I nod. “I’m not allowed to see them.” My voice is so plaintive it almost sounds like a howl. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep myself away. It’s one thing to obey the court order when they’re in another state a thousand miles away, but how am I possibly going to stay away when they’re in the same town?”
“I’m working on it,” he says. “But, Jinks, look at me.” I lift my head to meet his eyes. “You need to be good. I know it’s hard, but this is important—you need to play by the rules.”
“Addie’s sick.”
“I know, and this is awful, but your only chance to turn this around is to be smart this time.”
Unsaid is how stupid I’ve been so far.
I nod. “Okay. So how do I do that?”
“It’s not going to be easy, but we’re going to declaw the lion one claw at a time.”
I furrow my brow. “You’ve been talking to my dad?”
It’s Connor’s turn to look confused. “No. What’s your dad have to do with this? I’m referring to an Aesop’s fable.”
I laugh. Typical of my dad to plagiarize someone else’s work, then take full credit for it.
“You’ve heard it before?”
“Not Aesop’s version.”
“Well, the gist is, there’s a lion who falls in love with a smokin’ hot maiden and he wants to marry her, but the father doesn’t want to give his princess to the lion. But, of course, if the father says no to the lion, the lion’s going to have them as an appetizer. So the father comes up with this plan. He tells the lion he’s worried that the lion’s going to hurt his daughter because of his sharp teeth and claws, but if the lion gets his teeth and claws removed, he’ll consider the lion’s proposal…”
I interrupt. “So the lion has his teeth and claws removed, and then the father’s no longer afraid, and he tells the lion to get lost.”
“Exactly. He tricks the lion into defeating himself.”
“Well, you tell me how to trick Gordon into declawing himself, and I’ll get right on that.”
“One claw at a time.”
“Stop speaking in metaphors.”
“Jinks, when the court’s deciding who gets custody, they’re looking at what’s best for the kids. If you can prove you took the kids because you were justifiably concerned for their safety, and if you can put your life back together and show you can provide a stable home for them and prove Gordon can’t, you win.”
“That’s an awful lot of ifs.”
“One claw at a time.”
I roll my eyes.
“Okay. Let’s start with what Gordon’s got going for him, his claws and teeth if you will—he’s got a stellar reputation as a good guy and a good dad.”
I nod.
“He’s got his job as a cop, which gives him power, resources…”
“…and the right to carry a gun and shoot people.”
“Let’s keep on task here, Jinks. We’re only talking about what the court’s going to care about in determining custody. He’s got his job as a cop, which gives him an income and the ability to support himself and the kids.”
“Which I don’t.”
“Actually, you do. Harris wants you back.”
“He what?”
“He wants you back. Told me to tell you to call him.”
“Are you crazy? Is he crazy? I abandoned the job, totally left him hanging. I’m an accused kidnapper. I embezzled money.”
“Yeah, but you’re also damn good at what you do, and the company’s having a rough time.”
I shake my head, but a little flame in me ignites. Until two months ago, my job defined me. I was damn good at what I did. It would be nice to be good at something again, and even more important, to have an income so I can prove I’m able to provide for Addie and Drew.
“So make sure you call him. Now, back to what we were talking about. Gordon’s claws. He’s got his reputation, he’s got his job, what else?”
I close my eyes and think. “He’s got Claudia.”
“His side dish?”
“More like my replacement. Gordon moved in with her. Poor thing.”
“And she offers…?”
“Money, and lots of it.”
“That’s not good.”
“Nope.”
“What else?”
“Meanness, cunning, intelligence, strength, obsessiveness, perseverance, evilness, lack of morals and conscience…”
Connor holds up his hand. “We all have those things,” he says. “Back any of us into a corner and we’re all capable of diabolical behavior.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong; you and I are not like Gordon. You could never be like him. Never. Not in your worst nightmare. You can’t even smoosh a spider who spent the night feasting on your flesh.”
“Because the spider’s not going to kill me and he’s not a bad spider, he’s just a spider doing what spiders do. He doesn’t deserve to die for that. But if a murderer came into my condo and threatened Pete, you’d better believe if I had a giant fly swatter, I’d squash him without a second thought.”
“But could you go out and hunt down the murderer before it happened? Take your giant fly swatter and lure him into a trap so you could squash him because you think he’s going to do something bad to Pete?”
“Absolutely.”
“I think you’re wrong. My mind doesn’t work like Gordon’s. He has no conscience. I could never be like him.”
“You need to hope I’m right. Because if this gets ugly, Jinks, you’re going to need to grow some claws and teeth of your own.”
Perhaps it’s because Connor is a man and I’m a woman, or perhaps it’s because I believe in God and the Bible and Connor doesn’t, but I refuse to accept his notion that, at our core, Gordon and I are the same, that circumstances can alter us from lambs into lions, from good into evil. I have more faith that our souls are better ordained and that our consciences dictate our actions no matter what the circumstance or consequence. If I prevail, which I don’t think I will, it will be because we are an evolution beyond where it’s just about claws and teeth.
“So basically, Gordon’s got money because of this woman Claudia, his job, and his reputation. Strip those away and you win?”
“Strip those away and he’ll kill me.”
“He can’t know you’re the one doing it.”
“Oh, okay. And I thought this was going to be difficult. No problem. All I need to do is destroy the livelihood and reputation of my extremely intelligent, highly perceptive, uber-paranoid husband, who believes I’m the devil incarnate, without him knowing I’m the one doing it. Got it. Simple.”
“I aim to please. But, Jinks, really, it actually is that simple. Destroy his foundation—money, job, reputation—and he’ll crumble. Put some of that wasted IQ to work on the problem, and I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
We both fall quiet, and I stare at the ocean. Three dolphins—two large, one small—lazily swim south. Tourists below us on the beach jump and point at the novelty.
Money, job, reputation—do we really exist on criteria so tenuous? Take away any one of the three, and the foundation becomes unstable. Destroy a reputation and you lose the job and the money. Lose the job and the same thing happens. The only one that doesn’t destroy you entirely is money, though with Gordon it may be his Achilles’ heel.
For Gordon, money and things define him. It’s like a drug. No matter how much he has, it’s not enough. He chases it, needs it, and as I think about it, I know it’s his spot of weakness.
“You look like you’re starting to understand.”
“I understand the principle, just not how it’s going to help me.”
“It’s time to turn the tables. We need to repair the damage Gordon’s done to you and cause some damage of our own.”
My head collapses to the table and rests on top of my hands.
“It might not be obvious how you’re going to do that right now, but you’ll see—now that you’re looking for it—you’re going to find a way. That’s how it always works. Before you were just reacting to the shit Gordon was doing, but this time, you have your own agenda, and you’re gonna be driving the boat.”
I feel like Connor, Michelle, and my mom are all in a conspiracy, all of them deciding I’m some sort of captain who can chart my own destiny, when all I feel like is a woman overboard, hoping someone will throw me a life vest before I drown.
T
hey arrived last night, and it’s only noon and already I’m a wreck. I had coffee with Connor this morning and this afternoon I’ll see Sherman, but at the moment, I’m at home with my parents, and there’s nothing for me to do but think about Addie and Drew being so close and that I’m not allowed to see them. I feel like a caged animal.
Addie’s at the Children’s Hospital in Orange for her first chemotherapy treatment. It will make her very sick. Her hair will fall out. She’ll be scared and will feel betrayed. The doctors are doing this to her, and her parents are letting them. They’ll explain that they have to because otherwise she could die, so she’ll realize she’s mortal, something no four-year-old should realize.
She’ll be only forty minutes away while all this is happening, and I won’t be there for her. I won’t be able to talk to her, console her, hold her.
“Stop pacing; you’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet,” my mom says.
Where’s Drew?
I assume Gordon’s staying with Addie, so who’s staying with Drew?
Claudia?
I pace faster.
“Jill, why don’t you and your father go for a drive? It will do you good to get out of the house.”
My parents both agreed it wasn’t a good idea for me to be left alone when the kids got back into town, that the temptation to break the court order would be too great. They’re right. The moment they let me out of their sight, I’m bolting straight to Addie and Drew.
“Come on,” my dad says, pushing to his feet and grabbing his cane. “Let’s get some dessert.” Then, with his back to my mom, he winks, and I realize he’s a conspirator not a jailer, and I practically leap into my shoes.
When we’re safely on our way, he says, “No court order against me as far as I know.”
I drive to Children’s Hospital within an inch of reckless and let him out at the curb. He has a bag draped over his non-cane-bearing arm. In it is a pair of Dora the Explorer pajamas, a night-light, a stuffed elephant, because Addie collects elephants, and a tape recorder with my love on it.
I stare at the stucco and glass wall for the entire time my dad is gone and wonder which room is hers. Ten minutes later, my dad hobbles from the entrance still carrying the bag. I drive to pick him up at the curb.
“How is she?” I ask when he climbs into the car.
His jaw clenches and unclenches, and I think this was a very bad idea. Stress will kill him, and whatever just happened was very stressful.
“Bastard” is all he says.
“It’s okay, Pops. It’s okay. We just need to be patient. We’ll figure out a way. It’s just going to take a little bit of time.”
“God damn bastard.”
I
drop my dad off at home, and as I’ve done every day since I’ve returned, I drive to Anaheim to see Sherman. As I drive, my mind fills with Addie and Drew.
I count red and blue cars out of habit. I think about Addie clambering into bed beside me, the way her body shapes itself to mine, how she clings to me. She smells of strawberries and Johnson’s baby shampoo, and Drew smells like earth and Johnson’s baby shampoo. I hope they never stop using that shampoo, though I know they will.
I think of them every day and always, and as I drive, I wonder how I ever made this commute and forgot about them long enough to do my job.
On Monday, Harris and I will meet to discuss my return, and I’m looking forward to going back, but I also know something in me has changed.
Since high school, I’ve been barreling through life a thousand miles a minute, determined not just to succeed, but excel—competing in an imaginary competition with the world. At school, then at work, even with my kids—I needed to be the best, they needed to be the best, my husband needed to be the best—or at least, we needed to appear that way.
For almost two months, my ambition has been derailed, my priorities wildly shifted, and my competitive, overachieving, type-A personality thrown into a vacuum with nobody to compete with. I was living in the backwoods of Spokane where a Kate Spade purse is considered inane because it’s completely impractical, and an Ivy League education means nothing, but if you can divine a deer migration during the hunting season, you’re deigned a genius. And like a fire without oxygen, the flame was extinguished.
I look at the traffic stretched out for miles in front of me. There must be an accident. And I actually smile at the suit mongers beside me with their shoulders hiked up to their ears, their hands gripping the steering wheels so tight their knuckles glow, their pulses pumping in their temples as they try to will the progression to go faster so they can get to wherever it is they’re so urgent to get to.
I used to be one of them.
Monday, I will accept Harris’s offer to return to work. I need an income if I want any chance at all of getting custody, but I could never be the way I was—frenetic and stressed over every little detail. I will never be who I was before. Something in me is changed.
I
settle into my seat beside Sherman and open to the page we left off, but his head shakes, or rather his eyes inside his head move side to side. “Not today,” he says in a strangled whisper, and in his weakness, I see the sands of time running through the hourglass. I pinch my nose to hold back the emotions, and though he’s still here, I already miss him.
His voice is barely audible above the gentle sounds of the day—a bird beside the window, a passing car, Greta doing laundry down the hall. “The chest below the bed,” he rasps. “Get it for me.”
I kneel to the thick Persian rug, my knees sinking in an inch, lift the Damask bed skirt, and pull out the intricately carved box that’s tucked deep beneath the frame. It’s the size of a thick briefcase, and judging by the carvings, I’d guess the piece is from the early eighteenth-century Qing dynasty. Each face is carved with a relief of monkeys playing between grapevines. I smooth my hand over the craftsmanship in appreciation of the artist who lived two thousand years ago.
The motif is common from that period, and I recognize it from the trip I took to China with my dad when I was a teenager. The grapes symbolize one’s wish to have many children as grapes bear much fruit, while the monkey represents one’s hope to gain a high-ranking position. The chest was probably a wedding gift from a parent to a son.