“We’ll work it out,” Bob said.
“So I’m going to my old school?” Micah spoke softly.
“Yep, you’ll be back with all your friends at your school.”
“Mommy said I was going to a new school.”
“Well, if you stayed at Mommy’s, you would be at a new school.” Bob spoke slowly, measuring his words carefully. “But I thought you’d rather go to your old school, where your friends are.”
Micah chewed on his roll for a minute. “Okay. I didn’t want to go to a new school.”
Bob smiled as he caught Bryn’s eye.
“Is Mommy coming home?” Micah’s voice was very quiet.
The question hung in the air for a long moment, before Bob finally leaned forward to cup Micah’s chin.
“No, buddy. Mommy isn’t coming home. Mommy is going to live with Luke. And you and me and Cody are going to live here. Just us guys.”
Micah said nothing, returning to his roll.
“Daddy?” he finally asked, staring down at his plate.
“What?”
“I wish things were like before, when Mommy lived here with us.”
“I know. But it’s going to be okay. You’ll see . . . it’ll be okay.”
Bob sat with the phone cradled in his hand, staring into space.
“You don’t have to call her.” Bryn sat on the sofa, watching him. “You don’t owe her anything.”
“I have to.” Bob sighed. “I can’t leave things the way they are.”
Bryn leaned forward, watching his face. “You said everything you needed to say yesterday.”
The scene the night before had been ugly. Bryn had taken the boys for ice cream, so they wouldn’t be home when Wendy arrived. Bob had confronted his wife with the photo, telling her that she could not take the boys. Wendy had screamed, then cried, and finally left, slamming the door behind her, the threat of an ugly custody battle hanging in the air.
“Just let your lawyer . . .” Bryn began.
They both jumped at the sudden banging on the door.
“Bob? Open the damned door!” Wendy’s voice was shrill.
“Damn!” Bob rose, slamming the phone down.
“You want me to stay?” Bryn rose.
Bob shook his head as he walked to the door. “I’ll handle it.”
Bryn went to her room, but left the door open.
Bob opened the door and stared down at his wife, the mother of his children. Wendy’s curls were wild, her cheeks flushed, her hands clenched tightly together. She pushed past him into the living room.
“Where are the boys?” she yelled. “I’m taking them home. Micah? Cody?”
“Shut up, Wendy.” Bob grabbed her arm, pulling her back out the door onto the porch.
Bryn walked softly down the hall and stood just out of sight in the dining room.
“I want my kids, damn it!” Wendy was screaming now. “Where are my kids?”
“The boys are in bed . . . they’re asleep. Keep your voice down, or you’ll wake them up.”
“I want to wake them up! I’m taking them home!”
Bryn cautiously peered into the living room, clutching her cell phone. She’d call the police if she had to.
“Listen to me, Wendy. You are not taking the boys. They are never going back to that house. Not as long as Luke is there.”
“You can’t keep them away from me, Bob. I’m their mother, for God’s sake.”
“And you put them in a dangerous situation. God, Wendy! What were you thinking?”
“It was fun, Bob. Just fun. Something you don’t know a goddamned thing about.”
“Well, your fun just cost you your kids.” Bob’s voice rose. “You aren’t fit to be their mother. And I’m not going to let you put them in a situation like that again.”
“Oh, and yours is so much better? Hell, you’re living with Bryn. She’s not fit to take care of a dog!”
“Leave Bryn out of this.” Bob’s voice shook with anger. “She has nothing to do with it. And even if she did, she would never put the boys in danger like you did.”
“Damn it, Bob. I want my kids and I want them now!”
Bryn ducked back into the hallway as the front door opened.
“No!” Bob’s voice rang through the house.
Behind her, Bryn heard a bedroom door creak open. She turned to see Micah standing, pale and shaking, in the hall behind her.
“Shhhh,” she whispered, crouching to pull Micah into her arms. “Let’s go back to bed. It’s going to be okay.”
Bryn crooned over and over, “It’s going to be okay,” as she steered the child back to his room, closing the door behind them. The din from the living room continued.
“You are not taking the boys, Wendy. If you try, I’ll call the police.”
“I’m their mother! You can’t keep them away from me.”
“Listen, Wendy.” Bob’s voice was low and steely. “The boys are staying with me. I’ve already got a lawyer. I showed him the picture. And he assured me I will get custody.”
There was a long silence.
“You showed that picture to your lawyer? You bastard!”
“And I’ll take it to Child Protective Services, if I have to. And then you will never see the boys again.”
“You can’t do that!” Wendy’s voice rose to a wail. “You can’t do that to me.”
“I can and I will. And then I’ll send a copy to your parents.”
“You son of a bitch! You wouldn’t.”
“Yes, Wendy, I would. I will . . . unless you give up custody. I want sole custody. You can have visitation . . . but not if Luke is there. I will not allow my sons to be in the same house as him ever again.”
Bryn sat on Micah’s bed, holding his shaking frame, whispering, “It’s going to be okay.” She hoped against hope the yelling wouldn’t wake Cody, too.
“You can’t do that! I’ll get a lawyer. I’ll take you to court.”
“You can try, Wendy. But you won’t win. I promise you, you won’t win.”
Wendy collapsed onto the couch, crying.
“How can you do this to me?”
Bob stared down at her. They’d been married for ten years, shared a bed, made love, fought, had two children. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, tell her he still loved her, give in. Instead, he said quietly, “I’m doing what I have to do to take care of my sons.
“I think you should go.”
Wendy stared up at him, tears coursing down her red cheeks.
“I won’t let you do this.”
“Just go, Wendy.”
A moment later, Bryn heard the front door slam. In an instant, Micah broke free from her embrace and ran down the hallway to the front room.
“Daddy?”
Bob turned slowly to face his son.
“It’s okay, Micah,” he echoed Bryn. “It’s going to be okay.”
15
“Let’s eat on the patio.” Capri carried dishes from the kitchen. Corrie was on her second glass of wine, watching Daniel stir-fry broccoli, water chestnuts, bean sprouts, and tofu in a sauce he’d made from scratch. It smelled of ginger and basil.
They sat on the patio, brightly lit with strings of tiny white lights.
“This is really good,” Corrie said, pushing the last of her dinner around her plate.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Capri said. “Daniel’s a great cook.”
“That’s just because you buy me all those gadgets.” Daniel smiled at Capri.
Corrie watched them closely. They seemed comfortable together, almost like a brother and sister.
“Well, you’re going to lose all those gadgets when Mia and I get married.”
“Never gonna happen.” Daniel grinned. “You’ll never get within ten feet of an altar.”
“Fuck you,” Capri said, laughing. “Just for that, you can’t come to the wedding.”
She turned to Corrie and smiled. “Mia and I are driving up to San Francisco next month to get marr
ied. She knows a judge there who does gay weddings.”
“But I thought . . .” Corrie stopped herself.
“Me and Daniel? Yeah, we were together for a while. But you know, I decided against the whole guy thing. Women are so much . . . easier.
“Besides,” she added, rising to collect Corrie’s plate, “Mia and I wear the same size.”
Capri took the dishes into the kitchen, leaving Corrie staring behind her.
“She’s gay?”
“Actually,” Daniel said, “she’s bi. Capri is always looking for something she’ll never find. A mother, a father . . . who knows.”
“No fathers, thank you.” Capri had returned, carrying a bottle of dark beer. “Fathers are completely unnecessary. My dear old dad beat the crap out of my mom on a regular basis,” she said to Corrie. “And after Mom left, he beat the crap out of me.”
Corrie pulled out her recorder. “Do you mind if I tape?”
“Is this the interview?”
Corrie nodded. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Sure.” Capri took a drink from her beer and leaned back in her chair. “Shoot.”
“You said your mother left. . . . How old were you?”
“Seven. I guess she’d had enough of my father. She was really young when they got married. Dad was stationed in Korea when they met. She was only eighteen. She was nineteen when she had me.
“She used to sing me songs in Korean.” Capri smiled, remembering. “And she told me stories about her family. I never met them.”
She sighed and took another drink. “Anyway, I guess it got so bad she had to leave. One day I came home from school . . . I was in second grade, I think . . . and she was gone.
“My dad went ballistic. He threw away all her things, tore up all her pictures. I kept one, though. I put it under my mattress. I still have it. Do you want to see?”
Capri ran inside and returned with a faded photo of a young woman holding a baby.
“She was beautiful,” Corrie said softly.
“Yeah . . . so, she left. And after that, my dad spent his days drinking and his nights getting in fights with the neighbors and hitting me. When I was nine, DCF came and took me. I was glad, at first. My dad scared the shit out of me. I was glad to get away from him.
“So, I got put in this foster home with three other foster kids. The dad worked all the time and the mom screamed at us a lot. But no one hit us.
“I stayed there a couple years, and then they got divorced and I got moved to another home. That one was nice. The mom there was really sweet. She baked cookies and stuff . . . just like a real mom. I liked her.”
Capri stopped for a minute, staring into the dark.
“But, after a couple years, they moved me again. And then again. I ended up in seven houses by the time I was eighteen. Then . . .” She made a chopping movement with her hand. “I got the ax. No one pays for you after you turn eighteen.
“That’s when I met Daniel. My caseworker sent me to the center, to see if they could help me get an apartment. I shared an apartment with two other girls till I moved in here. That was three years ago.
“But now”—she turned to grin again at Daniel—“I’m moving on. And poor Danny will be all by himself.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. “Tell Corrie about your career plans.”
“I’ve been taking evening classes at Pasadena Community College,” Capri said. “I’ll have my associate degree by Christmas. Then I’m going to apply to UCLA. Daniel thinks I’ll get some scholarships. I want to get my degree in counseling. I figure with my background I’d be a good counselor for other foster kids. Daniel says he’ll hire me when I’m done.”
“That’s great,” Corrie said, smiling. “I think you’d be a great counselor.”
“So,” Capri said, rising to strike a dramatic pose. “You want photos? I am very photogenic.”
“Probably not here,” Corrie said. “I think I’ll leave out the bit about you living with Daniel.”
Capri laughed. “Okay, whitewash it if you have to. Just get us some money for the center.”
“I’ll bring the camera tomorrow, and we’ll get a picture of you at the center.”
“Great!” Capri leaned over to kiss the top of Daniel’s head.
“Okay, Dad,” she said, laughing. “I’ve done my part. Now I’m off to the Voodoo. . . . Mia’s waiting.”
With that she was gone, leaving Corrie and Daniel on the patio.
“She’s great,” Corrie said. “I can’t believe she’s so . . . sane after everything she’s been through.”
“Well, she puts on a good front, anyway,” Daniel said. “But don’t let her fool you. She pretends to be all grown up, but inside she’s still a scared little kid.”
“Did she ever try to find her mother?”
“Yeah, but she never did. For all we know, her mom could be back in Korea.”
“That’s so sad.”
“The world is full of sad stories, Corrie. Don’t you know that?”
Corrie didn’t answer. Of course she knew there was sadness in the world, even in her own perfect, little world. Why did Daniel always make her feel inadequate?
“Come on,” he said, rising abruptly. “Help me with the dishes.”
They stood side by side at the sink. Daniel washed while Corrie dried.
“I can’t believe you don’t have a dishwasher.”
“Don’t need one.” Daniel smiled, handing her a plate. “Usually, it’s just me. It’d take me a month to dirty up enough dishes to fill a dishwasher.”
“Do you think Capri will really move out?”
“I don’t know. I never thought she would, but once she starts college, she just might fly the coop.”
“And then you’ll be alone again.” Corrie swiped a towel across the counter. “Will you be lonely?”
Daniel watched her, saying nothing.
She stopped to look at him. “Won’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said finally. “If Capri leaves, I’ll probably be lonely. Hell, I’m lonely now.”
He watched her carefully.
“What about you?” he asked. “Are you lonely?”
Corrie hung the towel on the refrigerator door and turned away.
“No,” she said, her voice sharp. “Of course I’m not lonely. I have Mark.”
“Tell me about him.”
They walked back out to the patio, Daniel carrying the wine. He poured her another glass.
Careful, she thought. You don’t want to get drunk.
“Mark is wonderful,” she said, not looking at him. “He’s an architect. He’s done some lovely buildings. Right now he’s working on an apartment building in New York.”
“How did you guys meet?” Daniel relaxed in his chair.
“Actually, I’ve known him since I was a kid. He’s Sarah’s brother. You remember Sarah?”
“Yeah, I remember her.”
“Mark is her big brother, so I already knew him some. But we didn’t really get to know each other until a couple years after you . . . after graduation.”
She took a sip of wine.
“I was on a blind date,” she said, smiling into her glass. “I let Bryn fix me up with a guy from the university, a friend of Paul’s. We were at Brennan’s having dinner and I saw Mark at the bar. He was there with a client. And when the client left, he came over to our table and just . . . sat down.
“If you asked him, he’d tell you that he could see I was bored and he rescued me. But really, Mark just does stuff like that. He saw me, thought I was cute, and barged in on my date. Just sat down and waited the other guy out.”
“That’s kind of presumptuous,” Daniel said.
“That’s Mark.”
Corrie smiled again. “He sees what he wants and he goes for it. And honestly, it felt good to be wanted like that.”
“Is he good to you?”
Corrie smiled, swirling the wine in her glass.
“Yes
, he’s very good to me.” She laughed. “He even likes my mom.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Daniel asked. “Your mom is great. I loved your mom.”
“I know, but Mark is . . . he came from a wealthy family, you know? His parents are so . . . proper. I wasn’t sure what he’d think of mine.”
“Well, if he didn’t love your mom, I’d say there was something seriously wrong with him.”
“Mark is good,” Corrie said softly. “He’s very good to me.”
“How come you don’t have kids?”
Corrie felt herself tense. Damn, he is just as direct as ever.
She sat quietly for a minute, then said, “Oh, I don’t know. The time just never seemed right.”
“That’s a load of crap.” Daniel’s voice was flat. “You always wanted kids, Corrie. What happened?”
She sipped her wine before answering.
“Apparently, I can’t have them.”
“Oh, Coriander. I’m sorry. You were meant to be a mom.”
“Well,” she said, trying to smile. “I guess God doesn’t think so.”
He stared at her. “Since when do you believe in God?”
“I converted to Catholicism when I married Mark,” she said. “He’s not particularly religious, but it was important to his parents. I never thought about faith before that, but I like going to church. It’s very . . . calming.”
“Well, I don’t believe that God doesn’t want you to have kids. You’d be a great mother.”
She didn’t answer.
“Why don’t you adopt? There are lots of kids out there who need good homes.”
He leaned toward her, looking her full in the face. “Seriously, Corrie, I could put you in touch with an agency here. We work with several good ones. There are so many babies who need—”
“Thank you, Daniel. But I will handle my life by myself.”
“Sorry,” he said, smiling at her. “I slipped into social worker mode. I’m a big believer in adoption. I’ve even thought about adopting myself.”
Corrie stared at him in disbelief.
“You?” She laughed. “I can’t see that.”
“I know, back in college I said I didn’t want kids. But I’m thirty-three now. I’ve got a good job, or at least I will if your article raises some money for the center. I’m tired of living alone. . . . I think I’d be a good dad.”
The Weight of Small Things Page 10
