by Dawn Mattox
The sound of exhaling whispered through the phone.
“Good news and bad news,” he began. “Quincy’s out of the hospital and doing fine. Dirtbag number two has hired a live-in nurse to care for her.”
Logan, Quincy’s father, still retained the honor of being Dirtbag number one. Dirtbag number two referred to Quincy’s grandfather Perry, the present victor in the custody war. Everybody except me seemed to know him personally. He had been Paige’s father and Travis’s father-in-law. He had been the Assistant Director of ATF's Intelligence Division before being caught in the presence of nearly a million in forged Mexican and American currencies. Chance had spent significant time at his home while investigating drug cartels and even became friends with Paige’s mother. But I had only met Perry briefly when Quincy and I were in the hospital being treated for frostbite and Chance had signed documents claiming that he was the legal father.
“That’s great news!” I said with genuine warmth that didn’t come from the wine, “and the bad news?”
His words came like a semi hauling a heavy load. “We still can’t see her. Perry’s attorney says I have no right to visitation because I’m not the biological parent, but I still have to pay child support because she was conceived during our marriage.”
I put the wine back on the end table, hoping I had misunderstood. “Seriously?” I mulled it over for a minute. “So, you’re not bio-dad enough to have custody, but you can be jailed for not paying child support for a child that is not yours?”
Huh. Only in California . . . or not. There may be other states of insanity.
“So, if Chance had been the father, I’d be in your shoes.” The thought stretched my imagination. “Or if I were still married to Logan, we’d have some clout.”
Travis returned to his old self. “It’s good to hear you talk about we and us. Don’t worry, babe. We’re not giving up.”
We commiserated a little longer about the injustices of family law. Before hanging up, Travis suggested that I take my demon-questions to Pastor Mac.
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DISCLAIMER
This book includes fictionalized accounts of violence against women. They are composed of variations and compilations of the many stories advocates will hear over the course of their careers and is not intended to reflect poorly on any field of advocacy.
Names, characters, places brands, media and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. Any references to events or locals are strictly fictionalized accounts of those events for the purpose of fictionalized entertainment.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The motorcycle clubs exist, but the characters herein are fictional individuals portrayed as acting outside of their club’s purview and are nowise intended to discredit or disrespect the organizations.
All actions taken by law enforcement agencies are fictionalized accounts and are nowise intended to discredit or dishonor the dedicated men and women who work in the field of Criminal Justice.
Only the dynamics of Interpersonal Violence, Human Trafficking, the tireless work of advocacy and law enforcement, the setting in northern California, and identity of the dogs are true.