The Crazy Girl's Handbook

by DelSheree Gladden

  ***

  By the time Thursday evening rolled around, I wasn’t surprised when my phone began buzzing around seven o’clock. Even though Jen was still in town for whatever reason, Lydia continued to watch Sammy after school. Apparently Jen couldn’t be bothered, despite her claims of wanting to spend time with her only child. Roman usually picked him up from Lydia around six, and the fighting inevitably started about an hour later when Jen showed up at the house—she was indeed staying at a hotel—and something or other set her off.

  I was at work when Sammy called, but it was a pretty dead night and if I needed to help a patron, Sammy was very good about waiting patiently on hold while I took care of looking up books or helping someone make copies when the paper got jammed and the previous user left it for the next person to deal with.

  “Hey, buddy, what’s going on?”

  Skipping his usual greeting where he called me Miss Greenly, Sammy said, “What’s custody mean?”

  I didn’t have to ask if that was what his parents were fighting about that night. I couldn’t imagine the word coming up in casual conversation between those two. If they were fighting about custody, it meant someone wanted the agreement to change. Earlier in the week, I’d asked Lydia for the details on their current arrangement and she’d told me that while Roman had full custody, Jen retained open rights to visitation and could basically show up whenever she wanted and demand time with Sammy. She thought Roman had been the one to offer the concession, hoping she’d one day want to be a part of his life. Now, I was left to wonder what and who had spurred a fight over changing it.

  “Custody is who’s responsible for a child,” I said. There was a lot more to it than that, of course, but I figured that should work for a seven-year-old.

  “So, my dad is my custody?” Sammy asked.

  I chuckled. “Well, he has custody of you, but yes, your dad is responsible for taking care of you.”

  For a long time, Sammy didn’t say anything. I listened to his breathing as it went from steady to choppy. “Why would my mom want custody of me?” He was trying hard to hide the fact that his voice was trembling, but I could hear the fear in every word. “She doesn’t want to take care of me. She doesn’t even love me.”

  If someone walked by, I’m sure they’d wonder what was wrong with me. Libraries were rarely something to cry about, especially if you worked in one on a regular basis. Blinking as quickly as I could, I kept tears from falling and tried to focus on answering Sammy. “I’m sure she does love you in her own way, but I don’t know why she would want custody of you right now when she’s traveling so much and can’t be with you all the time.”

  In truth, I was pretty positive this was a move to hurt Roman, to remind him that she still had a hold over him and could force his hand if she really wanted to. It had little to do with Sammy, but I couldn’t bring myself to ever say something like that to him. Whatever shred of a relationship he still had with his mother, I didn’t want to be the one to snap it in half.

  “She doesn’t forget about me because she’s busy,” Sammy said sharply. “She just doesn’t care. Her plays and movies are more important.”

  What could I say to that? He was right, but confirming it seemed unkind. Sammy should never feel unwanted by anyone. He was a great kid. When he read to me, he liked to do the voices, and I’d gotten more than one sideways look from patrons as they walked by and spotted me giggling to myself as I listened to Sammy read through my Bluetooth earpiece. He was clever and kind and very intuitive. I would never understand why Jen didn’t want to be a part of his life, but I didn’t know how I could be either.

  Roman hadn’t called once during the week, and I supposed I understood why, but it still hurt. I had expected, at the very least, an apologetic call cancelling our date for the weekend or for letting Jen practically push us out the door last Sunday, but nothing. Not a word. Or even a text. I had more of a relationship with his son than I did with him, and I didn’t know how to handle that.

  “Greenly,” Sammy said, catching me off guard by dropping the customary Miss, “I wish you were my mom. I would like it if you had custody of me instead of my mom. I don’t want her to have custody of me. She yells all the time and is mean to my dad.”

  Pulling in a long, slow breath, I tried to formulate an answer to that. “Sammy, first of all, just because your parents are arguing about custody doesn’t mean anything is going to change. Most likely, your mom is just trying to make your dad upset.” That sounded mean, but I really couldn’t think of a nicer way to put it. “Secondly, I don’t have to be your mom to take care of you, right? Isn’t that why you’ve been calling me this week? Don’t I always answer when you need me?”

  “Yeah,” Sammy said slowly, his voice sounding marginally less despairing. “It would be even better if you could come over and watch a movie with me again. We could sit by each other and you could let me sit with your arm around me again. Like a hug.”

  I could imagine Sammy hadn’t received a lot of attention this week, few hugs or reassurances that everything would be okay. I knew he really needed one right now. It broke my heart and pushed me to do something that would probably stir up even more trouble, but I didn’t care anymore.

  “You know what? I think we both need a night out.” Jen was going to eat me alive for this. I kept talking anyway. “I don’t have to work tomorrow night, so how about I pick you up. We’ll eat dinner at your favorite place, and then we’ll go see a movie. Does that sound like fun?”

  Sammy hesitated for a minute, then said, “Yeah!”

  “Okay, tell your dad I’m picking you up at six-thirty. If he has questions, he can call me.” That last part might have come out a little sharp, but Sammy didn’t seem to notice. Roman could take a break from fighting with Jen long enough to call me if he had a problem with our plans. The way things had been going, I could probably drive up, collect Sammy, and neither of them would realize I had been and gone.

  Either that, or a monumental fight would break out. Yep, this had disaster written all over it. Too late now.