by Lili Valente
If my parents knew Liam and I were never officially hitched, their brains would literally explode. There would be pieces of traditionally-minded, middle-class couple all over the soon-to-be-freshly-stained cabinets.
The thought makes me shiver as I close the door against the August heat, and move back into the air-conditioned house to find a place to put Felicity down before opening the mysterious letter.
If my parents ever find out the truth, it will be a family tragedy. I will never hear the end of it, and by extension, neither will Felicity. My parents like to think they keep grown up talk in front of the grown-ups, but neither one of them can hold their tongue when things get heated, and I really don’t want my daughter to grow up feeling like there’s something “not good enough” about her birth—at least in the eyes of her grandparents. And so, I lied and told Mom and Dad that Liam and I eloped to get hitched in Vegas a year before we split.
It’s just easier this way, and it isn’t like anyone is going to fact check me with Liam. He hasn’t been showing up for visitation and, even if he did, my family won’t bother asking for his side of the story. My nearest and dearest have always hated my ex. I’ve known that since day one, even though Mom and Dad were civil and Lark and Melody did their best to hide their lack of enthusiasm for my Brit boyfriend.
Of course, in the end, my family was right. They apparently have better creep-dar than I do—though I’d wager mine is a lot better now, after everything my lying, cheating, smarmy ex put me through.
Put me through…
He really does love to torture me.
The thought hits hard and my inner voice shouts—Served—in a panicked screech that echoes through my weary skull.
Oh no.
No, no, no. It can’t be…
The suspicion creeps up my back like a spider wearing spurs, flooding my mouth with the sour taste of fear.
Arms trembling, I set Felicity down on the carpet near the couch, where she promptly pulls herself up to a standing position to track her way toward the bowl of pine cones on the end table that she enjoys tossing all over the carpet, and which my mother refuses to move to a higher, less precarious location. I’ll have to grab the baby before launch, but this should at least give me time to rip open the envelope.
I tear into the letter, my heart beating in my stomach and my lungs aching in my chest. By the time I read through the first page, I’m so upset all I can do is squeak in panic and try not to hyperventilate as I move the pinecones in the nick of time and comfort my frustrated cone destroyer.
It takes a full five minutes—and the aid of a paper bag snatched from the kitchen cupboard for me, and a handful of Cheerios for Felicity—for both of us to regain control. When I can breathe without wheezing, I scoop her up with one shaking arm and the legal documents with the other hand, and hurry out to the backyard.
My Mom, Dad, Lark, and Mason are playing horseshoes, while Melody, my youngest sister, mans the grill, reworking old cheers from high school to fit horseshoes instead of basketball.
It’s a warm, happy, family scene.
One I’m going to shatter like a baseball through a window.
“Daddy, I’m going to kill you,” I croak. “For real. Kill. Dead. Forever!”
My dad glances over, a frown bunching his eyebrows. He’s nearly bald at this point, but his eyebrows have gotten bushier with age, until they resemble fuzzy caterpillars set loose to roam his forehead. He’s turning into a cute old man, but right now I don’t find anything about him cute. Not his eyebrows, and certainly not his ridiculous behavior that has, no doubt, contributed to Liam thinking he has a shot in hell of pulling off his latest stunt.
His latest, panic-inducing stunt…
“Liam is suing me for custody of Felicity.” My voice trembles as I speak the horrific words aloud for the first time. “Full, legal and physical custody.”
“What!” Lark’s eyes go comically wide, but nothing is funny right now. Nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared, not even when Lark and I surprised a six-foot water moccasin in our baby pool when we were kids. “That’s insane!”
“Insane or not, he might have a chance.” I shoot Dad another pointed look as I wave the envelope in the air. “Seeing as my daughter and I are living with a man who has recently been arrested for disturbing the peace and indecent exposure.”
Daddy’s eyebrows un-bunch as he throws his head back and laughs.
Laughs.
Like this is some hysterical joke!
“This isn’t funny, Daddy!” I insist.
“It is funny. It’s also bull-dooky.” He chuckles again, before turning to hurl his last horseshoe. “That fool doesn’t have a chance.”
“He might! You were arrested, Dad! This is serious!” I fight the urge to stomp my foot, or cry.
I’m twenty-eight years old, a successful professional, and a mom. I’m not going to act like a toddler, and I refuse to cry. If I start, I might never stop, and Felicity gets scared when I’m upset.
She’s already chanting “No, no, no,” again, simply from hearing me raise my voice.
“Here, let me take her.” Melody appears at my side, ever the angel of mercy. “I’m done cooking and the ribs are resting on the grill. Felicity and I can go play with toys while y’all talk.”
She’s right. I shouldn’t unleash all this in front of Felicity, even if she is too young to understand most of what we’re saying.
Still, for a moment, I cling to my sweet girl, not wanting to let her go, some primal part of me determined to hold onto my child so tight that no one can ever take her away from me. But I force myself to relax, and hand the baby over to my sister. If Daddy keeps laughing this off, I’m going to lose it. A shouting match with my equally hot-headed father isn’t off the table and, until it is, Felicity is better off with Aunt Melody.
“Let’s see exactly what the papers say, honey, before we get upset.” Mom crosses the lawn to pluck the envelope from my fingers and rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re such a good mama. I’m sure everything is going to be fine.”
Her words grant a brief reprieve from the terror galloping through my veins. But when she starts flipping through the documents, her pleasant, hopeful expression is replaced by a worried frown, and my fear comes rushing back. My mother isn’t a worrier. She always looks on the sunny side. She sees the silver lining, not the cloud.
If she’s worried, then this is as bad as I feared.
Maybe even worse.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I nibble on my thumbnail, an anxious habit I haven’t indulged in years.
“It doesn’t look good. Thanks to your father.” Mom turns to glare at Dad. “They’re calling you a sexual deviant, Bob!”
Daddy laughs again, like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard in years.
Mom props her hands on her hips, making the papers flap. “Stop it! They make it sound like Felicity isn’t safe in our home. Why on earth did you think it was a good idea to go streaking down Main Street? What the hell were you and your ridiculous friends thinking?”
Oh, no. Mom dropped an “H bomb.” My mother never curses, not even baby swears. She never says anything the least bit negative or derogatory if she can help it.
The fact that she’s cussing mad at Daddy is another terrible sign.
Of course, Mom’s had plenty of time to get worked up about Dad’s “big night.” Ever since the police report hit the local paper last week, she’s been in deep mortification mode.
Daddy and his buddies from high school getting drunk at their reunion and streaking down Main Street to relive their glory days and being held in police lockup overnight, was bad enough. The entire town of Bliss River reading about it in the local paper was enough to make Mom take to her bed for the day, locking the door and refusing to let Daddy in, even when he came bearing her favorite ice-cream by way of apology.
“It was a reunion prank, Sue.” He rolls his eyes, like Mom is the crazy one. “A joke, and ever
yone in town knows it. Just like they know I’m not a deviant or a danger to my granddaughter or anyone else.”
“You were still arrested, Bob,” Mom says, tears rising in her eyes. “And we don’t know which judge will hear the case. If it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they might decide that your arrest, combined with all the things Liam’s claiming he can give Felicity that Aria can’t provide right now, is enough to grant him custody. Or at least shared custody.”
“He hasn’t seen Felicity since she was three months old!!” Lark shouts, pacing back and forth across the grass. “Or spent a dime to help Aria cover expenses. He doesn’t deserve any custody. At all. Ever!”
“Let me call my friend, Chris. He’s a family lawyer in Atlanta,” Mason says, catching my eye as he puts a soothing hand on Lark’s shoulder, calming her almost instantly.
He can do that, with just a touch. They’re that in love, that intimately connected, body and soul.
If I weren’t so happy for my sister, I’d be jealous.
All right, maybe I am a little. Not of Mason, but jealous that Lark has someone who knows her inside out, loves her madly, and considers marrying her an honor and a privilege, not a fate to be avoided at all costs.
“It’s after hours,” Mason continues. “But I’m sure he’ll answer if I call his cell. Maybe he can give us some advice.”
I nod. “Thank you,” I say, grateful for Mason’s encouraging smile as he pulls out his phone.
He really is a good guy. I’m so glad he and Lark patched things up. If they hadn’t, I would have always felt guilty for the role I played in their second breakup. Liam has poisoned me in so many ways, but the worst is that I have such a hard time believing in love anymore, or trusting that any man is really who he claims to be.
But I trust Mason, and when he gets his friend on the line and hands me his cell, I take it gratefully, sending out a prayer that everything will be all right as I lift the phone to my ear.
Chapter Four
Aria
“Hi, Chris, this is Aria March. Thanks so much for taking time to chat.” I switch the phone to my other hand, wiping my sweaty palm on my jeans, my nerves humming with anxiety.
“Come on, let’s give her some privacy,” Lark whispers, taking Mom’s hand and leading her across the lawn.
With one last encouraging look, Mason follows them.
“Hey there, Aria,” Chris says, his voice raised to be heard over the sound of young children squealing with laughter in the near distance. “Excuse the background noise, my twins haven’t gone to sleep yet.”
“Oh, no worries,” I breathe. “I’m just so glad to have someone to talk to right away. This is so upsetting.”
“I completely get it, and I’m happy to give you an opinion as a friend of a friend, but I wouldn’t recommend taking any action based on my input until you talk to your own attorney,” he says. “This is just off the clock advice from a person with experience in family law.”
I assure him I understand where he’s coming from and then fill him in on the details of the suit. “He’s suing for full custody, claiming he’s more financially stable, since I’m living with my parents. He says he can provide Felicity with a home of her own, a room, a pool, a college fund, and everything else money can buy, as well as a traditional, nuclear family.”
My voice goes sour on the last sentence. I can’t help it. Learning Liam is married is the rotten cherry on this shit sundae.
Apparently, Liam and Char said their “I dos” a month ago, and are now ready to settle down and raise a baby.
My baby.
The sheer gall is enough to make steam come out of my ears.
I take a breath and keep going, “Liam says he can offer Felicity a more wholesome environment in a single-family home, without a sexual deviant charged with indecent exposure living in the house.” I sigh. “My dad was arrested for streaking down Main Street with his buddies. It’s his first offense and really not a big deal, but it’s going to look bad on paper.”
Chris makes a considering sound. “Yeah, it won’t look good. Anything else?”
Pulse picking up, I add, “There’s some other stuff in there—questioning my mothering skills, claiming I’m attempting to alienate him from his daughter even though I’ve been eager to facilitate visitation—but nothing unusual. Or true. I can prove I’ve been taking good care of Felicity and that I’ve tried to reach out to him numerous times to set up a visit. He’s the one who’s refused to engage.” I wipe my palm sweat on my jeans again. “So…what do you think?”
He clears his throat. “How long ago was your divorce final?”
I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder to ensure everyone is out of ear shot before I say in a softer voice, “Is this call confidential?”
“Of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t discuss your private business with Mason or anyone else.”
I bite my lip as I pace closer to the fence. “Liam and I were never married,” I confess. “But I haven’t told my parents. They’re old-fashioned and would lose their minds if they knew I wasn’t Liam’s wife when Felicity was born.”
“Oh, but that’s great,” Chris says in an upbeat voice. “Your ex will have a much harder time establishing parental rights if you weren’t married.”
“But his name is on her birth certificate,” I say, wishing I hadn’t been so adamant that Liam claim Felicity as his. At the time, I’d thought it would help us feel more like a family. Now, I just want to kick myself for being a fool. “And we signed paperwork. We both acknowledged that he’s the father.”
Chris grunts. “Well, that will make things less complicated for him. Paternity is already established. That’s one less thing he’ll have to prove.” He sighs. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it sounds like he’s got a decent case. Not a great case, but, depending on the judge, there’s a chance he could get shared custody. And maybe even compel you to move back to Nashville since that’s where you were both living when Felicity was born.”
“But my work and family are here,” I say, panic spiking hard and fast. “I don’t have the money to move back, and even if I did, I couldn’t afford childcare in Nashville. The only way I can afford it here is that my mom helps out. A lot. And the older ladies from church will watch Felicity nearly for free when my mom’s busy.”
“I hear you, childcare costs are crazy these days,” he says, sympathetically, “But if you get primary physical custody, which I would think is likely, then the father will have to pay some amount of support to help with childcare. What’s he paying now?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head and pace faster. “He hasn’t paid anything since we left. Even when I begged him for help. I had to borrow money from my parents at first, before I started working full-time for my sister’s catering company.”
“All right, that will look bad for his case, but—” Chris’s voice is muffled for a moment before he comes back on the line. “Sorry, I’ve got to go in a second. It’s time for the twins’ bath, and that’s been a two-parent job these days.”
Two parents.
God, what would it be like to have another parent around? Someone to get up in the night with Felicity a few times a week so I can get a full night’s sleep, someone to run buy more diapers while I put the baby down for a nap and grab a few minutes of peace on the front porch with a glass of tea and a good book? Someone to marvel with me at how fast our daughter is growing, to share in the milestones and the everyday miracles of raising her together?
My parents and sisters help with Felicity so much, but it’s not the same as having a partner by my side.
It sounds like heaven, especially after the nightmare of learning Liam wants to take Felicity away from me. I would give anything for a stable marriage, to have a husband I can trust to keep our family safe, not launch an attack on my foundation when I’m at my most vulnerable.
“Well, thank you so much for your time,” I say, fighting tears. “I really appreciate it.”
&
nbsp; “No problem, and if you need recommendations for someone to represent you, reach out any time. I know a few people in Bliss River who are affordable, but great at what they do.”
“Thanks,” I say, before rushing to add, “But could I ask you one more thing?”
“Of course.”
“Is there anything I can do to make this go away? Some way I can prove I’m looking out for Felicity’s best interests without a big legal battle or going to court?”
“You’ll have to go to court, at least for the hearing, but…” Chris covers the phone again, murmuring he’ll “be right there,” before adding, “Moving into your own place with a separate bedroom for the baby would be a good start. That takes the wind out of two of your ex’s arguments—that you’re living with a bad influence and that your child doesn’t have her own space. And from there you just take it day by day, trying to do what you can to level the playing field and ensure his objections seem unfounded to the judge.”
“Okay,” I whisper, trying not to let my disappointment creep into my voice. “Thanks so much.”
I hang up and take a deep breath, steeling myself for the postmortem on the call as my family wanders back across the lawn.
“So? What did he say?” Mom asks, running a nervous hand over her perfectly smooth blond bob.
“He says Liam has a case.” I sigh as I hand over Mason’s phone. “Not a great case, but he has a chance of winning shared custody and could possibly force me to move back to Nashville to facilitate visitation.”
“What? But that’s crazy!” Lark says, her cheeks flushed with outrage.
“Not according to the law, I guess.” I press a finger to my right eyebrow, where a migraine is gathering like a storm cloud about to unleash its fury upon my skull. “Chris said it would help if I got my own place, but I can’t afford it right now.”
“Yes, you can,” Daddy says, his expression grim. I’m relieved he’s finally caught on to the fact that this isn’t funny, but sad to see the gloom in his eyes. “Your mother and I will cover the first and last month’s rent on a two-bedroom apartment. You can start looking today.”
