Antonia's Choice (37 page)

It wasn't an “I love you,” but it was close enough. I'd found a port. I thanked God.

The next morning I got a call from Lance Andrews.

“Roberta will appear before the judge this afternoon,” he said. “That's when formal charges will be made and bail set. We're asking for $500,000. I don't foresee any problems but of course my office will keep you posted.”

“I appreciate it,” I said. “It's surreal having all that going on when I'm so far away.”

“Your husband called. He said he wants to be kept informed as well. He says you're separated and you have custody of your son.”

“Right.”

“Since he is the boy's father, we have an obligation to fill him in.”

“I have no problem with that.” I stopped pacing—my usual on-the-phone-with-court-officials behavior—and stood very still. “In fact, could you possibly give him an opportunity to see the tape?”

There was a pause.

“He hasn't been privy to anything that's gone on,” I said. “He's an attorney—he knows how to conduct himself.”

“If I can swing it.”

“We need his support if you're going to bring her down.” I hadn't been a lawyer's wife and not learned something about manipulation.

“I'll get on it,” Lance said.

As I hung up the phone, I thanked God again. I was doing that a lot. It made putting one foot in front of the other, getting myself to the restaurant, and absorbing the list of specials a reality.

I was giving myself a last look-over in the mirror in the kitchen before hitting the dining room when I suddenly found myself surrounded by servers.

“Did somebody call a meeting?” I said.

A beanpole of a guy I only knew as Slim shook his head. “We just wanted to give you this.” He put a thick, lumpy envelope in my hand.

“Yesterday's leftovers?” I said.

“No, yesterday's tips,” somebody else said.

“You're not serious.”

“We are.”

I pushed the envelope back toward Slim. “You don't have to do this. You
shouldn't do
this. Y'all did the work.”

“You keep a lot of customers coming back in here,” another woman said. “Half of one day's tips is still more than I'd get if those people weren't coming in.”

“Take it,” Slim said. “Or we'll have to kill you.”

I could feel my throat closing up. “Y'all, thanks. Really—I don't know what to say.”

“Say you won't quit, no matter how bad it gets,” somebody else said.

I could only nod. They had my word on that.

I tucked the envelope into my purse. I had absolutely no idea why any of them, or Ian himself, would care for me as they so obviously did. The only answer could be God, and with that answer I let go of my last doubt that He was in this with me all the way.

It was a good thing, because that night Chris called me. I hardly recognized his voice at first. It was thin, almost fragile.

“Hey,” I said. “Did you go to the arraignment?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Charged her with lewdness with a minor, sexual molestation, child endangerment.”

“Bail?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“Wow. There goes my inheritance.”

He was quiet.

“That was a joke,” I said.

“Your mother lost it in the courtroom. Bobbi's lawyer practically had to carry her out.”

“Was Stephanie there?”

“No. Bobbi looked like she was ready to snap.”

I switched the phone to my other ear. “You sound like you're ready to snap. Chris, are you all right?”

“No.”

I could hear—no, I could
feel
him trying to compose himself. I could almost see him straightening piles and running his hand down the back of his neck. He always did that when we were getting ready to have a fight and he knew he wasn't going to win.

“You saw the tape,” I said suddenly.

“Yeah.”

I went to the bedroom door to make sure Ben was still asleep. When I was safely back in the kitchen, I broke into Chris's strained silence and said, “It's hard to take, isn't it?”

“Toni,” he said. “He's telling the truth.”

My instinctive replies—
Ya think? NOW you believe me. What did
you think I was trying to tell you all this time?
—came to my mind and left like bees passing through. Ben—he was the one who mattered.

“He is telling the truth,” I said. “And as hard as it is, the truth is what's saving him. He needs you on his side. He was asking about you last night—he wanted to talk to you.”

“Look, I feel guilty enough as it is.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“You don't have to. I knew Sid was a jerk—and I knew Bobbi was a basket case. I should never have let you take Ben over there. I should have put my foot down.”

I couldn't help myself. I laughed out loud. “Excuse me? You were going to put your foot down? And where were you going to put it—on your submissive little wife who always listened to everything you said, and obeyed?”

Chris gave a soft grunt. “That is kind of funny, isn't it?”

“It's absolutely hilarious! Look, I'm the one who took him over there. She's my sister. You don't think I have guilt coming out my ears?”

“It's not your fault.”

“It's not yours, either. Besides—that isn't the point now. We have to focus on Ben. I think it would be good for you to come down and see him, talk to Doc Opie—Michael Parkins, his therapist. You need to be part of the team.”

“Do you want me to be?” he said.

“Ben needs all the support he can get. He's getting better, but he's still hurting.”

“I could see that in the tape. Poor little guy.” Chris's voice broke. “I've let him down. He needed his dad, and I let him down.”

Yes, you did
and assorted other replies like it once more buzzed through. I swatted them away. “That's a hard one to get past, that why-was-I-a-loser-parent. But it doesn't do any good. Just keep thinking about what's best for Ben right
now
and then just do it.”

“I don't know if I even know how.”

I couldn't reassure him there. I hadn't seen much fatherhood since the day Ben was born—but, then, there hadn't been total motherhood either. Yet I had been able to change.

“Nothing's impossible. I've been learning that. All you can do is pray and then jump in.”

“Jump in how?”

“Do what you know,” I said. “I started with money because that was something I could actually do. Get your legal guns out or something, I don't know. Just make sure it's about Ben, Chris. He's the one we have to focus on.”

Chris was quiet again. I'd forgotten how still and full of thoughts he could be.

“There's no way Bobbi isn't going down for this,” he said.

“Now you're talking.”

“The defense will probably try to build a case for her as the victim of a husband who was into pornography—battered wife—trapped—then her sister turns against her because her son was involved. They'll say Wyndham brainwashed Ben, probably to try to get sympathy for Bobbi—she's lost everything…”

“Yeah, well, who hasn't? That's what you do when you love your kids. Your only choice is love.”

“I guess it depends on who you love,” Chris said.

I grunted. “Then I guess Bobbi loves herself, huh?”

“Toni?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry. I want to come down there and make it up to you and Ben.”

“You can't. You just have to start from here. Ben will be happy to see you. I know it'll help.”

“I'm talking about you and me.”

I tucked my jaw into my hand and closed my eyes. “One thing at a time, Chris,” I said. “One thing at a time.”

W
HEN
C
HRIS PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY
in the BMW Thursday evening, he looked a lot like the proverbial deer staring frozen into oncoming headlights. It wasn't only the effects of driving eleven straight hours—that was obvious the first moment he looked at Ben.

Ben and I had come down to meet him, Ben small and freshly washed and vulnerable in Tennessee Titans pajamas, clinging to my leg and peeking out from behind it as if he were meeting the Incredible Hulk. Chris's eyes grew huge and glassy, and he appeared to be searching for a leg he could cling to as well. It was probably fortunate that Ben didn't do what most little boys would have done when they hadn't seen their fathers for months, which was throw himself into Chris's arms crying, “Daddy! I missed you!” If he had, Chris would have died of terminal cluelessness.

“Hey,” I said to Chris. I rubbed Ben's fingers so he wouldn't dig them into my flesh. “How was your drive?”

“Great! Long—but good.”

His voice was too eager, a little desperate, very far from his courtroom comfort zone. It was obviously going to be up to me to keep us all from being choked by awkwardness.

“We're glad to see you, aren't we, Pal?” I said.

Ben's hold on my calf tightened as Chris looked from him to me and back.

I roughed up Ben's shower-damp hair. “How about showing Daddy around our new place?”

“Hey, yeah!” Chris said. “Show me where you live, Tiger!”

Ben gave a solemn nod and loosened himself from my leg. He motioned for Chris to follow him, and he started up the steps, placing each foot carefully as if he were now on some essential mission where every move was crucial.

Beside me, Chris let out a long breath.

“Relax,” I murmured to him. “He's still the same kid.”

“I'm afraid I'll do something wrong,” he murmured back.

He went on ahead of me, and as I watched him follow our son upstairs in his boyish way, arms dangling, his own cowlick springing up at the crown from hours of running his hand anxiously across his head as he drove toward the unknown, I thought,
I
know how you feel I know exactly how you feel

Ben showed Chris all around the apartment like a polite little museum docent, making sure throughout that I was in his sight. When the tour was over, I was fairly certain Chris couldn't have located the kitchen or found his way to the bathroom, because he never took his eyes off of Ben. I could almost hear the thoughts torturing him.
Is he still the same little boy? Does he hate me for letting this happen to him?

It was 9 p.m. by the time Ben gave his bedroom a final flourish with his skinny little arm and said, “This is my room.”

“It's a great room, Tiger,” Chris said.

“A great room for sleeping,” I said. “It's way past your bedtime, Pal.”

Ben's eyes went fearfully to me. “Are we still gonna do our special stuff?”

“Of course. What about Daddy?”

Ben stiffened his shoulders and looked at Chris. “You can stay, too,” he said.

“You sure?” Chris said. “I don't want to interfere with something special.”

Ben shrugged and climbed into the race-car bed. I glanced sideways at Chris. He was struggling against tears.

We read a story, sang a song. When I asked Ben what face he was feeling like just now, he pointed to the worried one.

“What's up?” I said.

Ben cupped his hand around my ear and put his lips right next to my lobe so I could feel his warm, soft breath.

“Is Daddy gonna make us go back to Richmond?” he whispered.

“Ask him.”

Ben let out a little cry and grabbed Lamb. His face was quickly replaced with Lamb's unnerving pink eyes.

“You ask him,” Ben whispered.

I turned to Chris. “Are you going to make us go back to Richmond, Daddy?”

Chris's face went ashen. For a long moment he said nothing, but only stared at Lamb as if some silent communication were going on between them.

God, please,
I thought.
Be in those thoughts
—
please.

“I'm just here to help,” Chris said finally. “I'm here for you, Tiger—for whatever you want.”

“I wanna stay here.”

“Then you got it,” Chris said.

I hope you mean that,
I thought.
Or you are going to have me to reckon with.

Ben drifted off while I was praying with him. When I opened my eyes, I found Chris gone.

I located him in the living room, sitting on the couch, head in hands, elbows on knees. He was a gray silhouette against the kid-friendly colors of Ben's and my little home, an almost-translucent, abject shadow. His wretchedness tore at me.

“You okay?” I said.

He straightened up as if he'd been shot. “I'm fine!” He nodded toward Ben's room. “He seems good. You got him to sleep without a scene.”

“It's getting better. I think he's showing off for you.”

Chris's bravado faded as I sat on the arm of the couch. “He doesn't even know me anymore. He's a little stranger.”

“Give him time. You just got here.”

But Chris was shaking his head. “Let's face it, Toni—he never knew me even when we were all together. That's my child in there, and I don't even know how to talk to him.”

I looked down at my hands. One of them wanted to reach up, grab Chris by the collar, yank him toward me, and say, “Yeah, well, whose fault is that, huh? Where were you when I was changing his
diapers and giving him bottles and carting him off to day care?” My fingers twitched in my lap.

But the other hand, of its own accord, reached out and touched Chris on the wrist.

“If it's any consolation,” I said, “I went through the same thing when this all first came out. I was never completely there for him before either. I had the career going, the social thing, the image—all of that stuff. I'll tell you, though, Michael Parkins has really helped me with that.” I shrugged. “When we see him tomorrow, tell him what you just told me.”