by Vivian Wood
“I’m suing you for custody,” she says with a smirk. “The bodyguards are here for my protection.”
For a second, I think that she’s joking. I unfold the papers, scanning them quickly just to get the gist of what they say.
I don’t get past ‘Application For Change Of Custody’ before I get angry. I look up at Helen.
“You really think that taking me to court is going to change anything?” I ask, furious.
“I told my lawyers all about your decision to have Sarah around an unsafe person,” Helen says.
“Who? Are you talking about Larkin?” I ask.
“I also told him about how Sarah told me that you hurt her,” she continues, as if I had never spoken. “My lawyer thinks that I have a really good case.”
“You’re crazy. Like… just totally mental,” I fire back, starting to shut the door in her face.
Helen sticks her hand out to hold the door jamb, keeping me from closing the door all the way. “Just keep right on with what you’re doing. Every hurtful word, every bruise you give me, will only help me win.”
“Fuck off,” I say through the gap. “Tell the judge I said that.”
Her smile only deepens. “I will.”
For a hot second, I think seriously about going upstairs to get my gun from its little gun safe. It would be very satisfying to get Helen to take her hand out of the door and leave my porch. Just as it would be satisfying to physically intimidate her, despite the two big guys standing by.
But I don’t do it. I think about Sarah and Larkin, what would be the safest thing considering that they’re upstairs.
What would be the safest thing for everyone is if those two guys didn’t draw their weapons. That surely wouldn’t be the case if I showed mine first.
So I just walk away from the front door, leaving it open with Helen’s hand inside.
“You are weak!!” she yells through the gap. “You were never good enough for my daughter, either!”
I stop for a second. I flash back to the days just after the first time I met Helen, when Britta and I were alone in my bed. I asked her what her mom thought, and she played it off.
But it wasn’t that long afterward that Britta really started fighting with her mom. Was Britta being told the same thing by her mother, that I wasn’t good enough for her?
“What’s going on?” Larkin asks, coming down the stairs.
“There she is! Charlie’s harlot. Why don’t you bring her out, let us all get a good look?” Helen calls, opening the front door wider.
“Go back upstairs,” I bark at Larkin. “Helen is here, being fucking crazy.”
Larkin pales and vanishes back up the stairs. I think for a second. What is the best way to remove Helen and her friends from the property, and get it on the record?
I turn toward the front door, pulling out my phone. I dial 911.
“911, what is your emergency?” a woman answers.
“Hello? Yes, I’d like to report that my former mother in law is trespassing on my property,” I say, loud enough for Helen to hear. “Yes, she has attempted to enter my house without my permission. Yes, she has two armed men outside my door, and I believe they are here to do something harmful to me. Please send officers immediately. We’re at 1427 North Creek Road.” Helen’s hand disappears. “Thanks.”
I walk back toward the front door, using my foot to swing it open wide. Helen and her bodyguards are beating a hasty retreat out of the yard.
I lean against the door frame, watching them go. They pile in a black SUV, and make a quick getaway. I hear the police siren in the distance, and I sigh.
I look down at the papers still in my hand, resisting the urge to crumple them in my fist.
What a day. First Sarah catches me and Larkin… well, doing more than kissing. So I will have to deal with the fallout of that, whatever that might be.
And then this? My crazy mother in law shows up with two goons in tow, shoving legal papers in my face? Worse, she accused me of hurting Sarah, and Larkin of being a bad influence.
Yeah, Helen is crazy is hell, but what if someone listens to her? What if — in some backwards, insane scenario — she ends up with sole custody of Sarah?
I head upstairs to tell Larkin and Sarah that everything is going to be okay, but I definitely don’t know that for sure.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Larkin
“Maybe I should sleep at my place tonight,” Charlie says, naked and sprawled out flat on his back in my bed. He gets up with a groan, looking for his clothes.
I frown and raise myself up halfway. My nudity normally doesn’t bother me, but seeing him putting his boxer briefs on makes me reach for the sheet, pull it over myself.
“Again? It’s been a week since Helen was here. And we dropped Sarah off at Dale and Rosa’s house for the weekend. We have two whole days to ourselves. Why aren’t we enjoying it?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He pulls his jeans on. I wave a hand at him.
“Hello?” I ask, growing angry.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, sitting down on the bed again. He leans over for a kiss, but I’m mad. I give him my cheek. “I just have to meet with an attorney on Monday…”
“It’s Friday night!” I exclaim. “At eleven p.m. No one is watching you, you know.”
His brow furrows. “I know. It’s just… you know, it’s almost October first…”
I cut him off, feeling heated. “Let me guess. October first is some special date that you celebrated with Britta?”
He looks away. “Yeah, sort of.”
I grimace, pulling away. I go to my side of the bed, finding my panties on the floor, and pull them on. I am feeling extremely jealous of Britta right now, a woman who is untouchable because she’s dead. I know it’s petty. I know it’s small-minded.
But I can’t help myself. I felt like we were a moment away from telling each other how we feel, and then wham! Hurricane Helen hit our shores, and nothing has been right since.
“Larkin,” Charlie says, somehow just now getting the fact that I’m upset. I find a random tee shirt on the floor and jam it down over my head. “Larkin, don’t be mad.”
“What would I have to be mad about?” I say, walking over to my dresser. I seethe as I fish out some yoga pants and stick my legs in them.
“It’s only until I’m sure everything is settled.”
I whip around and glare at him. “What is?”
He holds his tee shirt in his hands, and fidgets with it.
“I’m just saying, if we can cool it off until then—”
“Cool it off? Cool. It. Off?” I say, my voice rising. “Are you suggesting that we don’t see each other anymore? Is that it?”
He looks down. “No.”
“What do you mean by cool it off, then?”
“I just mean… until I’m sure that Helen isn’t a threat, we just keep things secret between us. You know, private.”
I sweep my long hair over one shoulder. “We’ve been doing that now for over a month. What would you like me to change, exactly?”
Charlie takes a moment to pull his shirt on.
“Nothing,” he says slowly. “It’s not you that has to do anything. I don’t want this legal bullshit to effect you.”
I cock my hip.
“And yet, it does. It means that I can’t be around Sarah. It means that I can’t be around you, apparently, except for a couple of hours of sex.”
He stands up. “I don’t want you to feel like that.”
“But I’m telling you that I do. I’m so friggin tired of it. Why are we going backwards? What happened to the progress we made?”
He heaves a sigh. “Look, it isn’t optimal… but it’s probably just until I can talk to the lawyer. Just a couple of days.”
“Probably?” I ask, my cheeks heating. “I thought it was until you met with the judge for the first time. Or wait! Am I supposed to stay in the shadows for the whole time you have court? I forget.”
&nb
sp; “It’s not like that.”
“No? Because it seems like you’re making it like that. You’ve been distant all week, unwilling to stay over here. Unwilling to have me over. And I thought that with Sarah gone for the weekend, you’d be okay. But I guess the joke is on me.”
“Larkin—” He moves toward me, but I take a step back.
“No! I am not your sex buddy, Charlie. I’m not going to be treated like some kind of shameful thing that you bring out of hiding whenever you’re sad or lonely or horny.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And?” he asks. “And what?”
I pick up his hoodie, which is on the floor near my feet, and hurl it at him. “You know. You’re sorry. It’s only for a little while longer.”
His face turns to stone. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to act like you care about me! I want you to say, ‘Hey Larkin, I know that Helen is crazy, but I care for you. The three of us will get through this together.’ Something like that would be fine.”
I stop for a breath, and realize that I’m so mad that I’m actually shaking.
“She’s threatening my daughter, Larkin. You know that I have to take that very seriously.” He starts to pull on the hoodie, one sleeve at a time.
“You know what? I wonder if that’s even really what this is all about.”
He slows. “What do you mean?”
“I’m saying, this is just the excuse that you needed. You didn’t want to have to decide between maybe dating and being a walking, talking memorial. This is perfect. ’Oh, can’t decide to be with Larkin, because my mother in law is a bitch.’”
Charlie crosses his arms. “That’s not true.”
“Oh no? You’re saying that in the face of Hurricane Helen, you didn’t pull up the stakes in the garden and head for higher ground? Or are you saying that you moving to higher ground isn’t because of Helen?”
He shakes his head. He runs his hand through his dark, messy hair. “That’s unfair.”
“Maybe. Maybe I am the bitchy one here. But I have done nothing but walk on eggshells around you since we met! I’m so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. I lie awake at night, worrying about things I’ve said. Did I cause too much harm? Did I push too much? I’m just… I’m so tired of it,” I say.
I’m still as mad as ever, but I can feel hot tears at the corners of my eyes. I can feel my throat go thick with emotion.
“What is it that you actually want me to do right now, Larkin?” he asks with a glower. “You are supposed to be the easiest thing in my life, not yet another complicated thing in a long list.”
That characterization kills me a little on the inside.
“That’s all I am to you, then? You don’t feel anything else for me? You’ve just been ticking items off of your checklist?”
“That’s not what I said!”
“Well, that’s what you meant!” I yell at him. “Am I ever going to come first?”
“You can’t ask me that. I have a kid!”
“I meant before your feelings for Britta! Will I, Larkin Lake, ever be able to come before the love you feel for your dead wife??”
“I don’t know!” he shouts. We are both shaking. I am not on the verge of tears anymore, I am openly crying, letting the tears course down my face.
“And there lies the rub,” I lament, waving my hands. “Will you ever be able to love me, wholly and unreservedly? You don’t know, and that part is terrifying to me. Am I supposed to stick around, and see if you do?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“What am I supposed to do, then? Huh, Charlie? How long should I wait?”
“I don’t know,” he repeats.
“You do see that there is an issue here, right?” I ask, growing frustrated.
“Yes! I told you before, I didn’t want you to wait for me. And yet, here you are, a month later, still fucking mad because I haven’t made up my mind yet!”
“Well, that was my fault,” I say, shaking my head. “I should have listened to you better when you told me not to wait.”
“Yeah, you should have!”
“What, then? Do we just go back to being neighbors? People who politely ignore each other when we see each other in public?” I ask, wiping away tears with the back of my hand. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s not what I want,” he snarls. “But it might be what you need.”
I am so mad, I can’t even see straight. “You want to go? That’s fine by me. Just so we’re clear, you’re walking out on me.”
Charlie whirls, leaving with a slam of the bedroom door. I collapse on my bed as I hear his heavy staccato footsteps on the stairs.
I am wrecked, emotionally ravaged by the argument. Charlie’s last words still ring through my ears.
It might be what you need.
I let myself sob, because there is no right and wrong, no clearly defined Goliath in this situation.
There is just Charlie and me, and a whole world of pain.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Charlie
I slam the front door to my house closed, seething. Larkin really did a good job of getting to me, getting under my skin. And that’s the problem, really. Larkin has worked her way into the core of who I am.
Into my heart.
Funny things, hearts. And fragile.
After Britta died, I was in shock. And when the shock wore off, I was in a terrible, seemingly insurmountable kind of pain. Then I lapsed into a kind of numbness, one that I didn’t really start to come out of until…
Until I moved here. Until Larkin.
Because Larkin is not just beautiful, not just smart. She’s not just good with Sarah.
She just gets me, in a way that I didn’t think was possible. She’s seen me at some of my worst moments: during a panic attack, arguing with Helen, feeling like I had let myself and Britta down at the beach.
And somehow, despite that, she decided that she cares enough about me to stick around. That in itself is a miracle.
I wander into the living room. If that’s how I feel, why don’t I just go right back to Larkin? Why resist what seems so inevitable?
Because every time that I look at Larkin with love in my eyes, I’m betraying Britta. With every memory I make with Larkin and Sarah, an older one with Britta fades a little bit.
She was right about one thing: I have treated her poorly for the last week. Came over late, had sex, left as soon as we were done.
I sink onto the couch, brooding. I’ve been upset about Helen’s lawsuit, yes. But that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, as far as my feelings go.
Really, deep down, I’m still struggling to decide whether or not Larkin deserves my loyalty. Not whether she deserves my love, exactly, because I’m obviously fucking gone on her. No, that’s really not my concern.
The question is, am I really ready to say goodbye to the man who promised to love, honor, and cherish Britta? How can you give your heart to someone without reserve when your heart is already supposed to be spoken for?
Because I gave myself unreservedly to Britta. But I am falling for Larkin… in a big, messy, anguishing kind of way.
It makes me think of Sarah. On one hand, she is so clearly Britta’s daughter. When I see her looking down sometimes, intent on something, I could almost mistake her for Britta. It guts me every time, almost makes me lose my cool in public.
On the other hand, Sarah has clearly bonded to Larkin. She carries that same tattered copy of The Little Prince everywhere that I will let her. Not only that, but she gets this look every time Larkin steps into the room… her eyes light up with joy. Maybe even love.
Sarah. That’s the one person who might comfort me just now. I look at my watch. It’s just after nine. Maybe if I drive over to Rosa and Dad’s, she’ll still be awake.
I head out to my car, and make it to Dad’s in less than twenty minutes. When I ring the doorbell to their little green h
ouse, my Dad answers, in his pajamas. The tv is on behind him. At least that much hasn’t changed, I guess.
“Charlie,” he says, a little surprised. He opens the door for me. “Is everything okay?”
I shrug as I enter the house. I glance around at the sagging furniture and the clean but worn carpet. “I don’t know, honestly. I… I had a fight with Larkin, and I started to miss Sarah a little.”
“Rosa is reading to her now, I think,” he says, closing the front door. “Come on, let’s see if we can catch them before Sarah falls asleep.”
He leads me through the living room and down the hallway to the left. The first door we come to is open partially, and Dad opens it the rest of the way. I follow him in to find Rosa reading to a sleeping Sarah.
Rosa turns and raises her brows. I glance at Sarah, her dark head just visible above the pink comforter she’s wrapped in.
I touch Dad’s arm and shake my head, turning around and leaving. There is one thing you never do as a parent, and it’s to wake a sleeping child.
I head back to the living room, and Dad trails after me.
“Sorry,” he says. “Rosa’s just too good at putting Sarah to bed, I guess.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I just wanted to see her.”
My dad looks at me for a long minute, then says, “I was about to make myself a cup of tea and sit on the back porch. Do you want to join me?”
I cross my arms, hesitating. I don’t really want to, but what is my alternative? Going back to an empty apartment that reminds me of Larkin?
“Sure,” I say with a shrug.
My dad heads into the kitchen, grabbing a bright blue kettle and filling it with water. He sets it on the stove and turns the stove on. I stand by the counter, unsure what to say.
Dad reaches up in one of the cabinets for two old, chipped mugs. He sets them on the counter, pausing.
“Do you want to tell me what the fight you had with Larkin was about?” he asks, carefully avoiding looking up at me.
