side of me got great satisfaction watching him become exhausted; the other side begged him to give up. But I wasn’t going to be the one to throw in the towel. I was in it for the long haul and prepared to answer his questions for as long as he was prepared to ask them.
Finally, he walked back to his designated table, shut his folder, and told the judge he was done. Defeat was written all over his face, so much so that the entire courtroom knew he had just destroyed himself in his own custody case. I didn’t do it; he did it to himself. My words definitely hurt his case, but he’s the one who had spent my entire life being a father who had no business parenting a child. He destroyed his right to a relationship with his children; I just brought the truth to light. I had to re
mind myself of this several times throughout the day. The guilt I felt was overwhelming, causing me to become nauseated. Seeing him give up and tell the judge he was done both angered and relieved me at the same time. How could he be done? Wasn’t he willing to fight to the end for his kids? He should have continued standing at my side rebutting everything I said until I caved and ran from the room in tears. That’s how hard I wanted him to fight for my siblings. I wanted them to know he had done everything he could.
But the end of the questioning was a relief as well. It meant I was free to go. I didn’t have to sit there for another minute in a state of panic. My relief, however, was his defeat, and that didn’t feel as good as I had expected it to. The thirteen-year-old me wanted to jump from the stand, run to him, and fall to his feet, apologizing for what I had just done. The thirteen-year-old me wanted to sob in my hands until the courtroom filled with my tears, forcing everyone else to hold their breath the way I had held mine. But I wasn’t thirteen, and I had said good-bye to the little girl who was desperate for her dad many years before. I needed to leave her behind and move forward. I had already mourned the loss of what he failed to give me as a father. It was time to accept that I was never going to get it. The thirty-one-year-old me had to be a big girl.
My siblings’ lawyers and my stepmom wore huge smiles. I was completely conflicted. I felt like walking over and spitting in their faces. They had the right to wear those smiles; they had done exactly what they were there to do. But it was at my dad’s expense and that infuriated me.
I had been cheering them on, hoping they would win big, but their win cut me in a way I didn’t expect. My dad had no one on his team. Not a single person was there in his defense, and not a single person sat next to him during the hearing. He brought this on himself, yet it was still a gut-wrenching sight. How does someone go an entire lifetime and end up with nobody and nothing to show for it? How does a man with seven siblings, five children, and six grandchildren not have anyone to support him? He stood in a sad and lonely place. Had I not been a wife and mother I might have caved. If I had only myself to look out for, I probably would have gone to him and formed a covenant between the two of us. That’s how weak I was as my dad’s daughter. But as a wife to Brandon and mother to Stiles, Myleigh, Justin, and Bella, I was a deeply rooted tree, bending but never breaking.
I took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as possible so no one in the room would hear. Just as I was about to get up, the judge turned toward me and said, “Mrs. Curry, what do you think Mr. Snell’s visitation with his kids should be?”
Suddenly, without notice, the ball was back in my court. It was not something I was prepared for. I didn’t want to answer in front of my dad, and I didn’t have time to compose my words in a way that wouldn’t cut him to the bone. I wished I hadn’t sounded so confident earlier. Maybe the judge would have spared me the question.
My dad looked down; he knew what was coming. But every other head in the courtroom perked up, eager to hear my response. The shake in my voice would have registered on the Richter scale.
I turned to the judge and told him that my dad shouldn’t get any visitation with his children, but if he did, it should be minimal and supervised.
I kept my face toward the judge, hoping my words would meet only his ears and no one else’s. I reiterated that my dad had a way with words and was a master promise maker and breaker. If alone with the kids, he would lie to them, make grand promises that he would never keep, and cheat them out of the good and honest dad that they deserved. He would buy their time and attention with things he stole from others. The kids needed a middleman. They needed someone to buffer the visits and protect them from my dad’s games.
I had nothing left to wrap up my thoughts on his visitation; I merely stared at the judge with pleading eyes, silently begging him to let me leave. My normal reaction in a situation like this would be to cry. Tears would sneak up on me and, no matter how hard I tried to contain them, would let loose like rushing water from the floodgates. But my eyes were dry. Not a single tear formed, not even ones that I had to fight to keep in. I felt empty.
“Mrs. Curry, you’re free to go.”
I froze. Numb. Lost.
What just happened?
In just thirty minutes I had destroyed my dad. It took the exact same amount of time to protect my siblings and save them from what my older brother and I had suffered. There was victory in that courtroom, but not for me and not for my dad. The lawyers knew they had won the minute I took the stand. There wasn’t a single person in that room who had any doubt what my dad’s visitation rights would be, and there was no doubt about who had provided the key factor in the decision. I was a twisted hero for the lawyers and a nightmare for my dad. Neither felt good.
“Mrs. Curry, you’re free to go.”
I was free to go.
I was free.
I snapped back to reality. I needed to move. Get up. Take my freedom and leave. Without making eye contact with anyone in the room, I got up from the witness stand and quickly made my way out of the courtroom.
I had spent my time in the witness stand listening to my dad try to manipulate me into lying for him like he had done my entire life. He listened while I told a room full of people that he didn’t deserve to be a dad. Everything between us ended that day. That was the last time I ever spoke to my dad.
ten
In the Blink of an Eye
Five years passed after testifying against my dad, and neither of us made any effort to fix our relationship. I caught a brief glimpse of him at my aunt’s funeral three years after the hearing, but I refused to make eye contact or even offer him condolences for the loss of his sister. I tried to bury everything from that day in court and move forward with my family. I simply went about my life as if he didn’t exist.
Rain lightly tapped on our roof and I could hear the gentle swishing of the nebulizer that was secured to my daughter’s face. These are the days that I wish I were a stay-at-home mom, so I could nurse my daughter back to health. Instead, I would drive around town all day selling food to restaurants. I would have liked to call in, but I was responsible for someone else’s territory and had no choice but to head to work. Thankfully, my husband was able to stay home with her. Even though that gave me some level of comfort, it didn’t take away the pain of having to leave my little girl while she was so sick.
I headed out the door with my computer bag and a thousand pounds of guilt. The day consisted of halfhearted work and numerous phone calls home. I rushed about, doing just enough to get by and not get in trouble with my boss. I finally made my way back home in time to start dinner and give my daughter another breathing treatment.
In the back of my mind I debated whether to take her to the emergency room or fight her asthma through the night in the comfort of our home. This wasn’t the first time we’d been faced with this decision. Our youngest triplet has battled weak lungs since birth, and we’ve spent more nights sharing a hospital bed with her than we care to count. The decision to go or stay and do treatments every two to four hours is always a struggle. Tonight I leaned toward going and started packing an overnight bag just in case.
As I got her comfortable on the couch and headed to my room to pack, the phone rang. The screen showed it was my brother. It was odd because he rarely called in the middle of dinnertime, but I figured he was calling to check on his niece.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking Bella to the hospital.”
“Okay, hold on, I need to tell you something.”
And then everything froze as I listened to my brother’s strong yet gentle voice come through the phone.
“Dad just killed himself.”
From the other room Brandon heard me repeatedly crying, “No, no. Oh my God!” As my knees buckled and I went to the floor, he came into our room and sat down next to me. I could faintly hear my brother on the other end of the line telling me it was okay, but we both kn
ew it wasn’t.
Brandon sat there for several minutes and listened helplessly as I repeated the same words over and over. “No, no. Oh my God!” The hardwood floor beneath me offered little comfort, nor did the voices around me saying it was going to be all right. My face was pressed against the cold floor. Suddenly everything in my life looked different.
After what seemed like forever, my brother and I agreed on the phone calls each of us would make and said that we loved each other. I hung up and glanced at the dial pad on my phone. Reluctantly I called my mom’s cell phone and prayed she wouldn’t answer. In that moment, I needed someone else to break the news. I didn’t want to be responsible and gentle. I wanted to kick and scream and have someone else handle the hard things. I wanted to hide under my covers and pretend life wasn’t happening this way. In an instant I hated everyone.
My mom was in the middle of dinner at a nice restaurant when I blurted out that my dad had just killed himself. What does a mom do with news like that? How on earth do you comfort your child, even if she’s an adult, through the suicide of her father? With very little reaction, she told me she was on her way. As she handed the phone to my stepdad, I could hear her telling him what happened. I hung up the phone and sat still.
Brandon was scrambling around trying to get the kids away from our bedroom in an effort to spare them the sound of their mom’s cries. He tried to keep normalcy in the house until it was time for them to go to bed. He juggled being a gentle father to our daughters and a strong husband to his wife, who sat in her room with a completely shattered heart. I stayed locked in our bedroom, shaking and crying with my hand over my mouth, praying that might prevent the words from coming out again. I tried to focus on my breathing. It was heavy and labored and I needed to slow it down. I became completely consumed with guilt and grief. I replayed all the hateful words I had ever spoken to him. I saw myself sitting in that courtroom, stealing his time away from his children. I could see myself screaming at him and completely ignoring him. I started to convince myself that this was somehow my fault.
The Con Man's Daughter Page 10