Cracks in the Sidewalk

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Not yet,” Claire answered. “But he’ll most likely—”

  “No, he won’t,” Liz said in a brittle voice. “He’ll never bring the children to visit. And he won’t send any of those things. You know it, and I know it. We’re only fooling ourselves.”

  “Not necessarily,” Claire replied. “We don’t know—”

  “I know.” Liz opened her eyes, and the truth hidden behind them became painfully obvious. Somehow she’d known all along. “He sold everything I owned and is keeping me from ever seeing my kids again as payback for what I’ve put him through.”

  “But how do you know that? What did you put him through?”

  “JT claims it’s my fault Daddy has refused to lend him any more money. He’s convinced it’s on account of the hospital bills. You know, Mom, JT actually hates our whole family. He said we’re to blame for all his problems and we’re gonna pay.”

  “What did he mean?” Claire asked. “Pay how?”

  “JT came back to the hospital that night last November. At first I figured he came back to apologize. But he just stood there for a while. Finally he slammed some papers from the bank down on my tray and said he was gonna lose the store if I didn’t sign for a second mortgage on the house.”

  “Did you?”

  “No,” Elizabeth answered wistfully. “I started to. I had the pen in my hand, but in the end, I didn’t. I thought if I helped JT get the money he needed, he’d love me again. I picked up the pen and was ready to start signing when I suddenly remembered the house wasn’t really mine to give. It belongs to our family, our children. Deep down, I knew it was foolhardy to let JT take chances with it. As soon as those loan payments became problematic, he’d dump the house just like he’s dumped everything else, including me.”

  “What did he say when you wouldn’t sign?”

  “He was really mad, the maddest I think I’ve ever seen him. He said if I wasn’t willing to help him get the money, he’d figure a way to get it, and it was gonna be a way I wasn’t any too fond of. And I know that meant he would keep the kids from visiting. He knows that’s one way to get back at all of us.”

  “He can’t prevent you from seeing those kids. You’re their mother.”

  “But what can I do, fight Jeffrey?”

  “That’s exactly what you can do! If you really want to see your kids, you’ve got to be willing to fight for them.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I can’t even get out of bed by myself. How am I supposed to take on someone determined as Jeffrey?”

  “Be more determined than he is,” Claire answered. “If you love those kids, demand to see them! Take Jeffrey to court and force him to bring them over here.”

  “Do you think I could?”

  “Yes, I do. Daddy and I will help. You’re not in this alone.”

  They talked for a long while afterward. They shared secrets they’d kept, secrets that had been too painful to reveal.

  “I wanted to spare you the heartache,” Claire said.

  Liz laughed. “And I didn’t want to worry you.”

  They both agreed if Liz would ever see the kids, something had to be done and right away.

  “If we take Jeffrey to court, he’ll be very hostile. Can you deal with that?”

  “I’ll do what I have to do,” Elizabeth answered. “Not because I’ve come to hate Jeffrey, but because I love my children more.”

  Without thinking she smoothed the hem of the sheet with the pinkie finger of her left hand.

  Claire McDermott

  Jeffrey Caruthers is the most contemptible person I’ve ever come across. It may seem strange that I’d say that about someone I once considered a son, but there’s no other way to describe a man who takes such obvious pleasure in doing hateful things. For him to send Liz’s clothes stuffed into garbage bags as he did was downright despicable. I know he was getting back at me. You say something Jeffrey doesn’t like, and he’ll look daggers through you. Once you cross him, you can be sure he’ll get even.

  I know Jeffrey has a grudge against Charlie because of the money. That is what it is, but he has no reason to act hateful with me and Liz. Okay, me maybe, because of my taking a sledgehammer to his door, but Liz? Most men pray for a wife like her. She’s smart, beautiful, and devoted. Jeffrey’s none of those things. I never even understood what Liz saw in him, but after all that’s happened she still loves him.

  With the meanness in Jeffrey there’s no telling what he’ll do. Taking Liz’s babies from her is way beyond having a lack of love. It’s a cruelty that’s nearly impossible to measure. Any mother understands that; how can she not? A mother would sooner give up her right arm than one of her babies. I know, because that’s how I feel about Elizabeth.

  Long before Liz was born, I made plans for all the things she might do. I dreamt about her first day of school, her recitals, her graduation, her wedding day, and even the babies she would someday have—all this before I even held her in my arms. So is it any wonder that Liz should feel the same about her babies?

  The worst part of any day is when Liz starts thinking about how much she misses the children. One minute she’ll be laughing about something the kids have said or done, then all of a sudden she’ll sink into an unmistakable gloominess. If I ask what’s wrong, she’ll say nothing. She pretends nothing is wrong, and I pretend to believe her. I suppose it’s a way to get through the day without both of us falling apart.

  Even though I try to stay strong and positive-minded for Liz, there are days I feel I’m losing the battle. I don’t talk about those times, just as I don’t mention the ugly things Jeffrey says and does. I know I promised to be more forthcoming with the truth, but what good would it do for Liz? She already has more than enough to contend with.

  I keep thinking back to the men who dumped those bags in our driveway. I wanted to chase down the truck and tell those men they’d burn in hell for the awful thing they did. Then I realized they were just the messengers. Jeffrey was the one responsible, and I couldn’t do anything to get back at him. That’s why I cried the way I did, because of the anger and frustration. I wasn’t just crying about the clothes, I was crying over the hundreds of hurts Liz has suffered and, if I’m really honest, also about some of my own.

  Until that day I had hope Jeffrey would change his mind about bringing the kids to visit. I thought maybe he’d come by with her clothes, see how well she’s doing, and rethink everything. Now I know he’ll never do it. Not unless he’s forced to, which is why we’re gonna need a lawyer.

  Three days later

  By the time Charles returned from his business trip, Claire was firmly entrenched in her decision to go after Jeffrey. For several months he’d doled out bits of hope, promising to bring the children and disappointing Elizabeth time after time. Now he no longer pretended. Claire knew unless they did something drastic, Liz would never again see her children.

  Claire still hadn’t mentioned the red car in Jeffrey’s garage. Maybe he had a girlfriend; maybe not. It was possible the car belonged to a cleaning lady, a babysitter, or a buddy—possible maybe, but not probable. Something about the drawn shades and the figures moving about the bedroom said Jeffrey was having an affair. But his affair wasn’t the real problem.

  Claire simmered with things to tell Charlie, but after almost thirty years of marriage she’d learned not to pounce on him when he walked through the door so she said nothing except, “Hello, dear.”

  He stopped, kissed her cheek, then asked about Liz.

  “Doing much better. She did have one forgetful episode this week, but only for a minute or two. What’s more important is that I actually saw her move two fingers on her left hand. Not much, but a little bit. When I asked Liz to do it again, she couldn’t but I think that was mostly because she was pressuring herself.”

  “That’s good, right?” Charlie replied. “Isn’t it an indication her paralysis is—”

  “Not necessarily. I called Doctor Sorenson’s office and told them Liz had some
movement in those two fingers, but the nurse said that’s not unusual. Apparently at some point the left side of the brain starts to compensate for the right’s lack of function and starts sending movement commands. The nurse said it’s not something you can force, it happens when it happens.”

  “But just the fact that it’s happening, isn’t that what’s important? Anyway, has Jeffrey brought the kids to visit yet?”

  Claire, busy breading a chicken cutlet, gave a cynical glance. “Of course not. But we’ll get to that later.”

  Although no one mentioned Jeffrey at the dinner table, he was on everyone’s mind. Claire knew what she had to say, but it had to wait until Elizabeth wasn’t around. Liz knew firsthand the ugliness of her husband’s behavior, but hearing it only deepened the wound.

  Once she cleared the dinner table and helped Liz into bed, Claire approached Charlie.

  “We need a lawyer,” she said.

  “A lawyer?” He peered across the top of the newspaper.

  “Yes.” Claire lowered herself into the chair facing his. “I went to see JT thinking I might convince him to be more reasonable. Liz calls and pleads to see the kids. He says okay, he’ll bring them on Sunday. She waits all week, and when he doesn’t come or call she spends the day crying. Now that she’s doing better, I thought he’d at least let her see the kids.”

  “And?”

  “He won’t. It’s worse than ever. Jeffrey said he’d sooner burn in hell than let any one of us see the kids. He pushed me down the steps and slammed the door in my face.”

  Charles set the newspaper aside. “Pushed you down the steps?” he repeated quizzically.

  “Yes. He said he’d call the police if I came back again.”

  “Police? He has no cause to—”

  “He said I was destroying his property.”

  “Destroying what property?”

  “The front door. Not the whole door, just the brass knocker and a little bit of wood.”

  Charlie’s face had a question all over it. “What did you—”

  “I hit it with your sledgehammer, okay? I didn’t plan to do it, it just happened. I took it with me. If Jeffrey had answered the door, I would never have done it. I just wanted to talk to him. I thought maybe we could—”

  “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Charlie still looked bewildered. “You hit Jeffrey’s door with the sledgehammer?”

  “Yes, but just so he would open the door. When I saw that flashy red car in the garage and him moving around upstairs, I lost my temper.”

  “Why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?”

  “I did, for nearly twenty minutes. When he wouldn’t answer, I hit the door with the sledgehammer. Only once,” she added. “To show him I meant business.”

  “Once, twice, or ten times is unimportant,” Charlie said. “It’s still against the law.”

  “But if I didn’t do it, he wouldn’t have opened the door.” Claire then proceeded to tell how she’d asked for Liz’s personal belongings.

  “JT said okay, but all he sent were her clothes bagged up like sacks of garbage and dumped in our driveway.”

  “He didn’t send anything else?”

  “No.” Claire related Jeffrey’s conversation with Liz in the hospital, told how he’d tried to get her to sign the house over, and the threat he’d ultimately made.

  “He intends to make good on that threat, because in those bags there was not one thing of value. None of the fur coats, not Liz’s engagement ring, not her Rolex, not one piece of jewelry, not even the leather luggage we bought for her.”

  “That’s what this is about? You want to sue Jeffrey because of Liz’s jewelry?”

  “No, those things mean a lot to her, but they’re not the issue. If Jeffrey’s doing what he threatened, he’s probably already sold the jewelry. We need a lawyer so we can force him to let Liz see the children.”

  “How can he not let her see the kids?” Charles asked angrily. “She’s their mother. Jeffrey might decide he’s not going to allow us to see the children, and we’d be helpless to do anything about it. But for one parent to take children away from the other parent without a court order is illegal.”

  “Illegal or not, he’s doing it.”

  Before she could say anything else, Charlie picked up the telephone and began to dial.

  “Dudley,” he said, addressing his long-time friend, “we’ve got a confrontational situation with Elizabeth’s husband, and we need some legal help.” Charlie explained how after delivering Christian and leaving the hospital, Liz had come back to live with him and Claire. “Now her husband refuses to allow the children to visit their mother.”

  “On what grounds?” Dudley asked.

  “No grounds. He just ignores her requests to see the kids.”

  “Have either you or Claire approached him about this?”

  Charles swallowed hard. “Claire has.”

  “And what was his response?”

  “He said he’d sooner burn in hell than have the kids see Liz.”

  “Whew, that’s quite a response,” Dudley said. “Has he got any credible reason for feeling that way? Abuse, anything like that?”

  “Good Lord, no! Liz is a wonderful mother. The kids adore her, but Jeffrey claims that seeing her would not be in their best interest.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Elizabeth—” The remainder of the words stuck in Charlie’s throat. He hesitated for a moment then continued, “—has a brain tumor that’s terminal.”

  “Elizabeth?” Dudley gasped. “What? How?”

  “They discovered a malignant growth last summer.”

  “But surely they can do something to—”

  “No, they can’t,” Charles said. “The tumor is located on the hypothalamus, so it’s inoperable.”

  After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Dudley stammered a string of sympathies. “I’ll help you in every way I can,” he said, “but family law is not my specialty.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Charlie answered. “But you’ve known Liz for most of her life, and I can’t think of anyone I’d sooner trust to look out for her best interest.”

  “That much, I can guarantee you.” Dudley scheduled a meeting for Monday morning. “I’ll move on this immediately and petition the judge for accelerated action. Can you give me some idea of how long Elizabeth’s got?”

  The question came at Charles like a thunderclap. For more than a year he’d struggled through the days, crowding his hours with lengthy business meetings and conferences, never daring to consider the future, never facing that there could be a last and final day of Liz’s life. Elizabeth was seriously ill—okay, terminal. But terminal was not definite. It was vague, a shadow loitering on the far edge of the future, not something that forced a father to predict the remaining number of days in his daughter’s life.

  “Why would you ask such a question?” he stammered.

  “I’m sorry,” Dudley apologized. “I only ask because it would help if I could show the court our need for expediency.”

  “Oh.” Charles again hesitated. It was impossible to guess, so he simply parroted Doctor Sorenson’s words. “It could be a year, two years, maybe more. It depends.”

  “Great,” Dudley said. “Great.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The following morning Charlie told Elizabeth they’d made an appointment with the lawyer.

  “Dudley’s confident we’ll be able to force Jeffrey to let you see the children,” he said.

  “Wonderful,” Elizabeth said wearily.

  “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Is there something you want to talk about?”

  For a long while Elizabeth said nothing.

  “It breaks my heart to think this is the only way I can get to see my children,” she murmured. “It may not seem so now, but Jeffrey and I were once very much in love. Now he wants no part of me—not my broken body, not even my heart. If we could create these
beautiful children together, how is it possible that he can hate me as he does?”

  Charles eased his arm around Elizabeth and gently drew her to his chest.

  Speaking with a deep sadness Elizabeth said, “It’s hard to accept that Jeffrey’s grown so hard-hearted that a lawyer has to force him to let me see my babies. I never dreamed—”

  “It’s the things we think can never happen that hurt the most,” Charlie whispered. He held his daughter close so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

  On Monday morning Claire’s eyes popped open two hours before dawn, and she immediately began making a mental list of the things she’d tell Dudley Grimm. First of all, Jeffrey Caruthers was mean, selfish, and ill tempered. He was also unemployed and flaunting an underage mistress in front of his children. To Claire’s way of thinking, any one of those things provided sufficient cause for a judge to award custody of the children to Liz. And it was common knowledge that the court almost always awarded custody of children to the mother, in which case she would assist Liz and happily care for all three children.

  Kimberly, she reasoned, could go into Liz’s old bedroom, David in the guestroom, and the sewing room could become a nursery for Christian. Naturally they’d need to redo those rooms, buy children’s furniture, night lights, toy boxes, stuffed animals, and such. That wasn’t a problem. To the list of necessities, Claire added a rocking chair and a baby monitor.

  As she lay in bed waiting for daylight to creep across the horizon, Claire began to envision the smile that would brighten Liz’s face when the children bounded into the room to kiss her good morning. Claire had no doubt that asking for full custody of the children was the right thing to do. Children belonged with their mother. They belonged with a family who would teach them to love, not a father who’d use them as a means of fulfilling his own vendetta. By the time they arrived at the law offices of Cooper, Fletcher, and Grimm, Claire felt better than she had in weeks.

  “Good morning, Dudley,” she sang out happily.