by Emma Scott
Newsflash, folks: there is no good time to rip apart a guy’s life and take his kid away.
The words were on my lips but I swallowed them down. Animosity wasn’t going to get me anywhere, and I didn’t want Olivia to feel it and be wrapped up in it.
And you like them, a voice sounding like Jackson spoke up.
“Thank you for that,” I said grudgingly.
Alice smiled nervously. “We hope you do well on your test, and when you get back, maybe we can all have lunch?”
“Alice,” Gerald said in a mild tone of warning.
“Just a thought.” Alice smiled.
“Sure. Lunch,” I said, trying not to sound like a complete asshole, but goddammit, they were going to take my daughter and drive off with her and the pain was squeezing my heart so I could hardly breathe.
It’s just five days…isn’t it? Please, God, I can’t do more than that.
Jill approached. “Can I help put her in her car seat?”
I nodded slowly. It was time to go. I wanted to hold Olivia forever; or grab her and make a run for it… I kissed my girl on the cheek.
“I love you. I’ll see you soon.” I put Olivia in Jill’s arms. “Be good, honey.”
“Be goo, Daddy.”
My chest tightened and I busied myself with fishing a piece of paper out of my pocket while I pulled myself together.
“This is the name of the hotel I’ll be staying at in Sacramento,” I told the Abbotts. “This is my cell phone number. This is Darlene’s number—my upstairs neighbor, and this is Elena, my sitter’s number.”
You remember them? My unlicensed, irresponsible babysitter and my drug addict neighbor?
I bit back those words too, hid them behind a stiff, expressionless mask.
“If you need anything and can’t get a hold of me, call one of them,” I said.
“Will do,” Gerald said.
They both seemed to be waiting for me to do or say something more.
“Okay, so…that’s it, I guess,” I muttered.
Apparently that was the wrong answer. Gerald pressed his lips together, and ushered his wife to the car.
Alice gave me a final, small smile. “Good luck.”
I watched them climb in and the engine roared to life.
“God help me walk away,” I whispered.
I couldn’t move. As with last weekend, I stayed rooted to the curb until their SUV, with Livvie safely buckled inside, drove down the street and around the corner. It wasn’t possible to walk away, but if the court gave full custody to the Abbotts, I’d chase their car down until I hadn’t breath left in my body. A dumb notion. It wouldn’t do me any good if the law sided with them.
Fuck the law.
I couldn’t help but feel it had betrayed me when I was trying so hard to be its agent and advocate. And now I had to devote three full days to proving I had what it took to do just that.
I dragged myself up to my place.
Inside, it was quiet; the silence amplified my aloneness. No sound of Olivia or her baby babble that was fast growing into language; no wooden clunk of her blocks coming together as she stacked them. The baby monitor was silent; her crib empty. I refused to believe this was a preview of my future, but it was hard. So damn hard.
I put on a pot of coffee and while it brewed, I slumped at my desk and pulled my study materials around me. But they blended together in a mash of words that were already familiar to me. I knew this stuff, forwards and back. All those endless nights hadn’t been for nothing. I was as ready as I ever could be for this exam.
I shut my books and sat in the quiet of my place. My stomach growled loudly in that quiet, and I shuffled to the kitchen for something microwavable. I found Darlene’s latest tuna casserole in the refrigerator.
I pulled it from the fridge and set it on the counter, staring at the tinfoil-covered pan. My stomach was still complaining, but another hunger grew and spread, upward and out, like a strange fire that had nothing to do with food.
I needed to see Darlene; my hands wanted to touch her, my overworked brain needed to laugh with her, and my stony heart wanted to be with her, and give whatever we had between us an honest chance.
How? How can I be with her when my heart could be shattered with one bang of a judge’s gavel?
“Fuck,” I said, shoving the tray away.
Above was quiet too. No creaks. Darlene might still be sleeping or maybe she was out taking a run, or getting ready for her dance that night.
Jackson, with all the subtlety of an elephant on roller skates, had gotten the theater address from Darlene and now it was in my brain forever. She’d tried hard—too hard—to minimize it, but I knew the truth. She hadn’t danced in four years. This was a big deal to her.
My phone rang, and I looked at the number.
Speak of the devil…
“What’s up, Jax?”
“Just calling to make sure you didn’t beat up two nice old people, and were now racing toward Mexico in their white Bronco with Livvie.”
“It’s a white Beemer,” I said dully. “And the thought crossed my mind.”
A bunch of clicking and shuffling sounds came over the line.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Driving to my bro’s grad party in Oak-town,” Jackson said. “I put you on speaker. So listen. Darlene’s show.”
“What about it?”
“You’re going, right?”
I glanced at the tuna casserole. “I don’t know.”
“Goddammit, Haas,” Jackson said, nearly shouting. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I blinked, shook my head at the sudden volley, then fired back. “What is wrong with me? Where should I fucking start? You think it’s easy sitting down here when she’s up there, ten steps away?”
“Then get your ass up there.”
“And do what? Sleep with her? Start a relationship with her? And what happens after the hearing next Thursday? If I lose, I’m not going to be good for anyone, Jax. It’s going to fuck me up. Hard.”
“You’re so sure you’re going to lose…?”
“I’m not super optimistic,” I said snidely. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“You can start but not being a colossal asshole to the Abbotts. They want to like you, Sawyer, but you are making it so easy for them not to. And furthermore, they want you to like them. The delay in the test results? That was a gift. Did you even thank them for it?”
“Yes,” I spat. “I did. But what the fuck, Jackson? Should I send them a gift basket too? ‘Thanks for not ripping my daughter away from me… yet?’ Like that’s some kind of huge favor and I should be kissing their ass? If they want me to like them so fucking much, they can leave Olivia and me alone. I’d let them see her. Be a part of her life. I want that for her, but I want it on my terms.”
“You might not get that, but you could get something, but not if you throw it all away by shutting them out. Stop fucking shutting people out.”
I gaped. “Who have I been shutting out?”
“How about every single one of our friends? When was the last time you spoke to any of the guys from our old group?”
“I’ve been a little bit fucking busy taking care of Livvie and trying to get through law school,” I said through gritted teeth. “This isn’t exactly news.”
“Mmkay, how about Darlene?”
I rubbed my eyes with my free hand. “What about her?”
“You shouldn’t throw away a chance at happiness with an awesome chick because everything else is shitty. Or is it her drug history freaking you out? Because I know that’s not easy for you. I get that, but—”
“But what? Suddenly you’re an expert at this shit because you’ve had how many long-term relationships? Oh that’s right, none. Get off my back, Jackson. I don’t care about her past. I trust Darlene, and I know she deserves a lot better than me.”
“That’s a fucking cop-out. She cares about you. She might even love your dumb a
ss, and you’re just going to let her go?”
The fire in me died at his words, at the possibilities behind them.
I sank into my desk chair.
“Got your attention, did I?” Jackson said with a small laugh, the warmth returning to his voice immediately.
“I don’t want to hurt her, Jax,” I said quietly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and all this custody shit just makes everything a million times harder. It’s not a cop-out to want everything good for her. She deserves to be happy.”
“So do you, man,” Jackson said in a low voice. “That’s all I’m saying. You do too.” There was a pause. “And Henrietta agrees with me. Hold on, she wants to say something.”
I jerked up straight. “What?”
More shuffling sounds and then I heard Jackson’s mother’s muffled voice. “I want to talk to him off the speaker. Is it this button? Hello?” Then loudly, “Hello?”
I winced and held the phone away from my ear, a smile I couldn’t keep back spreading over my lips. “Hi, Henrietta.”
“Hello, Sawyer,” she said. “How are you doing, baby?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I know it, but listen to Mama. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s sweet. You’re trying to protect that girl because you’re going through some hard times, and they might get harder, right?”
“I don’t have anything to offer her, Henrietta.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, honey. No one expects you to be okay through this situation. It could get rough, no lie. But when things get rough, that’s when you draw people to you. You don’t push them away. And the lovely Darlene? She can take all your rough times. She’s been through rough times of her own, I’ve heard. She’s not expecting you to get it all right the first time because she won’t either. But reach out, baby. Reach out and hold on to those you need, because they need you too more than you think. And that’s how you get through the rough stuff. You hold on and don’t let go. Okay?”
I nodded, my jaw clenched. “Okay.”
“Good,” Henrietta said. “Now you go be with your woman. Don’t worry about what to give or not give. Just be with her. Sometimes that’s more than good enough.”
“Thank you, Henrietta.”
“Any time, baby. I’m going to give you back to Jackson and you two had better watch your language this time. You sound like a pair of fools with all that swearing.”
I grinned. “I didn’t know there was a lady present.”
“Well, now you know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
More scuffling and muffled talk, then Jackson put me back on speakerphone.
“Hello? Who’s this? Sawyer? Are you still there?”
I laughed. I didn’t think it was possible, but I laughed. “I’m going.”
“Good.”
“Hey, Jax…” My damn throat closed up. “I…”
“I know,” he said. “Love you too, bro.”
I hung up and heaved a sigh that felt miles deep. And though it felt a little bit like lowering my guard, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in almost a year. I crawled into my bed without setting an alarm, and tried to take a nap.
But as exhausted as I was, sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned on cold sheets. My bed had always been empty. Even in the past, when I’d had a woman in it, it was only for a few hours. No sleep, just sex and then the woman left. I made sure of that.
I closed my eyes and used my infallible memory to recall Darlene, in perfect detail. A few tricks of mental Photoshop, and she was lying next to me, her dark hair splayed across my pillow, her mouth inches from mine—laughing and smiling…
I slipped into the twilight world between sleep and awake, and the image of her wavered like a mirage, just out of reach.
When I finally did fall asleep, it was fitful, skimming above the surface of deep rest, and when I awoke, the bed was still empty.
Sawyer
The afternoon sun was high when I climbed out of bed, and I was hungry as hell. I heated up a huge portion of Darlene’s casserole and ate every bite. After, I took my best gray suit to the dry cleaners and told them to rush it. While it was being cleaned, I wandered into Macy’s on Union Square and bought a new tie.
After, I picked up my dry cleaning, showered, changed, and at a quarter to seven, I headed out. At the florist on 14th, I started toward the red roses, but a stand of daisies in brilliant yellow and orange caught my eye.
“Gerber daisies,” said the florist with a smile. “In Egyptian times, the gerbera daisy represented light and sun. In the Victorian era, they came to represent happiness.”
“In the Victorian era…” At the word, my photographic memory conjured my house; Darlene’s house too.
The florist smiled. “They’re my favorite.”
I touched one of the soft, bright petals. “Mine too.”
With a bouquet of two-dozen Gerber daisies wrapped in green tissue paper under my arm, I jumped on the Muni for the Mission District; an artsy, bohemian part of the city.
I walked along a busy street lined with shops and cafés, and one too many new condo complexes. The tech industry was sucking some of the life out of the old San Francisco. The Brown Bag Theater was a hole in the wall; a holdover from before the tech boom, and that still existed by the city’s sheer force of will, though I wondered for how much longer.
I paid a $10 ticket at the rickety box office and stepped into the shabby interior. The wallpaper was faded and covered in posters from previous shows. The lobby was nonexistent; a small space where one wall was heavy with black curtains. A handful of people loitered in the space, talking and drinking wine from a tiny bar stand. I was the only one wearing a suit.
At ten to eight, a nervous-looking guy in black passed out programs and told us to take our seats. I filed in to the fifty-capacity space with the rest of the audience; we filled maybe twenty seats.
I laid the flowers across my knee and watched the stage—a small rectangle of scuffed black illuminated by a single light in the center. My stomach twisted as if I were the one about to perform, and I scanned the program—a smudgy Xerox folded in half.
Most of the dances were as a group, but Darlene had a solo, halfway into the show.
She never told me.
Then the house lights dimmed and the show began.
It wasn’t good.
I was no dance connoisseur but every number felt amateurish and overly dramatic. Trying to make a statement, somehow. Except for Darlene. My considerable bias aside, she was riveting. Stunning. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. The dumbass director shoved her in the back of every ensemble dance, and still she shone brighter than the lead dancer we were supposed to be watching.
Three routines later, and Darlene took the stage. She moved gracefully into a cone of light in a simple black dancer’s dress with billowy material that floated around her long legs. Her hair was tied up on her head in a loose ponytail, revealing the long lines of her neck and shoulders. Like my favorite shirt of hers, the back of her dress crisscrossed her shoulder blades—highlighting the lines and lean muscle. The sleeves were long but sheer, also giving elegant definition to her arms.
God, she’s so beautiful.
The program said she’d be dancing to a song called “Down.” I’d never heard it before, the first notes—a lone piano—descended like downward steps. Darlene remained frozen until a woman began to sing. A lonely voice, yet bright and clear.
I stared at Darlene, watched the play of her muscles under her skin as she moved, filled the small space with her presence, flowing like shadows and light; slow with the piano, fast and precise with the techno beat.
As the song came to an end, Darlene collapsed onto her back, braced on one elbow; the other arm reached for the unlit space above her, her hand grasping at nothing. On that final note and last haunting lyric, her back arched and her head fell back, as if she were being pulled upward by an unseen force, and then left there, suspended in the si
lence.
The moment hung and then the meager crowd caught their breath. I broke free from her spell and my hands slammed together over and over. A few other audience members whistled or whooped where they had only politely applauded every act that had come before.
My chest swelled with pride. She was the best and they all knew it.
Then the next and final dance came, and Darlene was once again relegated to the back of the stage. I didn’t know what kind of hierarchy this dance troupe had but it was painfully obvious Darlene deserved to be the lead.
I watched her make-do in the back with her partner—the clumsy schmuck who’d bruised her head in rehearsal a few weeks ago. She struggled with him now. I saw her correct mistakes, or cover for him when he was off-time. A sneer curled my lips, and I tried to focus on her. Just her.
And then it happened.
The pairs of dancers in the back came apart and then flew together, and Darlene’s klutzy partner stomped on her foot with his heel. I shot halfway out of my seat as Darlene’s face contorted in sudden pain. No one else seemed to have noticed—the lead dancer had executed some sort of gymnastic feat to capture their attention.
Darlene put on a stage face and I sank down slowly, watching in awe as she powered through the rest of her dance—about ten more seconds. She favored her right foot, but subtly, and the only real sign of her pain was the sweat the glistened across her chest.
As soon as the dance ended, the dancers bowed, and Darlene’s partner shot her an apologetic look. She stared straight ahead, into the lights that blinded her to the audience, but I saw the tears in her eyes and the clench of her jaw. She kept her right foot behind her left as she bowed to the smattering of applause, but as soon as the black curtain began to drop, she limped off.
The lights came up and while everyone else filed toward the exit, I raced down the small aisle with the flowers and jumped onto the stage. I had to paw at the heavy material for a moment but I found the split and stepped through it.
It was dim, but backstage lights guided me to a small anteroom where the dancers were laughing with post-show nerves and being congratulated by their director.
“Where’s Darlene?” I demanded.
