by Aria Johnson
Snow flurries slowed down my drive home, and when I finally made it through the front door, I took off my coat, scarf and boots, and curled up on the couch. I pulled out the ultrasound image and stared at it until tears of joy filled my eyes. The baby was the splitting image of Brandon with a head full of dark curls and a keen nose that turned up slightly at the tip. And his estimated fetal weight was already four pounds. My grandson was going to be a big, beautiful, healthy boy!
Being blessed with a second chance to be a good mother was oh so worth the expense of indulging Ava’s whims and enduring the distastefulness of being in her presence.
Not once had she apologized for treating my son so cruelly. In fact, she rarely mentioned Brandon’s name. Ava was too self-absorbed to be concerned about anyone other than herself. She would be the absolute worst mother in the world, and I’d die before I allowed her to destroy my grandchild’s life.
The ultrasound image was proof of life, and it gave me a sense of empowerment. It emboldened me. Feeling brave, I rose from the couch and headed up the stairs as if being pulled by a magnet. Standing outside Brandon’s bedroom door, I took a deep breath and opened the door. It was the first time I’d been in his room since that night. I sat at the desk where he’d taken his life. Ran my hands over the roughened surface of the wood.
Tears trickled from my eyes. Oh, Brandon. I let you down. I didn’t protect you from your father. The way he avoided and ostracized you was malicious and you were made to feel that you weren’t good enough at an early age. I should have divorced him when you were a toddler, but I stayed—trying to keep up the image of a happy family while hoping that over time, he’d become more accepting of you. But he never changed and by the time our marriage ended, the damage to your psyche had already been done.
I should have protected you from Ava as well. I knew from the start that she was poison, yet I pushed you into her spider’s web when I insisted that you conform to normal behavior . . .go to school or get a job. You weren’t capable. You were too tormented and damaged to fit in with society’s norms. And as a mother, I should have known that and I should have accepted you for who you were. Believe me, if I could turn back time, I would. And you’d be right here in your room playing video games. Oh, sweetie, this house is so quiet now. You have no idea how I yearn for the computerized sounds that used to emanate from your room.
But I promise you, I’m going to take good care of your son. I won’t stand by helplessly while Ava uses him to get a welfare check. I won’t condone her passing on her warped sense of what’s normal on to my innocent grandson.
Chapter 17
My appointment with a family court attorney was very disappointing. According to him, it would have been extremely difficult for me to get custody of the baby without proof that Ava was unfit and/or had endangered the fetus during pregnancy. It didn’t matter that Ava had no intention of bettering herself by furthering her education or getting some sort of job training. That she felt deprived to be receiving only medical benefits from the state and was looking forward to receiving a welfare check and food stamps had no bearing on her parenting skills.
“What do you mean by ‘endangered the fetus’?” I asked.
“Does she use drugs?”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty certain she drank a lot of beer and smoked a lot of weed before she got pregnant, but I believe she stopped.”
“Well, the only way you’re going to legally get that baby is if the mother is prosecuted for assault for the illegal use of a narcotic drug while pregnant. And the only way to make that determination is if the infant is harmed or addicted to whatever drug she’s using.”
Merely imagining a child being brought into this world already addicted to a substance put a severe frown on my face. “The baby’s healthy,” I said with assurance. “The mother recently had an ultrasound and everything is fine. The problem is, she’s narcissistic and she’ll damage him emotionally. She’s not fit to raise a child.”
“That’s your opinion, but it won’t stand up in a court of law.” Growing impatient with me, the lawyer looked at his watch, letting me know the free consultation was over. “If you retain me as your lawyer, we can start building a case against her.”
“How long will it take . . .to uh, build a case?”
He furrowed his brows. “It depends on the evidence being documented. It could take weeks, months . . .or years.”
“Years! You can’t be serious. That child won’t stand a chance in life if I don’t get him away from his mother as soon as possible.”
“That may be true, but you have to stay within the bounds of the law. You can’t expect a judge to separate a child from his mother because she’s not the greatest person in the world.”
I snorted. “She’s the worst person in the world. Do you realize this woman is so toxic, my son committed suicide?”
The lawyer winced and then gazed at me pityingly. “I think there’s something else going on. You’re grief-stricken, you’re angry, and you want to lash out at someone.”
“Oh, you’re not only an attorney, but you’re also a psychologist?” I asked snidely. I stood up, thanked him for his time, and marched out of his office.
I didn’t need a lawyer, I decided, and while driving home from his office, I came up with a plan. I would take little Brandon straight from the hospital. By force, if necessary.
With all the money I had saved, including the hefty payout from Brandon’s insurance policy, I was pretty well off. Selling my house would bring in another $800,000 or more. I had more than enough to charter a plan to France, a country that was steeped in culture and history. And also a country not likely to extradite me back to the United States for kidnapping.
There was nothing to hold me here. The baby and I would thrive in Paris where citizens enjoyed life with an open attitude. But I would have rules of conduct. I wouldn’t allow him to drink coffee and wine like other French children. I would never be that permissive.
I had picked up a little French when Jeff and I visited Paris, but now I’d have to get serious about learning the language.
Thinking about Jeff and Paris saddened me. We’d had something really special, but I now realized we were doomed from the start.
• • •
I needed to establish a routine and a pattern of behavior that wouldn’t make anyone suspicious about my intention to leave the country with the baby. Going back to work would be the perfect way to establish a routine, and so I called Human Resources and informed them that I’d be returning to work on January fifteenth.
My return to the workplace was awkward to say the least. While I was out on leave, Meghan had been holding down the fort as the acting Director of Horticulture, and when I entered the premises, it was rather unsettling to see her seated at my desk, leisurely twirling around in my chair, laughing into the phone as she made plans to go out for drinks after work.
Even more disconcerting, I caught Veronica, whom I’d honestly viewed as a doting mother figure, dutifully placing a piping hot mug of coffee on the desk in front of Meghan. I supposed Veronica’s loyalties lie with whoever was in charge of our department.
“Hold on a minute,” Meghan said to the person on the phone. Frowning, she looked at me and said, “We weren’t expecting you. What’re you doing here?”
Meghan’s eyes flitted toward Dwight as if he had the answer. He made a face, shrugged his shoulders, and then skulked over to the coffee pot.
“Would you like some coffee, Claire?” Veronica asked guiltily.
When I shook my head, she studied me worriedly as if she feared I might reenact my performance at Brandon’s memorial service.
I was waiting for Meghan to get out of my chair and scurry out of the building to attend one of the many committee meetings that she was always running off to in the course of the work day, but when she returned to her phone conversation, it was clear she had no intention of moving.
That’s when I noticed the cluster of framed pho
tos of her posing with family and friends. There was even a picture of her cat strategically placed in the center of two potted cacti.
I couldn’t have cared less about losing my position to Meghan, but I wondered if I should’ve pretended to be offended. As I pondered the dilemma, I noticed that everyone was waiting for my reaction. They’d all been at the memorial service and having witnessed my meltdown, they looked concerned that there might be a repeat performance.
Meghan, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. She picked up her phone and returned to the dilemma of where to go for Happy Hour.
I noticed Dwight motioning, trying to get Meghan’s attention. “Uh, Meghan?”
“What is it, Dwight?”
“Can I speak to you out in the corridor?”
Meghan told whoever she was talking to that she’d call them back. Begrudgingly, she followed Dwight out into the hallway. The younger members of my team trailed behind Meghan, eager to hear what Dwight had to say.
Veronica and I locked eyes. “They think you’re . . .” She gestured with her finger going in a circle on the side of her head.
“They think I’m crazy?” I asked, embarrassed for myself.
“But that’s a good thing. They don’t want to provoke you so they’ll be on their best behavior,” Veronica said, laughing.
My team came back inside and Meghan began clearing her belongings off the desk. “I’ll clear out the drawers during my lunch break,” she offered, looking apologetic.
I wondered what Dwight had said to her. Knowing his personality, he’d probably said something like, “If you don’t want that bitch to go postal on all of us, you better get out of her chair and let her have her desk back.”
My team cleared out and Veronica remained. I went through the drawers and discovered piles of mail that dated back at least two months.
“What in the world has Meghan been doing while I was gone?” I asked Veronica.
“As the kids say, she’s been chillin’,” Veronica replied with a chuckle. Then, taking on a serious expression, she searched my face. “Welcome back, Claire. It’s good to see you, but are you sure it’s a good idea to come back so soon?”
“Too many memories of Brandon in the house. It’s so lonely without him.”
“I know, I know,” she said soothingly.
“I would have to resume my normal life eventually, and I can’t think of a better time than now, when it’s not as busy here as it’ll get in the spring.”
She nodded in understanding and gave my shoulder a squeeze before ambling off to the greenhouse.
There weren’t many visitors at the zoo in the middle of January, but we were still responsible for keeping up the appearance of the grounds and the upkeep of the plant life inside the habitats of the animals that were featured in fully enclosed exhibits. And Zoo-Doo was a year-round project.
I immersed myself in the stacks of correspondence before me and when I came up for air, it was already eleven o’clock, which was the time I was supposed to pick up Ava and take her to a consultation with one of the surgeons on her list.
It gave me great pleasure to call her and tell her she had to cancel the appointment.
“Why? I’m dressed and ready to go.” She sounded deeply offended.
“There was something at work that needed my attention. I was given the choice of dealing with my responsibilities here at the job or relinquishing my position. It doesn’t matter that I’m still grieving, I had to pull myself together and continue to earn a living.”
“For fuck’s sake, couldn’t you have called earlier, like, before I got dressed? It isn’t easy getting myself together with a big stomach slowing me down,” Ava said in a reprimanding tone.
“Listen, I’m sorry, Ava. But things are so hectic here at work, your appointment completely slipped my mind.”
She sucked her teeth.
It didn’t matter that I told her my job was at stake and she didn’t give a damn about my unremitting grief. It was all about Ava. The girl was unable to empathize. My work schedule was an inconvenience and interfered with my availability to chauffeur her all over town.
“Why don’t you call the doctor’s office and reschedule your appointments? I’ll be available on weeknights after five.”
“Evening appointments are not that easy to get,” she said testily.
Oh, well! “Then ask for a Saturday appointment.”
She let out a groan. “Saturdays are harder to get than weeknights.”
Aw, isn’t that a shame. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ava. I’m bogged down with work right now. You’re a resourceful girl; I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I replied impatiently while wearing a wicked smile.
She uttered a sound of discontent. “I hate to have to call my gentleman friend for transportation. That old buzzard really creeps me out, but I have to put up with him now that you don’t have time for me.”
She was laying the accusations on really thick, and I didn’t want to alienate her. “I apologize, and I’ll make sure I’m available for your evening appointments, okay?”
“If you say so,” she muttered sullenly. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
She was so full of herself that she really believed I was willing to pay for her cosmetic surgery. What a laugh! The baby and I would be long gone by the time she was cleared to go under the knife. And knowing Ava, she’d probably be more upset over not getting a tummy tuck than she’d be over the loss of her child.
It boggled my mind why someone as selfish as Ava would even consider bringing a child into the world.
A few minutes after getting off the call with Ava, my desk phone rang. It was Shannon Teal from the volunteer department, calling to inform me that Walter Caulfield had resigned from his position in the horticulture department.
I was surprised to say the least. “Did he give a reason?” I asked Shannon.
“No, he just apologized for the short notice.”
I thanked her and after hanging up the phone, I drifted into deep thought. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Walter had quit on the same day I’d returned. For some reason, he was avoiding me and I was certain that Ava was the reason.
What exactly was going on with those two? And what did he know about my relationship with her? Did he know she was carrying my grandson? There was no point in trying to get any answers from Ava. She was tight-lipped and mysterious when it came to her odd association with Walter.
I should have been grateful that Walter had spared me the awkwardness of having to witness him pretending to be a harmless senior citizen when he was really a lecherous old goat. I didn’t have proof, but I strongly suspected that he had the hots for Ava. And I wouldn’t put it past her to lead him on.
There was no other explanation for a sixty-something-year-old man hanging around a girl who was forty years his junior. I thought about the argument they were having in the car that day in Home Depot’s parking lot. What was that about—a lover’s spat?
It was time to have a talk with Veronica. I threw on my coat and braved the frigid cold. I pulled my collar up around my neck as I trekked across the grounds on my way to the greenhouse.
Chapter 18
Inside the greenhouse, a radio played ’60s soul music as Veronica puttered around, spritzing plants, clipping browned edges of leaves and talking to them in loving tones as if she were speaking to her own grandchildren, whom she adored.
Hearing the door open and close, she glanced in my direction. “What brings you to my neck of the woods, Claire?” she asked jokingly.
I got right to the point. “How’re things with you and Walter?”
“Good. Why do you ask?”
“I thought maybe you two had a little tiff or something.”
She gave me a baffled look. “No, we get along just fine. You’re hinting around at something . . .what’s going on?”
“Well, Shannon Teal called a few minutes ago and told me that Walter quit his volunteer position.”
“
He did what?” Veronica set down the plastic spritz bottle and placed an indignant hand on her hip.
“He quit and he didn’t offer any explanation. I wondered if he’d mentioned anything to you. Was he unhappy here? Did someone on our team do or say anything to upset him? I honestly thought he enjoyed working with plants, and I thought he was especially fond of working here in the greenhouse with you.”
“Well, I thought so, too.” She shook her head in utter bewilderment. “There’s only one way to get to the bottom of this.” She dug her phone out of one of the pockets of her smock and tapped the screen. “It’s ringing, but he’s not picking up. Now, that’s not like Walter at all.”
I listened as she left a message, instructing him to call her right away. She perched herself on top of a stool and leaned over, clenching her chin thoughtfully.
“How well do you know him?”
“What’re you getting at? As you already know, Walter and I have been dating for months, and I know the man well enough to share my bed with him a couple nights a week. Furthermore—”
I waved my hand, cutting her off. “Whoa! That’s too much information.”
“Well, you asked,” she reminded me sassily.
“Veronica,” I said gently. “I think Walter’s been leading a sort of double life.”
She scowled at me, leaned back, and folded her arms. “Go ahead. Spill the beans.”
She was trying to act tough, but it was only an act. I could see hurt creeping in her eyes. She’d been a widow for over fifteen years, and had given up on finding a man as good as her husband. I was sure she wouldn’t have gone as far as remarrying, at her age, but she was content with Walter and enjoyed having a companion to share her interests.
“I hate being the bearer of bad news, but I’ve seen Walter in the company of a young woman . . .a really young woman,” I said, stressing the word “really.”
“How young?” Her features softened and she appeared to be less concerned.
“Her early twenties.”
Veronica let out a guffaw. “You had me worried there for a moment. He’s not leading a double life, Claire. Walter does work for a charitable organization that helps out young women who’re in distress over an unplanned pregnancy. These girls don’t have families and lack any type of support networks during their pregnancies.”
