Both parties mutually agree to the following terms: 1) Jessica Pringle Gallagar will have full custody of Autumn Batty Ellison year round, unless Autumn expresses otherwise, but must allow an annual week-long visitation from father, Chris Joseph Gallagar. 2) Chris Joseph Gallagar will have full custody of Autumn Batty Gallagar starting June 1st of her sixteenth summer through her seventeenth birthday, on September 1st. 3) On September 1st, when Autumn Batty Gallagar turns seventeen years of age, she may reassess and arrange her own living arrangement between parental parties. Chris Joseph Gallagar and Jessica Pringle Gallagar have agreed to respect her wishes.
My jaw hits the floor. A full week? He had a full week only visited me a weekend each year. Mutually agreed upon... what loving father would agree to such stringency?
“What are you thinking?” Dad’s suddenly propped next to me, leaning against the counter. He reaches to touch me, but thinks better when I return to the screen. I stare at it, re-reading it over and over.
“Autumn?”
She may reassess and arrange her own living arrangement between parental parties. I point to the sentence. “What does this mean? Reassess? I never got to assess the situation the first time.”
A few papers rustle as he moves in closer. “Would you have chosen different?”
Most definitely not. I would've picked Mom, over and over again. I dare not answer him though since they didn’t give me a choice to begin with. And now this summer is ruined. It’s not about me returning to the ranch. It’s about a freakin’ choice, which is tragic because there’s no option in this. I’ll return to Mom after my seventeenth birthday. She’s my mother! Living with her is easy, all the kinks worked out. And living apart from her? I've never considered it. No, this document doesn’t give me a choice—it’s an opportunity to make a shitty decision that will make Dad hate me forever.
The screen blurs because I’ve been staring at it too long. I close my eyes, and he shifts next to me. There’s got to be a way to freeze time so I can process this. Each sentence carves a new hole out of my soul, like being plunged back into the pain I fought with when they divorced. I want to scream, cry, but also sink into nothingness. I can’t let this out right here… with him so near.
“Honey? Are you okay?” His voice, like his touch to my arm, is soft, but I’m still frozen. How is any child supposed to react to this?
A warm pressure rests on my shoulder now. “I’m glad you're informed,” he says. “I’m sorry we weren’t honest about this sooner.”
His apology cuts—too lame and far too late. I slap the desk, my control gone. “Why?” I demand. “Why do you want me here for a full summer if...” Breathe Autumn, breathe. “Why am I here for a whole summer now when you never even cared to spend an entire week with me each year?” My fingernails scrape against the laptop’s keys as I start trembling. Dampness trails down my cheeks. I force myself to look at him, my eyes burning and his clear. “Why, Dad? This is something I absolutely need to know.” My fingertips can feel the pulsating beat of my heart.
“Autumn,” He squats next to my chair, his eyes never leaving me own. “I have no valid excuse.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not good enough for me. You owe me an explanation.”
His voice is deep as he speaks. “Autumn, I have no valid excuse, but I do have a big one.” He pats my hand and swivels the chair back around to the computer. He clicks through a few folders to open another file. “You deserve the truth.”
Application for Divorce
Applicant: Jessica Pringle Gallagar
Spouse: Chris Joseph Gallagar
Reason for Divorce filing: Spouse infidelity.
I can’t read another word. Infidelity. They told me they fell out of love—a lie. From finger tips to my shoulders, my muscles clench, becoming a rock. I stare at the word again until my eyes burn. He cheated on Mom. When the tears are too overwhelming, I close my eyes and even then I can still read the word on the back of my eyelids. It’ll be there forever. Infidelity. Bile teases the back of the throat. He cheated on Mom. I heave, and the sour grits exit into the waste basket Dad’s holding next to me.
He cheated.
“I’m so sorry, Autumn.” His hands gather my hair.
I yank away from his touch. “How could you? Didn’t you love her?”
He reaches out once more, but I move away. I just can’t stand the thought of it.
“You destroyed our family.”
“Autumn, I know. It's the black mark of my life.” For three seconds he looks at me, pleading. It was two seconds too long. “I… I believed your mother was cheating on me."
“Mom would never do that. Not to you, and not to me.”
“You’re right. But she had an interest, her business lawyer.” He rubs his temples. “I’m sorry—that’s not important. I was just so mad.” A tear travels down his cheek. “I went to a bar and ran into an old friend and…” He covers his mouth, placing his hand on my knee. He trembles, and one deep sob escapes. The sound shatters me. “I messed up, Autumn. It was the worst mistake of my li”--
I cut him off. “You didn’t love Mom?”
“Autumn, I loved her with all of my heart. But I was losing her, we barely spoke anymore. She started spending more time away on business, and was impossible to get in contact with. When I approached her, the fight was terrible. I couldn't handle it. I confided in a friend when I was weak, made poor decisions, and then I woke up in her bed.”
“This… Dad. Stop. I don't want to know.”
“You do. Yes, you do. Honey, I went straight to your mother and confessed, begged, pleaded. But I’d already lost her years before to her marketing firm. When I broke our vow, it was the catalyst for her escape.” He clears his throat, finding a more steady voice before looking up at me. “I visited one weekend a year because your mother refused to have me around.”
“But I could have come to you-”
“I tried that initially, but back then your mother had the money and the lawyers. I couldn’t and didn’t deserve to fight it. All the pain was on my head.”
I throw my arms open, sweeping them toward the cherry cabinets and the remodeled kitchen and new great room. “But what about the kitchen? That truck out back? Clearly, you’ve had money the last few years.”
“We’ve had good profits, yes.”
“I’ll say. This place looks like a set off the Food Network.” I nod to the window where the white truck still stands. “I can’t even drive. Why the hell did you buy me that? You bought stuff rather than fight for me?”
Dad shakes his head, taking out a manila envelope from the desk. He pulls out a thick stack of papers and receipts, handing them over. I page through the papers. There’re minutes after minutes of documented court appearances over the last years, him appealing the original custody agreement. I get to the stack of bills—one lawyer invoice is for over twelve thousand dollars.
“Holy crap.”
“Unfortunately, your Mom had better lawyers.” He points to some words from the final hearing and reads them aloud. “It’d be more damaging to her psyche to take her out of her environment and bring her back to the ranch.”
“How come I wasn’t invited into court?” Is that where Mom went instead of all her business trips?
“Jessica wanted to keep you out of it. After what I did, I respected her wishes.”
I thumb through the documents again, landing on an excel document cataloging the receipts. Sixty eight thousand dollars and twenty-four cents is circled in red ink. “This is so much.”
“It wasn’t enough though. Not with the team of lawyers your mother had. She was always so savvy with connections. It makes her fantastic at what she does.”
He taps the kitchen counter, “After the final court ruling, I put the rest of my savings here because you were coming this summer and I figured if you liked it, you’d have a reason to stay. I know how much you love fine dining. Your mother, man-- she spoiled you. I wanted to offer you that here.”
I’d call Dad, tell him how much I missed him and he said he missed me too, but nothing ever changed. It took a few years, but I figured it out. If he really loved me, he never would’ve let us leave.
“I couldn’t lose you forever. This summer gives me an opportunity to build a bridge,” he answers.
I can’t look at him. Why doesn’t he see he already has? Even after reading this, he still doesn’t have a chance. He cheated!
“I chose your sixteenth summer because it gives me the opportunity to show you who I am—as a person, a man, and a father. Then you can make a real decision regarding your seventeenth year.”
“I’m supposed to live in Paris with Mom my seventeenth year.” It’s hurtful, it’s blunt, but it’s the only weapon I have. He may have put money into trying to secure more time with me, but he still didn’t take advantage of the time he had. He doesn’t deserve a chance. Why is he asking for one?
“I'm aware Paris sounds amazing, and it is. It…” Dad’s jaw clenches. “It wasn’t fair though. Not fair of her to put herself there, offer you that compared to here.” He looks out the window at her garden, not even talking anymore.
“Dad.” How do I explain that I can’t miss Paris because he thought with his dick? No. It’s absurd for me to even feel the need to explain. He cheated. He ruined us.
He touches his nose, then points my way, shaking his head. “Don’t say anything. It’s not time yet. You have until September first to make that decision. Use this summer for that, okay?” I nod, aware again that tears are still slipping down my cheeks. The walls press in, and I need to find a time machine and go back.
Mom was right. Knowing is way too much for me.
***
We can’t get away fast enough. I lean in close to Howdy as he flies forward, galloping toward the sun. The dry heat hurts my skin while the dust bites my tongue. We flee until I sense the rhythm of his stride changing, and he has a first wheeze. I pull off his neck, “Easy boy, easy.” He’s just too old. We used to ride like this forever, or what seemed like forever to a nine-year-old.
He eases into a walk, my legs expanding with his labored breath. I wrap the reins around the horn, letting him wander. My mind spins. It doesn’t matter where we go as long as I can have ten minutes to process this crap.
With only a summer to choose, I’m given an impossible choice. There’s no way I can white-lie myself a sweet excuse so I don’t hurt him. I can’t tell him it’s a friends issue-- I don’t have any friends in Paris yet. Counting Gina, I have more here, so that argument's invalid. I can’t blame my education because I’m enrolled in a private online college where I can start post-secondary courses while getting my high school diploma—I can get my education with a laptop anywhere in the world that has Wi-Fi.
No. In the end, it’ll come down to choosing Mom over Dad.
The sound of his sob is still raw in my ears. He hasn't cried like that since Grandma died on his thirty-fifth birthday. I may hate him for destroying our family, but that noise makes me want to do anything to fix him.
He’s broken, and I know if I leave it could be the final blow.
***
My alarm chimes at a quarter past one in the morning. Dad and I spent the rest of the evening in silence, on opposite sides of the room. With the television as our mediator, I managed to not rip him apart, but with every laugh he made at the comedian’s routine, I wanted to scream. How does he laugh knowing what he’s done? I study the marks of my art in front of me, having attempted to capture the intricacies of my left palm. The sketch is dull, the lines far too heavy, and flat. How do artists bring life to paper? I return my sketchbook to the nightstand-- it’s finally time to talk with Mom.
My laptop's quick to boot up and Skype's waiting. I pull my old, thin My Little Pony sheets over my hips while the program dials. It’s past eight in the morning in France now. She should be awake.
Half a ring later, Mom’s smiling back at me—bright red lips, silk pink top, and her hair lose and stirring with the Paris breeze. “Autumn, I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, Mom.”
“How are you, babe?”
I hesitate, not ready to tell the full truth. Fortunately, she chatters on.
“How’s the ranch? Having fun?”
“The ranch is okay— It’s dry. People are stressed it’ll turn into a drought.”
“Oh, I remember those days. Don’t worry. Your Dad’s stress will go away. Rain always comes. What’s the ranch like? Different?” Her voice bounces with interest like I’m at some exotic resort or something.
“It’s changed, but it hasn’t. I wouldn’t exactly call the place different, more weird.” I force my tone to match hers. I don’t want to bring her crashing down, not quite yet.
“Well, you wouldn’t believe life here, baby. You’ll love Paris. Our apartment looks out at a small park and from your bedroom window you can see La Champs Elysees. Just down the street there’s a brilliant cafe that serves the most amazing filet mignon and escargots.”
Eww, snails. She doesn’t remember the horrid ones we had in Maine a few years ago.
“Paris will fuel you,” she says with a full smile. “It’s vibrant, fresh, and… alive.” She looks up at the sky, smiling like the grey rain clouds above are the most beautiful in the world.
“Well, it seems good for you.”
Mom giggles. A real giggle! She twirls her dark brown hair around her left pointer finger, acting younger than me. “Oh honey, I could see living here forever.”
Forever? But what if I enroll in a college here, in the USA? Will I fly to Paris for Christmas break? “Does that mean your business is going well?”
“Raging. I’m already in two fashion-marketing contracts for the summer. Most of the time, I work remotely so any cafe, park, or landmark can be my office. The freedom is fueling.”
My stomach twists. Maybe she is serious.
“It’s wonderful to hear you, Autumn.”
“Yeah, yours too.” My voice cracks. Forever in France? Sure. Why not throw another impossible concept on the pile. How the hell do I tell her Dad told me about the custody agreement now? Mom and I respect one another’s walls. It works for us. Telling her I know will be a huge bulldozer.
“Is something wrong?” An attractive young waiter pops in the shot, asking her something about espresso. She’s in public. No, there’s no way I can drop that bomb on her while people watch.
“No, Mom. I’m fine,” I answer. “My throat’s just itchy. It must be allergies.”
“It's all the hay, or maybe a summer cold. A dry season there always drove me nuts. You look tired. How about you get some sleep and we'll talk again soon?”
I yawn, “Okay, Mom. Call me whenever. I’ve always got my phone.”
“Ditto. I love you baby.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I turn off my light and snuggle in tight under my sheet. Mom sounded so enthusiastic… so young. In New York City, her tone carried an edge. She was always stressed out, her nails chewed raw. In Paris though, she sounds at ease. I rub my eyes, hating the truth dangling in front of me. It’s possible that Paris has nothing to do with her new-found vibrancy—it could be because she’s without me.
Howdy wanders down a bank to the pond where I swam as a little girl. The water’s nearly gone but Howdy clomps right into what’s left and dips his head in for a drink. When he returns, I let him graze on the little tuffets of grass.
It’d be nice to climb down and nap while he munches away. There used to be long grass here where I could slip into a dreamy sleep, just like in the movies. Bu
t the grass is only near the water’s edge and it’s not long or soft. Plus, it’s snake season. I may be a city girl, but I’m not a fool.
My arms drape around Howdy’s neck and I close my eyes. I should go back to the barn and make an appearance for the day since I slipped out of the house while Dad’s snores echoed down the hallway. He may still be sleeping or maybe he’s worried because I never stumbled out of my room this morning. No. He’s not worried. It’s been three hours, and there’re no signs of anyone looking for me.
That’s fine. I need this time to just be.
I pull out my sketchbook and pencil from the back of my jeans. Howdy's ears, soft at the tips, and his coarse mane blowing in the wind catch my eye. I go trance-like, fixed on capturing the movement in his mane. I change my pressure midway through each stroke, ending each one in a wisp. A few strands playfully dance in the breeze on my page, but Howdy’s ears may as well be statues. I wet my finger with my spit and smudge some of the marks around his ears, shading them right for softness and trying to make them look more alive.
There. That’s not so horrible now.
***
It’s impossible not to wobble as my muscles try to figure out how to coordinate a smooth walk. I’m totally out of saddle shape. I keep my eyes open for the snakes while I saunter down the gravel road back to Dad’s. One with a green stripe slithers three feet to my left, parallel of my course. Snakes fascinate me. I used to show up in the kitchen carrying garters in by the tail. Mom’s shriek always threw me into spastic donkey laughs. A few nasty bites taught me to be more cautious, but even now I think they’re cool.
“Hello, there. You must be Autumn.”
A woman’s gentle voice snaps me out of my snake watch. A lady, bronzed dark with big blond hair, perches on our front porch bench, a sweating glass of ice water in hand. She crosses her ankles, leaning back on the bench with a grin.
“Hi.” I say as I creak up the front stairs. She certainly looks comfortable. Maybe Dad does have a girlfriend? Or, maybe this is that old friend he slept with that ruined everything? I push my teeth into my tongue, holding that thought tight. She taps the seat. Ugh. Do I have a choice here?
Bring the Rain Page 5
