by Sierra Hill
My attorney, Bob, leans forward over his desk, elbows flat, fingers steepled together. Nothing he’s said so far has really reassured me that this thing will go away easily.
“What does that mean, under duress?”
Leaning back against his high-back leather chair, he appraises me with an inquisitive stare.
“Since I wasn’t your attorney for the original proceedings in Indiana, we’ll, of course, need to request the transfer of jurisdiction to Maricopa County to get the ball rolling on this. As soon as I receive and review the previous court documents, it will help explain the reason the judge made their decision. It’s not often that a court will grant termination of parental rights at all unless Penelope had issues and that’s why she had to give him up at the time. Was she an addict? A pedophile? Mentally unstable? Was she in jail?”
My face contorts in a confused look. “No. I don’t think so. All I know is she said she couldn’t raise a child and didn’t have the money or the inclination to handle a lifetime of child-rearing work. Mentally unstable, maybe. I did get a restraining order against her initially because she would not leave me alone. Would show up unannounced. Call me and leave me crazy-long, rambling messages about why I didn’t love her. She’s nuts.”
Bob nods his head. “Hmm. Okay. Maybe there is some psychiatric condition present. Or maybe she was just a young woman who wasn’t ready to be a mother and you and your former wife were the perfect solution. Has she been stalking you recently?”
I think about her calling my mother. Coming down to Phoenix unannounced. Calling me out of the blue.
“I guess, maybe. She’s been in contact with my mother. And then she showed up at my home about a month ago. Oh, and then at my office before she filed this petition.”
A calculating smile tips across Bob’s face, his dark green eyes lighting up as if a light bulb just turned on.
“That’s good. Very good. We’ll establish that she’s crossed the line and is a potential threat to you and your family.”
I sigh, conflicted over what the right thing is to do. “I don’t know, man. I don’t fear her or worry that she’s going to kidnap my boy or anything. I’d hate to accuse her of something that she didn’t do.”
A slam of his hand across desk startles me and I jerk back in my chair.
“Garrett, this is exactly what I’m talking about. It’s this type of behavior that she’s exhibiting that will only get worse unless you put a kibosh on it now. Stop it before it becomes a problem. If she’s done it in the past, she’s absolutely capable of doing it now. And you,” he points a long, gnarled finger at me, his eyebrows threading together gruffly, “need to establish boundaries right the fuck now. Be careful. Women like this…desperate for attention, money or love…will not hesitate to push the envelope, even if it means doing something extreme.”
I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat, rubbing my palms, now clammy from sweat, over my thighs. Shit, this is the last thing I want to think about.
I make a mental note to remember to change the password for the security alarm tonight when I get home.
Because if anything ever happened to Caleb or Brooklyn, I’d never forgive myself.
Just like I haven’t forgiven myself for Becca and the part I played in her death.
36
Brooklyn
I haven’t heard anything from Garrett today except a brief ‘Thank you’ text earlier this morning which I assume was for taking Caleb to school. Other than that, he hasn’t reached out, which speaks loudly to where his head is at with me.
Everything that went down between us last night and the call I overheard this morning sits like a lead balloon in my gut.
I’ve never given myself to a man like this before. Lost myself in him and allowed him to lose himself in me. And look where it led me.
Maybe I should have listened and heeded my mother’s warning. Then I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
“Don’t ever give up your dreams or anything else for a man, Brooklyn. Giving away your heart is the first step in giving away your independence.”
While she and my dad were great parents to me and Brayden, they divorced when I was young and lived separate lives.
My mother once told me that she married my dad because he “didn’t smother me.” I didn’t truly understand what that really meant at the time until I started dating and got involved with a few guys who constantly needed my attention, barely leaving me time to breathe.
Because of that, I’ve kept myself guarded against the possibility of falling in love and relying on him and vice versa. And now as I ruminate over what transpired this summer between me and Garrett, that’s exactly what I’ve done. Unintentionally or by default, our lives became intertwined, mostly due to Caleb. It turns my stomach inside out to think that Garrett may not truly love me or want me, but simply needed me to care for his son.
Someone who is his round-the-clock support. Is that all I am to him? Just a live-in nanny and instant onsite booty call?
Garrett has some pretty heavy shit to deal with right now and it makes sense he doesn’t want me to be an interference. And I won’t be an afterthought, either. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but one I’d rather learn now than later.
God, I feel sick.
Now that I’ve stepped back and begun peeling back the onion layer, it screams the tenants of human behavior and psychology – the very same thing I’m studying right now as I sit in the library. Garrett is using me in his own way – intentionally or not – as a distraction. Maybe even as something to hold onto like an anchor or buoy. I was convenient and easy and now that he’s gotten what he needs from me, I can be replaced.
But they can’t be replaced for me. Not after how my heart reacted this morning when I dropped Caleb off at school. I watched him from the window behind the doorway of his classroom, sitting at his desk and listening intently to the teacher in the front of the class. He wore a big, baby-toothed grin at whatever he heard, as he raised his hand to answer, using his iPad to respond.
It made me so proud in that moment, knowing I had something to do with that. Losing him would hurt like hell. It worries the living daylights out of me to think of what might happen if Penelope has her parental rights re-established. I’ve seen enough of her behavior to have legitimate concerns over her ability to parent him properly.
Which makes me torn between wanting to be there for Garrett and stepping away so he can figure it out on his own. And maybe that’s what he’s already doing and the reason I haven’t heard anything from him. But the idea that this is how it will end between us pierces my heart in two, slicing my chest open like an Exacto knife.
“Hey, Brooklyn. Can I grab a spot at the table with you?”
I must’ve been staring into space as I lift my gaze to the sound of the voice. My head rears back as I look up to see Kyler, both hands latched around the strap of his backpack, a friendly smile perched on his lips.
“Oh, hey, Kyler. Of course, be my guest.” I gesture toward the chair across from me, moving my laptop and books out of the way to make room. “What are you doing here?”
He glances around the room, his eyes filled with mischief. “Wait, this isn’t the gay bar? Dammit. My GPS screwed up again!”
I choke out a loud laugh, getting evil glares from the students at the table next to me.
“Oh my God. You’re so funny. I needed that, thanks.”
Unzipping his bag, Kyler sits down and pulls out some study materials, as well as a bag full of chocolate chip cookies.
“Shh,” he says, putting his finger to his lips, shoving the bag toward me. “We don’t want to get caught with contraband. Who knows what those evil librarians do to criminals like us. But feel free to help yourself.”
I lean forward, taking a whiff of the cookies. “Are these homemade?”
My mouth salivates from the smell of fresh baked chocolately goodness.
Kyler winks. “It’s either bake or make really bad life choices w
hen I’m stressed. At least the baking keeps me out of trouble.”
“Oooh…sounds interesting. Are you going to fill me in on this naughty side of you?”
I take a bite of a cookie with a waggle of my brows as he snorts out a laugh.
“Yeah, nope. Not unless you share yours.”
I shake my head. “Touché, guess we’re at a stand-off then. But I will find out. It’s only a matter of time.”
Kyler snorts out a grunt. “You might be waiting awhile…”
He trails off as he stares at something, or someone, behind me. I spin around in my chair, intrigued by what’s caught his attention when I see Lucas Mathiasson walking toward us. Professor Mathiasson.
“Brooklyn, I thought that was you,” he greets, placing a hand at my shoulder before stepping to my side, glancing at both me and Kyler, before hesitating a moment on Kyler. “Good to see you again. Kyler, is it?”
There’s a fraction of a second when I feel like an intruder between them. I think they may have met at Caleb’s birthday party, but the connection is palpable. Definitely feels like they may know each other in a different way.
Lucas returns his gaze to me and smiles. “How are you doing? How’s Garrett and my godson doing? The last time I saw them was at Caleb’s birthday a few weeks ago.”
“Um, they’re good. Caleb started kindergarten last week. He’s doing so great.”
“I had no doubt.” Lucas pinches his lips together and then turns toward Kyler, who I noticed seems rather flushed.
“I’m sorry. I’m so rude. How you are doing, Kyler?”
Lucas holds out his hand to Kyler, who seems to be twitching nervously in his seat.
“Uh, good. Busy with school, work, that kind of stuff.” Kyler practically chokes out his words, his gaze quickly retreating to the table. And is that a blush I see creeping up his neck?
I jump in, adding, “Kyler, Lucas is actually an art history professor at the university. You two have a lot in common. In fact, my guess is you’ll have one of his classes at some point since you’re studying art and design.”
Kyler’s hooded eyes track the tall, towering body of Lucas, starting at the floor until they reach his head. “Perhaps. And yes, I recall Professor Mathiasson mentioning that.”
“Funny, I don’t recall you mentioning anything about that when we met,” Lucas adds, his comment laced with a suspicious tone.
As if someone just lit a fire under his butt, Kyler jumps up from his seat, sending the chair tipping back on its back legs before hitting the ground again. Kyler begins throwing his stuff in his bag before haphazardly zipping it up and throwing it over his shoulder.
“So sorry, Brooklyn. I just remembered I have to be somewhere. I have a…a meeting. I’ll catch ya later.”
He turns swiftly around ready to leave before throwing a glance back over his shoulder. “Nice to see you again, Professor. Catch ya on the flip side.”
And then he’s gone and even as I stare at his retreating form, I don’t miss the way Lucas’s lips curve into a saucy smirk.
When he notices me staring at him, he blanches, before resuming his casual stance and crosses his arms in front of him. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and tie underneath a dark navy sweater vest, his gray slacks perfectly pleated in the front. I nearly laugh at how very different he is from Garrett.
“Would you like to have a seat?” I ask, pointing toward the empty chair where Kyler just sat.
Lucas glances at the chair, with a look of forlorn, and then returns his gaze to me, smiling once again.
“Nah, I should really get going. I just finished up a study session with a few of my students and saw you over here. Wanted to say hello. Everything going okay?”
I consider his question and really don’t know what I’m at liberty to tell him. Garrett and Lucas are close friends, and I know he knows about everything involving Caleb’s mother, but I don’t know if he’s up-to-date on any of the recent drama.
I pin my lip between my teeth and give a half-hearted shrug. “I guess things are okay. Caleb is doing awesome in school. I’m so glad Garrett decided to put him in kindergarten this year. He’s loving it and thriving in the program.”
Lucas grins. “That’s my boy.”
It’s so sweet how Lucas views Caleb as his own family. And Garrett, for that matter.
He tilts his head curiously. “I hear a but hidden somewhere in this conversation.”
Letting out a long heave, I fold forward, elbows on the table, my hands covering my eyes in uncertainty. Lucas crouches down on his knees at the end of the table, leaning in with folded hands, elbows facing out, staring me down for a response.
When I’m finally brave enough to look at him, I slowly peel my fingers from my eyes and sigh.
All I have to say is the one name that conveys everything.
“Penelope.”
37
Garrett
I arrive home later than normal tonight, mostly due to the extra time spent squeezing in the meeting at the attorney’s office and then some errands I had to tack on at the end of the day.
Walking into the house, I smell something delicious wafting through the kitchen and am greeted with the sound of Brooklyn’s singing. The initial glance around the room provides sight of Caleb sitting at his chair eating what looks to be SpaghettiOs and chicken nuggets, red sauce smeared all over the table in front of him, as well as on his mouth, hands, and bib. But he looks happy.
I don’t see Brooklyn at first glance, but I know she’s here because the sound of her tune carries throughout the kitchen, indicating she’s close. And then she pops in my field of vision, her back to me on the other side of the island as she extracts something out of the oven.
When she stands and turns, she nearly drops the casserole dish out of her hands, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream.
“Oh my God, you scared me,” she yelps, placing the hot dish on a trivet. “I didn’t hear you.”
And then her gaze drifts to the bouquet of flowers I have in my hand. The flowers I stopped by specifically to bring home to her. Mostly as an apology, but also out of thanks.
I lift my eyes to hers, my lips forming into a slow smile. “These are for you, Brooklyn.”
She stands still for a few moments, eying the arrangement, which is full to the brim with all sorts of beautifully colored flowers, their long stems of green looking like a painter’s palette.
When she finally drags her silvery-green eyes to mine, she wears a wary look.
“Wow. Um, thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Taking two steps forward, I hand her the bouquet. “Not even close to as beautiful you are, Brooklyn. Inside and out.”
She clears her throat, as the sound of Caleb’s iPad voice interrupts us.
“Pretty, daddy,” the automated voice says for him, my heart swelling up like a balloon from his comment. Not knowing if he means the flowers or Brooklyn, I respond from my gut without turning to look at him. I keep my gaze glued on Brooklyn, who chews at her lip doubtfully.
“She sure is, buddy.”
Waving a hand in the air and sidestepping me, she takes the bouquet over to the sink, unwrapping the packaging covering the stems and finds a vase from the top shelf to fill with water.
“Brooklyn, I’m heading out of town tomorrow and will be gone overnight.”
The thought of telling Brooklyn about the possibility of this head coaching job seems a bit premature, so I leave out the reason I’ll be gone. I walk over to Caleb and kiss his head, steering clear of the mess in front of him.
“Oh, okay,” Brooklyn says as she places the flower vase on the table, just out of Caleb’s greasy reach. “That’s not a problem. But I do need to speak privately with you before you go.”
There’s something in her voice that seems tentative and so unlike the Brooklyn I’ve come to know and admire. She speaks her mind. Doesn’t take no for an answer. Is usually right about any topic she’s speaking about. It makes me wonder
what it is that has her uncomfortable. Probably how I’ve been acting so icily toward her.
“Of course. That’s good because I want to talk with you, too.”
Grabbing a wet dishcloth from the sink, I wipe away Caleb’s food splatter and sticky hands, before helping him down from the table to his walker.
I swear, the kid has improved so much in the last three months, I’d bet he’ll be walking on his own in no time. Maybe even running by the end of the year.
Which only leads me to second-guess the idea of accepting this job and moving away. It could derail all the work and effort he and Brooklyn have put into his progress this summer. And then I’d be right back to square one.
Obviously, the decision to move would be made conditional upon finding a good private school, as well as therapists and programs just as good, if not better, than what he’s been involved in down here.
The future is all up in the air right now, like a juggler managing four balls at once, but tomorrow will tell if the opportunity is right. My mother plans on meeting me in the afternoon to help me tour the area. I’d love to include Brooklyn this time around, but there’ll be time for that once I have an offer in hand.
In the meantime, I’ll wait to see what she wants to discuss and hopefully get back into her good graces so we can resume where we left off before the shit hit the fan with Penelope.
“I don’t understand. You’re moving out?”
We’d already put Caleb to bed and are sitting down in the family room with a glass of wine, the TV on low, set to some Entertainment television program. When Brooklyn said she wanted to discuss something with me, I had no idea it would be her living arrangements.
“But I need you here.” My voice sounds panicked as if I were saying, “Iceberg, dead ahead.”
Perhaps I should clarify that what I mean to say is I need her, need her. Personally. Because I love her not just for Caleb’s sake. But I’m too stunned and in a state of shock to think clearly right now.