by Devney Perry
I nodded. “He’s confident.”
Though there was still a slim chance that she could get her wish, Stuart had no doubt that Judge Tubor would deny that request.
“Do you think this is all part of her strategy?” Sabrina asked. “She asks for six months; the judge feels bad and grants her more than she would have gotten otherwise?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “All I know is that she’s the devil.”
“Did we ever find out why now? Why does Eleanor want custody after all this time?”
“The judge asked her that at our first appearance. She gave him a line about it being because of Coby’s birthday. That she couldn’t bear to miss any more of her grandson’s birthdays.”
“Absurd explanation.” Mom’s hands fisted her napkin into a tight paper ball. “If she’d wanted to be a part of Coby’s life, she would have made an effort years ago. This is all lies.”
“Total lies,” I agreed.
As much as it would have pained me, I never would have denied Eleanor access to Coby. All she’d had to do was call and ask. She could have come out and visited on my terms. Instead, the papers from her attorney were the first I’d ever heard from her.
And what a first impression.
Hunter’s thumb started stroking the back of my hand. “It will be okay.”
I leaned into his side and rested my head on his shoulder.
It will be okay.
Hunter’s ever-present reassurance.
“I can’t wait for this to be over,” Mom said.
I sighed. “Just a couple more days.”
I wasn’t sure if I should dread Monday or wish it would come faster. Until Monday, Coby would be mine and only mine, but I’d be living with the unknown. After Monday, I’d know our fate but Coby could be required to spend time with Eleanor.
“Speaking of things being over, I’ve been meaning to ask.” Mom looked to me. “Have those calls from the reporter stopped?”
“Reporter?” Hunter and Beau asked in unison.
I lifted my head off Hunter’s shoulder to meet his gaze. “Some reporter was calling me a couple months ago, wanting details about Everett. It wasn’t the first time a reporter has called so I just ignored them. But they’ve finally stopped. I guess they found someone who was actually newsworthy.”
“Wait.” Sabrina held up a hand. “That seems strange. Your story was dead years ago. Why is it of interest now?”
“I don’t know. Any ideas?” Sabrina had once been an investigative journalist in Seattle. If any one of us knew why my story was still garnering interest from the press, it would be her.
Before Sabrina could answer, Hunter asked, “What did he say?”
“It was a she, actually, and I only talked to her twice. The first time, she asked if I was the Maisy Holt who had murdered Everett Carlson. The second time, she asked if I was ready to talk about it.”
“Where did the calls come from? Which media outlet?” Hunter asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I never asked. Why?”
“Just curious.” His eyes dropped to his plate and he got a faraway look. “Do you have her number?”
I shook my head again. “No, it always came up as Unknown.”
His forehead furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just figured they’d stop.”
“And now they have, thank goodness.” Mom stood and started clearing more dishes. “Let’s just hope that was the last reporter.”
Sabrina still looked confused, like she wanted to keep discussing the reporter, but Dad came to my rescue and changed the subject. “Let’s talk about the party before Coby gets back. Everything set for Thursday?”
I nodded. “Yes, I just need to get some balloons. Gigi is making the cupcakes. Mom has all the other food. I’ve got the decorations.”
I refused to let this custody hearing impact Coby’s birthday Thursday, and no matter what the judge said, he was getting a party. Just like the other three birthday parties he’d had, we were having a barbeque at Mom and Dad’s. This year’s theme was water. Michael was building a Slip’N Slide and we were giving all the kids water guns, then telling them to go crazy. And tomorrow, Beau, Michael and Hunter were building my present to my son.
His bunk bed.
“What did you guys get Coby this year?” Beau asked Mom as she came back from the kitchen.
“We got him those neon shirt-and-shorts sets he loves so much and some shoes that light up when he walks.”
It was the perfect gift. Coby was obsessed with neon clothes, something his nana knew well—unlike Eleanor Carlson. Why? Because she’d never made an effort. She’d just filed her custody dispute like a coward.
“Hunter, what did you get?” Beau’s question stopped my internal rant.
Hunter, who had been staring absently at his plate, jerked at the question. “Sorry. What was that?”
“What did you get Coby?” Beau repeated.
“A new fishing pole.”
Sabrina smiled. “He’ll love that.”
Hunter smiled back. “He’s going to love the new fishing boat I bought last week too.”
“Hold up. What?” My mouth fell open. “You bought a boat? When? How did I not know about this?”
In addition to working my ass off at the motel, I’d nearly completed decorating Hunter’s house. We’d had a sleepover there two nights ago. How had I missed a boat?
He chuckled. “You need to spend more time in the garage, Blondie.” He stood from his seat and bent down to kiss my forehead. “I need to make a quick call. Be back.”
“Why would I go in the garage?” I asked Sabrina. “Wait, do garages need decorating? Should I get some of those industrial shelves or something?”
Beau and Dad shared a look.
I guess that means no on decorating the garage.
Turning, I watched Hunter walk toward the living room. His shoulders were hunched forward, and as he pressed his phone to his ear, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve got a headache,” Sabrina muttered to Beau.
I turned back around to see him kiss her temple. “Sorry, Shortcake.”
“Caffeine withdrawals. I wish I could take something.”
“What about Tylenol?” I asked.
She nodded. “I can but I don’t have any and I haven’t made it to the store yet.”
“I have Tylenol,” Mom said, coming back to the table. “One second.” Off she went in search of pregnancy-safe painkillers.
“Be back.” I stood from my seat and started toward the living room to find Hunter.
Behind me, Mom said, “Found it!” in the kitchen and shook the pill bottle.
That noise . . .
A chill crept down my spine and my mind snapped to a different place.
“Maisy, love.” Everett walked across the cold floor toward me. The plastic covering on the hospital bed beneath me crinkled as I pushed onto my elbows. “I want you to understand that your actions have brought this upon you. You should have terminated this pregnancy. I told you I had no interest in fathering a child. But no matter. The fetus will not be alive much longer.”
What was he saying? He was going to kill my baby? Our baby?
Everett reached into his pocket and pulled out an amber prescription bottle with a white lid.
“You’re going to take these.” The pills rattled as he shook the bottle. “You might survive them. That fetus won’t.”
“No!” I screamed but it was cut short when his hand whipped out and slammed into my cheek, stunning me silent.
“You will,” he growled. “Or I’ll slit Gigi’s throat right in front of you.”
I shook my head, frantically scrambling backward on the bed. I had to get away. I had to run. I had to protect my child.
But despite the panicked questions racing through my mind, I could still hear that rattling sound above all others. The bottle rattled as Everett leaned his body over mine, pinning me to
the bed. It rattled as he fought to pry my mouth open. It rattled as I kicked and clawed and twisted, trying to get free.
It rattled—
“Maisy?”
Everett’s mouth formed my name but it was Hunter’s voice that came out.
I blinked once. Then twice. Poof, the flash was gone. I was back in my parents’ house, standing in the hallway outside the living room. My senior picture was on the wall next to Michael’s and Beau’s. Coby’s baby picture was framed on the other side of the hall. And Hunter was standing right in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.
“Maisy? What’s wrong?”
I didn’t answer. I was still too busy inspecting the room. The beige walls. The white trim. The tan shag carpet.
“Maisy?”
“Huh?” I blinked, focusing my eyes on Hunter. “Oh, sorry.”
He frowned and grabbed my elbow, gently steering me to the privacy of the living room. When we were out of earshot of the others, he fisted his hands on his hips. “What was that? You were white as a ghost and you looked at me like . . . like you were scared of me.”
I closed my eyes and pushed out a deep breath.
This explanation wasn’t going to be fun.
“That wasn’t you. That was, um . . . Everett.”
“Everett?”
“I kind of have these, um, flashes sometimes about that night. They just pop into my head, like déjà vu but more real.” I looked to my feet, embarrassed that I’d had to tell Hunter about my craziness. Other than Gigi and my therapist from years ago, no one knew about my flashes.
His finger hooked under my chin and tipped it up. “Flashes? Like flashbacks?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“How long have you been having flashbacks? Did the custody hearing bring them up?”
I shook my head. “I’ve had them all along.”
He dropped my chin. “Since that night?”
I nodded.
He closed his eyes. When they opened, his eyes were full of concern.
“I know it’s crazy,” I said, “but please don’t ship me off to the loony bin. That was actually one of the shorter ones I’ve ever had. So, that’s a good thing. Shorter is better. Well, sometimes. I’m glad you’re not short. Anywhere.”
The corner of his mouth turned up at my joke. With a fast tug, he pulled me into his arms. “This is all too much. You’ve got a lot going on up here.” He kissed my forehead. “I think we need to get you somebody to talk to.”
I nuzzled into his chest, soaking up his comfort. “I agree, but not until all of this stuff with Eleanor is over and tourist season comes to an end. I can’t take anything else right now. I’m just . . . I’m maxed out.”
“I know you’re maxed out, baby, but I really need to tell—”
“No.” I cut him off and hugged him tighter. “No. Just hold me close and tell me it will be okay.”
His arms squeezed tight. “It will. I promise. I’ll make this okay.”
Hunter
“Stuart.” I shook his hand. “Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday. I apologize for interrupting your weekend.”
Wearing jeans and a white polo, Stuart looked ready for a round of golf or an afternoon picnic.
“No problem at all,” he said. “Your call yesterday sounded a bit urgent. Is everything okay?”
“I’ll let you decide.”
He nodded toward his office. “Then you’d better come on in.”
While he walked behind his desk, I took one of the guest chairs I’d become all too familiar with this past month.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
I didn’t have much time to stick around. I was supposed to be at the hardware store buying another box of screws and then picking up lunch. Beau and Michael were currently at the loft, framing Coby’s bunk. Maisy was cleaning a couple of rooms at the inn with Coby as her assistant.
That meant I didn’t have time to chitchat with Stuart. I needed to get to the point and get the fuck out of here before they knew I’d been gone too long.
Stuart rested his dark forearms on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I need you to get access to some phone records. Can you do that before Monday?”
“Um, I can request them. Before Monday, though? That’s going to be tough. Why?”
I took a deep breath. If Maisy wouldn’t hear of my past, I’d at least tell her attorney. So that’s what I did. I spent the next thirty minutes confessing my secrets to Stuart Redhill.
Secrets that were going to destroy Maisy’s trust in our relationship.
But secrets that would keep Coby out of Eleanor Carlson’s grasp.
Maisy
“This chair is uncomfortable,” Dad grumbled.
“Mine has a squeak. See?” Behind me, Mom wiggled her chair so hard the wooden legs clacked on the floor and the squeaking—which hadn’t been all that noticeable earlier—echoed throughout the room.
I opened my mouth to scold my parents but Beau beat me to it. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry,” Dad muttered at the same time Mom stilled. “We’re just nervous.”
Nervous. Jittery. Edgy.
There wasn’t a word strong enough to describe my level of anxiety. I was coming out of my skin.
Sitting in the small room at the county courthouse, I drummed my fingers on the wooden table in front of me. Stuart was on my right. Mom, Dad, Beau and Sabrina were in the row behind us. Jess, Gigi and Michael were behind them. There was only one empty seat on my half of the courtroom.
The seat where Hunter’s perfect butt was supposed to be sitting.
I glanced over my shoulder, looking at the door for the hundredth time in the last half hour. Where was he? He was never late. Was he mad because of this morning?
Hunter had tried earlier to—once again—unload whatever was on his mind about his past. And—once again—I’d dutifully shut him out. I’d kissed his pleading lips good-bye and shut the door on his face. Whatever he had to tell me could wait until after the hearing. Whether it was about his family or an ex-girlfriend or our relationship, it could wait.
Coby’s hearing came first.
But even if Hunter was mad, he could at least be here on time.
I sighed and turned back to the front, taking in the other half of the room. Eleanor Carlson’s side was barren. The devil herself, her witnesses and her attorney had yet to arrive.
I glanced up at the white clock on wall behind the judge’s bench: 8:50 a.m. The hearing would start in ten minutes and the key players had yet to arrive, including the judge. The only other person in the room was a stenographer setting up her machine at the front. Didn’t the others believe in being prompt? Was there anything wrong with starting things a few minutes ahead of schedule? Because if this hearing didn’t start on time, the chances of me flipping out completely were really, really high.
But at least I wouldn’t be alone when I went berserk. I could feel Dad’s tree trunk of a leg bouncing on the floor and Mom was squirming in her squeaky chair again.
“Where is Hunter?” Mom whispered.
I just shrugged. Good question. Where was Hunter?
“He’ll be here,” Stuart told Mom.
I turned to look at the wooden doors again, wishing for one to open with Hunter on the other side. He was my calming presence, my steady hand to hold, and I desperately needed some steady right now.
Open. Open. Open.
I stared at the doors for another second as I willed them to open, but the dark mahogany stayed shut.
Turning back to the front, I surveyed the décor for the twentieth time. Was it a requirement that all courtrooms be decorated in wood and only wood? Was it supposed to be comforting and calming? If so, it was having the opposite effect on me. I felt trapped in this wooden chair behind this wooden table in this wooden room.
Dark paneling covered the walls from floor to ceilin
g. The judge’s oak bench towered above us. The wooden seat at his side was bracketed by wooden spindles. The only thing in the room that wasn’t wooden was the freshly waxed linoleum floor, which shined under the florescent lights above.
I was smack in the middle of an episode of Law & Order.
“Deep breaths.” Stuart covered my hand with his to stop my drumming fingers.
I obeyed, filling my lungs with air before pushing it out with a breathy, “I’m sorry.”
“It will be fine. Trust me.”
I nodded, and when he let go of my hand, I slipped it under my thigh.
The air shifted as the doors pushed open and my half of the room spun to see who was walking in. Please be Hunter. My hopeful gaze turned to an annoyed glare when Eleanor Carlson stepped through the door, followed by her attorney. I looked past the short, balding man, expecting to see a witness or two, but the pair was alone.
No witnesses? I wouldn’t complain. No witnesses for her was a good thing for me.
Because without witnesses and evidence showing I was unfit to parent Coby, it would be Eleanor’s word against mine. Judge Tubor might be less likely to give her time with Coby if she came across as the bitch she clearly was.
Eleanor’s high heels clicked sharply on the linoleum as she strutted to the front of the room. Her black blazer and pencil skirt silhouetted her rail-thin frame. The top button on the black blouse under the blazer had to be choking her. With dark hair tied in a fierce bun, the fine lines of her forehead had been stretched to near invisibility. I’d give Eleanor one thing; she was a beautiful woman. She looked well younger than her years and clearly had the money to maintain herself. Her nose had a stiffness that was far from natural.
With her chin held high, Eleanor walked to her table opposite ours. Only when she sat did she bother making eye contact. She aimed a nasty glare right at me before sitting in her own wooden chair.
That glare was all too telling.
I’d come to a conclusion after our initial court appearance and our awful mediation attempt. This custody battle wasn’t about Coby, it was about me. Eleanor Carlson was punishing me for killing her son. I just hoped—for Coby’s sake—that Judge Tubor saw it too. My son didn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in this war between adults.
