“You don’t stand a chance in court,” he says, his attitude confident, “not with charges of neglect.”
“Neglect?” I exclaim.
“A snake attack and molesting by your boyfriend. We have the home and security Abby needs. Here, she’s close to her friends. She has access to a garden and pool.”
“Face it,” Debbie says, “we can give her everything you can’t.”
A calm born from fighting instinct settles over me. “A garden and pool don’t replace a mother.”
Francois adopts a non-negotiable air. “Our decision is made.”
Of course, he’s confident. Ralph’s lawyer buddies probably assured Francois I can’t win. War with my ex is not what I want, but I’ll do anything to keep my daughter. No battle is big or dirty enough.
“Think carefully, Francois.” It’s no idle threat. “Is this truly the course you want to take?”
He holds my eyes unblinkingly. “Yes.”
So be it. “I demand a paternity test.”
7
Jane
The room goes quiet. It’s a silence much more devastating than the quiet of Francois’ storm. Debbie jerks her head toward Francois. Dorothy drops her head between her shoulders.
Francois has turned into an ice statue. His face is whiter than snow. “You won’t play that card.”
“What does she mean, a paternity test?” Debbie asks in a shrill voice.
I just look at Francois as he looks back at me. It’s the bomb that wasn’t supposed to drop, the wall between us we’ve never mentioned or acknowledged. If you ignore something for long enough, you can almost forget it exists. Almost.
“Answer me, Francois,” Debbie demands. “What does she mean?”
It’s Dorothy who knocks out the first brick. She lifts her head slowly. “Abby’s father can be any of three men.”
“Three men!” Debbie lunges to her feet. “What are you, Jane? A slut?”
Francois tries to pull her down. “Debs, please.”
She rips her hand from his. “I’m assuming you’re one of the men,” she says to Francois. “Who are the other two?”
“My sons,” Dorothy says. “Jane slept with both my sons and Francois in the space of two days.”
I’ve never heard her sound so defeated, not even when Evan died.
Francois is visibly shaking. “You won’t do it.”
I guess he didn’t expect me to ever face those unspoken demons, but there’s nothing I won’t do to keep my daughter, even digging up skeletons.
“Watch me,” I say.
Debbie sounds somewhere between angry and hurt. “Francois, why didn’t you tell me?”
A sob from the doorway stills me. It freezes me to my core. We all turn our heads in the direction of the voice. Abby stands in the frame, dressed in her favorite ice cream pajamas. A tail-wagging Dusty stands next to her.
No. Dear God, no.
“Who is my father?” Her breath catches on a hitch. “Tell me.”
“Abby!” I’m on my feet, rushing over to her.
I want to take her in my arms, but she takes a step back.
“Who is my father, Mom?”
“Francois will always be your father.”
“You know what I mean,” she yells.
“Abby, honey, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out…” Like this, I want to say, but the truth is I never wanted her to find out. I never wanted this for her.
“I want to know,” she says, fresh tears brimming in her eyes.
“Abby.” Francois reaches for her, but she backs away more.
“Don’t touch me. I want to know. I have a right to know.”
Tears are running over Debbie’s cheeks. “How could you?” She points at my daughter. “Look what you’re doing to her.”
“Francois left me no choice.”
“I want you to leave.” Debbie crosses the lounge and stands defiantly next to the door. “Both of you.” She points at Dorothy and me. “Out.”
I face my baby girl, three unbridgeable steps between us. “Do you want me to go? Will it make you feel better?”
She wraps her arms around herself. “I just want to be alone.”
“All right. I’m sorry, honey,” I whisper.
Dorothy is the only one who Abby allows to hug her. In many ways, Dorothy has been the grandmother she’s never had. If Dorothy was only at the house whenever Francois wasn’t there, Abby never questioned it. Now she knows why.
Now the world will know.
“Let’s go,” Dorothy says for a second time that day.
I let her guide me, not knowing where I’m going or where this is taking us. My world is falling apart, but I made my choice. I chose Abby. The next step is one of the hardest I’ll ever take in my life.
Dorothy insists on coming home with me, but I manage to convince her I need time by myself. In truth, it’s time to face Brian.
At home, I stand on my tiny balcony that faces my neighbor’s wall. The only sound that greets me is the traffic from the highway. Fast-moving cars. The air smells of cement dust from the building. So mundane, and yet, so profound. When the police officer knocked on the door that fateful night, I was trying to eat something I could keep down. Dry toast. The bread burnt in the toaster while he told us. Ever since, death smells like burnt toast. Now, the end smells like dust.
I’m at the end, but I know how to go forward. I’ve done it once. I can do it again. The worst about losing Evan was not being able to say goodbye. I never had a chance to tell him how much I loved him before he left. At least I’ll have this with Brian.
Brian
The ground level of Jane’s duplex is dark. Only the bedroom light upstairs is on. At this time of the evening, she’d be cooking with music playing in the background. Is she still sick? Using my key to enter, I half will her to stand in front of the sink, swaying her hips to a song while she rinses wine glasses. It’s a cute thing about her, how she always washes every glass before setting the table. It says a lot about her personality. She’s meticulous and committed to whatever she does. If that’s what she pours into a task as mundane as setting a table, she’s given her soul for her job. Here I am to destroy that.
The smell of roast or lamb chops doesn’t come from the oven. I should’ve picked up take-outs. If I weren’t so preoccupied with what I have to tell her, I’d have thought of it sooner. I stop at the bottom of the stairs to gather my thoughts and words.
I’m sorry. Toby offered me your job.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your biggest account.
I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my meddling would get you fired.
Fuck.
Dragging a hand over my face, I climb the stairs one by one, feeling each step like a shock to my joints. In the doorframe to the bedroom, I pause. Jane is standing on the balcony, staring into the distance. I don’t like it. A heavy feeling of doom pushes down on my chest, stealing my breath. I take a shaky drag of air and walk to her. The carpet cushions my steps, but she’s aware of my presence, because she doesn’t react when I touch her shoulder.
“What are you doing out here in the dark?” I ask gently.
She turns to me slowly. The light from the bedroom falls over her figure. The look on her face knocks the wind from my stomach. Her eyes are hollow in their sockets, and her skin is so pale I can see a fragile blue vein in her temple. She doesn’t only look beaten. She looks broken.
Putting our bodies flush together, I cup her cheek. “Tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
No. Fuck. No, no, no. I won’t let her go. I can’t. I swear to God I’ll blackmail her, lock her up, kidnap her, whatever it takes, but I won’t settle for sorry.
“You’re hurting me,” she whispers.
My fingers are clenched around her jaw. I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping her. Softening my touch, I trail a thumb over her bottom lip. My voice is tight. My gut is in a ball. “What happened? What’s wrong?”<
br />
“It’s Abby.”
My heartbeat accelerates to a painful hammering. Jane won’t survive anything happening to her child. “Is it her eyes? Are they worse?”
Her beautiful, wide eyes tell me no as she stares up at me, catching her lip between her teeth.
“I’m so sorry, Brian.”
“It’s all right,” I blabber. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. We’ll work through it together.”
Before I’m done talking, her head is already shaking in denial.
“She said you touched her.”
She said you touched her.
I haven’t heard right. The words don’t make sense. They can’t mean what I think. Of course, I touched her. Our hands touched when we greeted each other with a handshake. I may have knocked my elbow into her arm when we both reached for the Parmesan cheese. It’s Jane’s despondent look that gives me the answer.
My heart goes from over-drive to slamming on brakes so hard it feels like whiplash in my chest. Everything inside me goes cold. My core is a block of ice. I drop my hand from Jane’s face and take a step back.
“I swear to you I didn’t lay a finger on Abby, not in the way she suggests. I’d rather cut off my hand.”
“Francois wants to lay charges.”
“I don’t care,” I say in a reckless disregard for the consequences, because charges will brand me as a child molester, innocent or not. “I’m not losing you, Jane. Ever.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. She swallows twice.
Helplessness makes me weak. “You have to believe me.”
“What I believe won’t make a difference. I had to make a choice.”
Of course. Fuck. I feel like dropping to my knees. Only sheer willpower keeps me standing, waiting for the final blow that’ll ruin my life with a power nothing else can ever outweigh.
She wrings her hands together. “Abby always comes first.”
I want to rip the clouds clean out of the sky and trample fate under my boots. I want to punch a hole in the wall and break every bone in my hand, just so the physical pain will overshadow this gaping, burning slash that cuts my heart in two. Helplessness isn’t weak. Helplessness is a monster. I want to slay it, but how can I not understand? Wouldn’t I do the same for Sam? The uselessness of the situation makes me tear at my hair. If I could, I’d pull every strand from my head.
Her voice is shaking. Scared. “Brian?”
I stop, registering I’ve been circling like an animal stalking his own tail. Jane is shivering like a frail ribbon in a violent thunderstorm. Her slender legs are quivering, and her teeth are chattering.
Clasping a hand over my mouth, I swallow the words of pain, denial, and anger. Tonight, I’m walking away–she gives me no choice–but I’m not leaving her with the epitome of my fury at everything that’s unrighteous and fucked-up in this world.
One by one, I release my fingers, freeing my words. “I understand. I’d do the same for Sam.” I close the distance between us, letting the full length of my body rest against hers. My voice turns hard with intention. “But I’m not giving you up. I’ll wait. Ten years. Twenty. However long it takes.”
At some stage, Abby will leave the house. She’ll grow up. I have to cling to that or go to pieces. I want to smash the chair standing innocently to the side, placed there on its own as if she knew she’d sit here alone. I want to throw the one-man table over the rail and kick it to splinters, but I only fold my arms around Jane and hold her against me.
She sobs against my chest. My heart throbs under her cheek, breaking a little more with each beat as she cries harder. I run my hands over her back.
“Shh, princess.”
How do I soothe someone when I’m broken myself? How do I make it right when all I have left is so much despair? I can’t even be angry at Abby. I made her mother the older woman. At Abby’s age, it must be a hell of an embarrassment. She made no secret of hating my guts. I just never thought she’d take it this far.
Jane’s breath hitches on another sob.
“Come.” I lead her inside and pull her down on the bed.
The fact that she wants me to stay is enough. She wouldn’t have asked if she believed I did those unspeakable things to her daughter.
She’s a mess. Her hair is disheveled, and her make-up is smudged from the crying. It’s a knife in my chest to see her like this. There’s no way I can tell her about the account. Her job, for Christ’s sake. Not tonight. I pull a blanket over her since she’s still trembling, although I suspect it’s not from cold, before I go look in the medicine cabinet for something to calm her. There’s nothing save for over-the-counter pills for everyday ailments. I settle on two headache tablets and a triple shot of vodka, the only strong alcohol I can find.
She’s still crying when I get back to the bedroom. Her pillow is soaked.
“Shh.” I kiss her forehead and help her into a sitting position before handing her the liquor and pills. “Drink this. It’ll calm you.”
If nothing else, it should knock her out enough to get some much-needed sleep.
She swallows down the vodka and pills without arguing. Jane isn’t big on hard liquor. This alone tells me how much she needs relief from her pain. She hiccups and wipes her mouth with her hand.
I lower her back onto the mattress and rearrange the pillow and blanket.
“Will you stay?” she asks in a small voice.
“Yes.” Until she’s asleep. It’ll be better if I sneak off in her dreams. It’s less harsh than having to face the wrenching pain of a goodbye spoken in a doorway, of watching someone walk away, until you’re the one left behind, standing on your own with nothing but silence and loneliness.
“Don’t go to work tomorrow.” I stroke her hair. “Stay and rest. You need it. I’ll explain to Toby.”
She nods, her eyelids already heavy. When was the last time she slept? She looks knackered. At least if she stays in tomorrow, it’ll win me another day before having to share my own shitty load of bad news. It’s too much to take all at once. No single person can carry such a load. I’ll break it to her gently, when she’s rested and feeling better. It hurts to even think it, but maybe it’ll help her keep her distance from me. Her anger will see her over until I claim her back, because that’s the only given in my future at this moment. I will claim her back.
Not trusting myself enough to get under the covers with her, I sit on the edge of the bed, clutching her clammy hand in mine until the vodka kicks in, and she finally falls into a fitful sleep. Etching her features into my mind, I place a last, soft kiss on her lips before I walk away.
Jane
I wake up with a slight hangover, even if I’d swallowed down half a glass of vodka. The headache, fuzzy brain, thirst, and queasiness are only dull aches. They’re nothing compared to the emptiness in my heart. Brian is gone. His place in my bed is empty. He must’ve closed the sliding doors to the balcony and the curtains. The room is dark and depressing. More tears find their way to my eyes, but I have to stop crying. I have to face the world, today. I have to face Francois.
Allowing that purpose to drive me, I throw back the covers and get to my feet. I consider getting straight into the shower, but on second thought I pull on my exercise gear. I need to run. I need to maintain a resemblance of a routine. I try not to think about the squat rack Brian assembled in the garage.
Running past the construction site toward the more established part of the residence, I push myself until my lungs feel like combusting and my cramping muscles protest. Still, I carry on. On and on. Running in circles. Close to the main entrance of the complex, my knees buckle. My legs cave in. I hit the grassy shoulder next to the tarmac, going down in defeat. I’m sucking in gulps of air. The over-exertion makes me want to vomit. Turning on my back, I try to get back control over my breathing and body. A passing car slows down and stops. The door opens and a man exits. His face blocks out my light as he hovers over me.
“Hey, are you all right?”
�
�Fine,” I wheeze. “Ran too hard.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“All right, then. Maybe take it easier on yourself.”
A truthful answer is not an option.
When he leaves, I take another few minutes to gather myself. I’m okay. I lived through Evan’s death. I can survive anything. Rolling onto my side, I force myself onto my hands and knees. It takes tremendous effort to get to my feet, but I manage. It’s a small victory. Running is no longer possible. Physically, I’ve depleted myself. I don’t have a choice but to walk the rest of the way home.
After a shower, I feel considerably better. Endorphins from the exercise flood my brain, and my energy starts to return. Since I can’t face food, I forego breakfast. I force myself not to think about Brian, lest I break down again. I need my strength to fight for my daughter. I need an action plan. I need the best defense I can get.
Dorothy organizes the lawyer. He listens to my case carefully before confirming that the court can order Francois to take a paternity test in the light of our circumstances. The other candidates are under no obligation and can’t be forced to undergo a test by court order. Francois must already know this, because when I call to ask how Abby is doing, he tells me he’s made an appointment for a paternity test. Thanks to Ralph’s contacts, he got an appointment at a private facility for today. That can only mean he’ll fight me with everything he’s got. Part of me wants it to be Francois for Abby’s sake, but another part fears the outcome. I can’t lose Abby. Dorothy’s lawyer assured me if Francois is Abby’s biological father, he has a strong case. The lawyer’s guess is that Francois will build a case on arguing that I’m an unfit mother. The multiple sex partners when Abby was conceived, the accusation against Brian, and the cobra attack all count against me, not to mention that Abby’s wish in the matter will weigh heavily, since she’s over thirteen years of age.
Young Enough (The Age Between Us Book 2) Page 14
