“What a nightmare, Matt. Even with all that, your lawyer says you still can’t get custody?”
“That’s what he says. I paid him a small fortune to tell me, Sorry, pal, doesn’t matter if she’s a ditz and smokes pot and fucked around on you. She’s still their mother. No judge in the Commonwealth is going to take those kids away from her.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “You want to know what the saddest part is? It’s good advice. He’s absolutely right. I’ve talked to other guys who’ve gone through it. They all say the same thing. That’s the way the court works in Massachusetts. Divorced fathers get the shaft every time. There are men out there who are paying forty percent of their salary in child support, and they aren’t even allowed to see their kids.”
I came close to telling her I had been thinking about disappearing with Sarah and Nathan. Taking off and leaving all this shit behind. But saying it out loud would make it too real—a wish morphing into a plan. Maybe I didn’t bring it up because I didn’t want her to tell me the idea was insane and try to talk me out of it.
I went on a little longer until I wore myself out. Wore Marcy out too. I’m pretty sure she would have taken me home for a pity fuck, but I didn’t try.
***
The next week I went to Amsterdam. I told Lucy I wanted to stay a few extra days, and she said that was fine. She knew I’d make it up to her. I’d been Mr. Nice Guy since the night I stole into her house. Lucy responded to my display of good humor like a gracious big sister. So, how are you, Matt? Seems like the business is going well. Is that a new sports coat? Looks good on you. The kids are over the moon about going to Disney World. At least she had enough tact not to ask if I was seeing anyone, but I could tell she wanted to. The quicker I moved on with some other woman, the easier her life would be.
Amsterdam was a welcome break. I felt calm and unhurried. All the ranting to Marcy seemed to have drained some of the vitriol from my system. It was mid-May, bright sun every day. I missed the tulip season, but there were flowers blooming in every window box and public park. It seemed like everyone spoke English. I told the man who was my contact for the sale of the daguerreotypes about my interest in the museums and Dutch painters, and he offered to be my guide. Being with him was like getting a college course in art history in two days. He drove me to The Hague about an hour away to see the two Vermeer paintings. Girl with a Pearl Earring was nice, but the View of Delft looked like it was painted by God. I bought a postcard of the landscape to add to my collection. That night I wandered through the red-light district. Some of the women were gorgeous. I’m sure it would have been a rush to be with one of them, but I was holding out for something that wouldn’t leave me feeling like a loser ten seconds after I’d gotten my rocks off.
***
I delivered the daguerreotypes to my client at his country estate in Vermont. On the way back to Boston, I called Lucy to remind her that I’d be picking up the kids at day care.
“How was Amsterdam?” she said.
“Great. Fabulous city. You and Griffin should go. You can buy pot in the stores just like cigarettes.”
She didn’t react to the dig. “Listen, Matt, I’m glad you called. I didn’t want to bother you while you were away, but Sarah had a little accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
“Nothing serious. She fell off the trampoline and broke her wrist.”
“Jesus Christ! You think that isn’t serious?”
“It’s a simple fracture, Matt. Kids heal fast. She won’t be in a cast long.”
“How did she fall off the trampoline?”
“You know how fearless she is. A little daredevil. I think she’s going to be a stuntwoman when she grows up. Griffin was showing her how to do tricks, and she bounced too high and flew off.”
“Griffin was on the trampoline at the same time as Sarah?”
“I just said that. He was teaching her a new flip.”
“Why wasn’t he spotting her? She only weighs about thirty-five pounds. I don’t think she can bounce very high on her own.”
Lucy sighed in exasperation. “It was an accident, Matt. The kind of thing that happens to kids everywhere, every single day.”
“Just bad luck, huh? A twist of fate.”
“If you want to blame me, fine, go ahead. I knew you would anyway. You’re the perfect parent. Nothing bad ever happens on your watch.”
“No, it doesn’t. I wonder why.”
“Look, Sarah’s fine. She cried for about three minutes. We took her to the hospital, and she charmed everyone. She thinks her cast is really cool. You can sign it and tell her what a terrible mother I am.”
“I think she already knows.”
“Asshole.” She hung up.
I was at a pay phone in the back of a restaurant outside Manchester. I got in my car and drove down 93, muttering to myself like a lunatic. I pictured myself in Norman Claxton’s dreary office, listening to him tell me exactly what Lucy had just said on the phone, that accidents like this happen to kids every day.
When I got to Katydids, Sarah ran up to me and jumped into my arms. “Daddy, Daddy! Look! I broke my wrist.” She held up her cast like she’d won first prize.
“Ohhh, honey, I see. How did it happen?”
“Me and Griffin were playing on the trampoline and I flew off.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Nope. I cried for a minute, but the doctor said I was real brave.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” She didn’t understand the danger Griffin and her mother had put her in. A different kind of fall and she could have broken her neck.
“Look at all the names on my cast. Me and Mommy saved a place for you.” The cast was covered with names and smiley faces with a white rectangle prominently left blank on top.
“Thank you.” I put her down. “Let’s get a pen so I can sign it.” I went over to a table where there were a bunch of markers. “What color do you think I should use? How about pink?”
“Noooo, you’re a boy. You can’t do pink.” She handed me a green marker.
“Okay, green. My favorite color. Just like your hair. Do you want me to write Daddy or Matthew Drobyshev?”
“Daaaddy, all you ever do is tease me.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes.” She nodded, a serious look on her face, then laughed and threw her arms around my neck. “No.”
I went outside and got Nathan from the playground. On the way home we stopped at Star Market to get groceries for dinner. I was in the produce section with the kids in the cart when I ran into Richie Harrington, my old friend from the police academy. He was in uniform. We chatted for a few minutes, and he signed Sarah’s cast.
After Richie left, Sarah said, “Why aren’t you a policeman anymore, Daddy? Didn’t you like it?”
“No, I liked it fine. But I got a chance to go into business with Javi and wanted to give that a try.”
“When you were a policeman, did you arrest people and make them go to jail?”
“Sometimes. If a bad person was trying to hurt someone or breaking the law.”
“Nanda got arrested.”
“She did? That’s too bad. Is that what Mommy told you?”
“No, we were with her, Daddy.”
“You guys and Mommy?”
“Just me and Natey. She was taking us to the ’quarium and she got lost and the policeman stopped her car and made her go to jail.”
“All the cars were beeping,” Nathan said. “The policeman said Nanda was going too slow.”
I said to Sarah, “When did this happen, hon?”
“I don’t remember, Daddy. Before I broke my arm. Mommy had to come pick us up. She says Nanda’s sick and can’t drive any more till she gets better.”
“Well, I hope she gets better real soon.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment, then said, “Daddy?”
“What, sweetheart?”
“Don’t tell anybody what happened to Nanda. Mommy says it’s s’posed to be a secret.”
The next day I called a friend in the police department and asked him to contact the RMV and see if he could find any traffic citations in the last few months for Amanda Thornhill. He got back to me after lunch. The arrest had been made by the Braintree Police. The charge was operating under the influence. Amanda had refused to take the breathalyzer. She’d been driving drunk with my kids in the car.
I stewed over the information about Amanda’s arrest all afternoon. Then I had to go to a meeting with a wealthy blue blood on Beacon Hill. He was a stickler and inherently mistrustful, one of those clients who keep asking the same question in different ways, trying to trip you up. I left the meeting in a foul mood and walked across the Common and had dinner in Chinatown. When I got home, I was still agitated. I tried to relax in front of the television, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Amanda’s drunk driving. Lucy knew what her mother was like. How could she expose the children to such danger? One distracted glance, one errant turn of the wheel or a slow reaction on the brakes, and they could have all been killed. I lay awake long into the night, obsessing over Lucy’s failings. Never mind the drugs and adultery; she seemed to lack the most basic parental instincts for keeping the children out of harm’s way. The drip, drip, drip of her poor judgment and neglect was pushing me over the edge. Maybe I could go back to Claxton and have him file a petition with the court detailing all the reasons why I should have full custody. But I couldn’t keep Sarah and Nathan away from Lucy entirely, and no court in the land could make her wake up and suddenly become a good mother. She and the children had been fortunate so far, but it was only a matter of time before there was some tragedy.
The kids and I were leaving for Disney World in seventeen days. My only option was to take them and run. Get away and never look back. I kept trying to talk myself out of it, trying to find a reason why I should wait or take some other tack. But this wasn’t a decision you come to by sitting down and making a list and weighing the pros and cons. It was something more visceral. Like believing in God. Or falling madly in love on a blind date. You can’t deny what’s in your heart and pretend it isn’t there. This is your fate. You have no other choice.
Part Three
Chapter 25
Lucy
Matt seemed as excited as the kids about going to Disney World. I was grateful that he wanted to take Sarah and Nathan, but I couldn’t understand why any semi-intelligent adult would want to stand in hour-long lines in the scorching Florida sun waiting to catch a ride with Mr. Toad or listen to little robots sing “It’s a Small World” eighty-seven times. Better you than me, I thought as he told me about his plans. If this was another way for him to prove to himself that he was the better parent, I was happy to concede. Sure you don’t want to come along? he said, teasing. At least he could joke with me sometimes now. He had said some nasty, accusatory things on the telephone, when I told him about Sarah’s broken wrist, but he backed off the next time I saw him. I guess he figured we were stuck with one another, and it didn’t make sense to keep the fight going.
He came to the house Friday after work to pick up the kids for the Disney trip. They were leaving bright and early Saturday morning, and I had their suitcases packed and ready to go. I could sense Matt’s desire to go through the bags to see if I’d forgotten anything, but he resisted the urge. He was always checking on me, monitoring my behavior to see if I’d done things right. He used to do this behind my back when we were married, my faults furtively corrected to keep from embarrassing me; now he often did it openly to make a point.
Summer had finally arrived. I held Nathan’s hand as I walked him to the car. Sarah had Sundae under her arm, the llama’s white coat matted and gray with wear, the seams stitched to keep the stuffing from falling out. Since she’d gotten over her addiction to peanut butter and jelly, Sundae was her only fetish. She couldn’t go to sleep at night without him, the llama traveling back and forth between Matt’s place and mine.
I buckled Nathan into his car seat. “Call me,” I said to Matt.
“Of course. How about Sunday evening?”
“Sure, that’ll be fine.” I gave both kids a hug and a kiss. “Have a great time, guys. You be good for your daddy, okay?”
They said goodbye, and I stood on the sidewalk, waving, as Matt drove away.
Griffin was somewhere in New Jersey and wouldn’t be home until eight. I went in the house and gathered up a load of laundry and put it in the washer down in the basement. Then I poured a glass of wine and lit a cigarette and sat on the back steps reading Middlemarch. I’d been working on the book for weeks, not because it was difficult or boring but because it was so good I didn’t want to finish. Rory sat on the step below me, her tail swishing back and forth as she watched a squirrel hop from branch to branch in the maple tree. She had gotten too old to catch anything but still had the desire. I picked her up and scratched her tummy.
“Nathan’s going to be away for a whole week, Ror. What’re you going to do?” Her devotion to the boy was uncanny. She’d slept by his bed every night since we brought him home from the hospital. Now, when he went to Matt’s house, Rory came to me at bedtime, meowing, asking where he’d gone.
Griffin and I had a quiet weekend. He had to go to Dallas on Monday morning. Matt called from Orlando Sunday evening and put Sarah on the phone.
“We’re having so much fun, Mommy. We went on lots and lots of rides. My favorite was Space Mountain. Daddy said Natey was too little to go on it, so he found a big girl to go with me. Then we saw Snow White and Cinderella, and Minnie Mouse came over and gave Natey a hug. My cast got real itchy, but Daddy put some baby powder under it and now it feels okay.”
Nathan didn’t understand about the phone yet, but, with a little coaxing from Matt, he said, I love you, Mommy. When Matt got back on the phone, he told me the lines for the rides were longer than expected, but the kids were having a fantastic time.
“What about you?” he said. “How’s everything back home?”
“Fine. No complaints.”
“Good. We’re going to a water park tomorrow for a change of pace. I’ll call you in a few days. Which is better, Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“Tuesday. I’m going to the movies with Anita on Wednesday.”
“Well, okay.” He cleared his throat. “So long, Luce.”
“Bye. Have fun.”
***
Monday was an easy day at Garbo’s, but Tuesday turned into a bear. I came home exhausted, had a glass of wine, and took a nap on the couch. Amanda called. She hadn’t lost her Connecticut license over the drunk driving ticket in Braintree, but the incident had scared her into going to AA. I was proud that she was finally being up front about dealing with her drinking problem. I had a light dinner, then paid some bills. I assumed Matt would call about seven-fifteen as he had on Sunday. When I hadn’t heard from him by eight, I phoned his room at the hotel, but there was no answer and I left a message for him to call me as soon as he got in. Another half-hour went by, and I started to get concerned. It wasn’t like Mr. Reliable to forget, and Nathan was usually sound asleep by eight-thirty. When Matt was planning the trip, he told me he might drive over to Palm Beach to see his old friend Carlos, the guy who had taken him to Puerto Rico years ago. I thought he might have done that and gotten stuck in traffic coming back to the hotel. By nine o’clock, my concern turned into full-scale worry. I called the hotel again and asked to speak with the front desk.
“Excuse me, I’ve been trying to reach my husband, Matthew Drobyshev. He and my children are staying in room fourteen twenty-nine. I’ve left several messages. Would you please make sure that’s the correct room number?”
“Certainly, ma’am. Excuse me for a moment while I
confirm that for you.” The girl had a pathologically cheerful voice. “Yes, ma’am. That’s right. Fourteen twenty-nine.”
“Is it possible my messages aren’t getting through to him?”
“Would you like me to try the room myself?”
“Please.”
She put me on hold and came back a minute later. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Drobyshev. There’s no answer.”
“He was supposed to call me. I was sure he’d be there by now. Could you possibly have someone go up to the room and check and see if he’s there?”
“I’m not sure I…Would you like to speak with the shift manager, Mr. Bender?”
“Yes, that would be great.”
I repeated my concerns to Bender. He was accommodating but cautious, no doubt familiar with the kind of guests who were having affairs or dodging creditors. He agreed to have someone check Matt’s room and call me back. It took him fifteen minutes.
“I’m not sure what to tell you, Mrs. Drobyshev,” he said. “Your husband’s room is empty. No clothes or suitcases. It appears as if no one has been in the room since housekeeping made up the beds this morning.”
“But he’s still registered?”
“Yes, until Friday. Perhaps he decided to take the children on a side trip without checking out and is planning on coming back.”
“Do people do that?”
“Well, yes, if our guests want to keep the special weekly rate. They’ll often go over to Busch Gardens in Tampa or someplace like that for a night and not bother to tell us.”
I didn’t know what else to ask, so I thanked him and hung up. It wasn’t like Matt to do something like this. On the edge of panic, I phoned Jill and told her the situation.
“Come on, Luce,” she said. “Don’t get yourself all worked up. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Like what?”
“Like what the manager said about going to Busch Gardens. Or what you said about visiting his friend in Palm Beach.”
Lies You Wanted to Hear Page 20
