Authors: Villette Snowe
“All right.” She opened the driver’s side door of her Jaguar.
For most of the drive downtown, I stayed right behind her. Then once we pulled into the courthouse lot, I drove down a different aisle and parked several spaces farther back. I walked into the courthouse a couple minutes after her, and she was seated when I walked into the courtroom. I sat in the gallery two rows behind Elizabeth. She didn’t look back at me, and I didn’t talk to her.
I knew she needed support today, a friendly face, but I wasn’t about to let anyone think anything inappropriate of her. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she paid me for sex. And I still didn’t think that was immoral of her. What she was really looking for was a friend. The first time we were together, she’d seemed angry and determined, and I’d done my best to make her feel good, to calm her. I was sure she wouldn’t come back, sure it was a one-time thing to get back at someone—until I saw the look on her face when I told her I hoped she felt better, as if a man hadn’t given a shit what she felt like in a long time. I was sure that’s why she came back—we were friends, even though she was reluctant to share of herself. I think she just liked the feeling that someone cared.
Being Elizabeth’s friend made me feel a little better. When we hung out, I thought about my deadline less. Her friendship gave me purpose.
That never seemed to last, though.
The courtroom door opened, and I glanced back. A man walked in. I knew it was dipshit Brad just by the suit, and the big shiny watch sealed it. There was dressing properly for business, and then there was dressing just to show off one’s wealth.
Just as he walked by, he glanced at me, as if he knew who I was, that I was here for Elizabeth and not one of the other miscellaneous people in the gallery waiting for an upcoming case on the docket. How in the hell could he know who I was?
Elizabeth kept her gaze forward, hands folded in her lap. She was wearing a very nice suit, classy, not showy. I couldn’t imagine her with Brad. Perhaps he was a different person when they met.
The judge came in, banged her gavel, and began the hearing. It was much less formal than the courtroom scenes in movies. Of course, family court was rarely depicted in movies.
Some of the decisions were pretty easy. The lawyers did all the talking. Rachel was eighteen now, so she wasn’t even mentioned. Brad agreed to give up the house if he got the Mercedes and BMW and the vacation house at the beach.
Then things started to get more complicated—Brad was going after her investments, which were, apparently, extensive. The lawyers bickered for a good hour, as did Brad. Elizabeth answered the judge’s questions, but that was it.
The bickering seemed to have no end in sight. Then Brad glanced back at me and murmured something in his lawyer’s ear. I could see his lawyer well enough to read his lips. “Are you sure?”
Brad nodded and sat back in his chair.
His lawyer stood. “Your Honor, I’d like to bring to the court’s attention the infidelity of Mrs. Holt.”
Elizabeth looked over with an enraged expression.
“Are you prepared to offer proof of said infidelity?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.” Brad’s lawyer gave a folder to the judge and then one to Elizabeth’s lawyer.
Her lawyer took something from the folder and held it for Elizabeth to see. I shifted slightly so I could also see.
It was a picture of Elizabeth and me, that first time we ever went out to lunch, at that Italian restaurant in Town Center mall. The picture had been snapped at the moment she touched my cheek. It’d only been a friendly gesture, but it looked like more.
Son of a bitch.
I was supposed to be here just to support my friend. Now my presence looked like much more. But what in the hell could I do now?
Elizabeth’s lawyer stood. “Your Honor, in the light of this new development, I would like to request—”
“She’s not sleeping with Heath.”
Everyone in the room turned to look at Rachel, who’d just come in.
“Young lady,” the judge said in a sharp tone, “who are you?”
“Rachel Holt, Mrs. Holt’s daughter.” She walked forward. “If I could, I wanted to see if I may say a few things, since I know more about what’s really going on than almost anyone.”
Elizabeth stood. “Rachel, you don’t need to—”
“I know, Mom.” Rachel smiled a little. “I’m an adult now. You don’t have to protect me anymore.” She turned back to the judge.
The judge gestured for her to go ahead and talk.
“Heath—” Rachel started.
“I assume that is the man in the picture?” the judge said.
Rachel looked down at the picture in Elizabeth’s lawyer’s hand. “Sorry. Yes, ma’am, that’s him.”
Fuck.
What in the hell was Rachel doing? I didn’t move from my seat, didn’t shift an inch. Nothing I could say or do right now would be helpful, not even disappearing. That would just make both Elizabeth and me look guilty. The only thing I could do was hope Rachel knew what she was doing, pray her father hadn’t gotten into her head.
She’d started by saying Elizabeth and I were
not
having an affair. That was a good sign.
Rachel continued while I tried not to have an expression, as if I had as much emotion as the paneling on the wall.
“Heath came to stay with us awhile ago,” Rachel said.
Fucking son of a bitch.
What was she doing?
“I don’t really know why.” She glanced back at me and then again to the judge. “He was obviously upset about something.”
Now the entire gallery was looking at me. Fucking great.
“But they didn’t sleep together,” Rachel said.
Brad’s lawyer stood. “We’ve never contested that Mrs. Holt is an excellent mother. Of course, she wouldn’t allow her daughter to know about her affairs.”
The judge nodded and looked to Rachel.
“Rachel, sweetie,” Elizabeth said. “You don’t have to do this.”
Rachel continued to look at the judge. “I know they didn’t sleep together because I kept a close eye on them. I didn’t know if they were involved, and honestly…I would’ve been angry if they were, so soon after my parents’ breakup. The only thing they did was talk. I am positive on this.” Her back was straight, chin up, voice level.
The judge nodded. “Thank you, young lady.”
Brad’s lawyer stood again. “This is but one instance. This picture states clearly—”
“That my mother and Heath are friends,” Rachel said. “She touches me just like that all the time, especially when I’m upset. Heath has been having a hard time, and my mother comforts her friends. I’ve watched them for a few months now—”
Shit, I thought maybe she had it…
“My mom never goes to see Heath. He always comes to see her—and I’m almost always home. If they were sleeping together, she’d go to his apartment.”
Brad’s lawyer stood, yet again. “She can’t possibly know her mother’s whereabouts at all times. She does attend school every day.”
“Yes,” Rachel said, “that’s true. But I do know what people look like when they’re fooling around. Heath and my mother don’t flirt or make eyes at each other. They don’t even touch.” Rachel took a deep breath, as if to build strength. “I know what people who are sleeping together look like because I’ve watched my father and my Aunt Lydia.”
Whispers broke out around the room. All the people around me, who were here simply to wait their turn, were now intently watching Elizabeth’s family.
Elizabeth stood. “Rachel.”
Rachel held up her hand. “No, Mom, I’m protecting you this time.”
Elizabeth stopped, frozen in place, as if lost as to what to do, how to protect her little girl. It was killing me not to be able to go to her, to offer any comfort I could.
Rachel looked over at Brad. “I’m sorry, Dad.” Then she turned back to the judge. “As you probably already know, I’m adopted. My Aunt Lydia is my biological mother. My parents couldn’t have children, so they adopted me.”
“I’m not sure what your parentage has to do with anything,” the judge said.
“My adoptive father is also my biological father.”
Gasps and shocked voices bounced around the room like one of those little rubber balls from vending machines that you can never catch once you let it go.
Brad stood. “Rachel, sweetie, what are you talking about?”
The judge called the room to order.
Rachel focused on the judge. “My mother, Elizabeth, wouldn’t ask me to take a paternity test. She didn’t want me to be in the middle of this, but I am in the middle of it. She’s protected me my whole life. She’s always been there. It’s my turn to be there for her.”
“How would your mother know this?” the judge said.
“My father admitted it to her in an argument. She only told me because she thought I had the right to know who my parents are. Then she told me I shouldn’t be angry with my father, that he’d hurt her, not me. But hearing my mother alone in her room crying every night hurts more than anything I can imagine.”
As she looked at Rachel, Elizabeth’s expression twisted. Surely, she’d never thought Rachel could hear when she cried. I wanted to hold her hand and tell her I was here for her. I sat still.
The judge paused. I saw in her eyes the first hint of sympathy I’d seen all morning. “Miss Holt, are you willing to submit yourself for a paternity test?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Brad’s gentle voice wavered slightly. “Rachel, baby, you don’t have to go through this.”
Rachel looked at her father. “I love you, Dad, but I won’t let you hurt my mom anymore.”
He only stared.
“We will resume once tests are completed.” The judge banged her gavel. “And, Mr. Holt, you better hope your daughter is wrong.”
Dipshit fell back into his chair, and Elizabeth snatched Rachel into a hug. They didn’t let go for a long time.
I quietly slipped out of the courtroom and to my car. Elizabeth’s and my affair couldn’t be completely disproven, because it wasn’t untrue, and Elizabeth had Rachel to support her. I had to be careful, even more than before, to make sure Elizabeth’s and my friendship didn’t hurt her. I decided not to see her until after the judgment. I prayed it didn’t take too long. Not having Elizabeth around was going to be hell.
Chapter 39
Elizabeth’s Promise
How fucking long could the damn test take?
I paced my tiny apartment from wall to wall. I couldn’t be alone much longer. I’d talked on the phone with Elizabeth a couple times over the last two weeks, but I thought it wise to keep that to a minimum as well.
My dreams of Kimber were incessant. I was doing my damnedest not to sleep, but she kept coming to me. I saw her at the grocery store today and followed her. One of the bag boys ran after me into the parking lot because I hadn’t paid for the couple items in my hands. The manager looked like he wanted to have me arrested, and then I turned to see that Kimber was someone else entirely, much older and too tall. I was going to have to find a new grocery store.
I pulled my hands through my hair. “Fuck.”
My eyes fought me. They stung and were surely bloodshot.
A knock at the door. “Heath, are you all right?”
It was Marie. Sharing walls with people was a pain in the ass. I swore she spent all her time with her ear pressed to the wall.
I continued pacing.
“Come on, Heath.”
Hopefully, she wouldn’t realize the door wasn’t locked. I just couldn’t seem to get into that habit.
Eventually, she went away.
I grew tired of pacing. I didn’t want to go on another run and risk bumping into Marie, so I sat at the table and pulled my journal toward me. My notebooks and papers covered the table. It was nice not to have to keep everything so damn spotless.
On the next blank page, I wrote, “July 6th, 2:30 p.m.” For whatever reason, I felt the need to properly document my pointless ramblings. And today I wrote directly to Kimber, as if she was going to read it, as if she’d ever have contact with me again.
I saw you again today. Well, not really. I imagined you again today. I haven’t seen you in reality in a long time. I might eventually snap and try to catch a glimpse of you for real, maybe just to prove to myself that you really exist. But don’t worry. I won’t let you see me. I won’t hurt you again.
I wish I could stop wanting you. I don’t think it’s healthy. Maybe that’s why I’m hallucinating. My mind can’t handle not having you, not even having the chance.
That night when we were together and I thought I’d be able to keep you, my thoughts felt clear, not accurate, of course, but clear. Sometimes I can’t fully comprehend my surroundings, as if my mind’s only half there, but that night, I was fully with you. I could comprehend you, be fully in the moment.
Sometimes I think that’s a curse. I remember every detail. The request in your eyes, how warm your skin felt against mine, the way you couldn’t breathe when I entered you. I remember all these things, and therefore, I dream them. I hurt every night.
I wake just before climax, and then pain chokes me. And I can’t bring myself to jack off. It’s not just the sex I miss from that night. I miss your smile, the way you looked at me, like I was your best friend. I miss your kindness. You snap at other men who try to catch you, but with me, you asked me to be with you. I’m not sure how I managed to gain your trust—I should’ve known I could never keep it. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.
My pencil stopped moving. I set it down and looked at the page.
I wished I could apologize to her for real, wished I could beg her forgiveness—but I wouldn’t do that to her. I’d hurt her enough already. I knew how that felt, to be open with someone, finally give of yourself, only for that person to betray you. It would’ve been a little easier if I’d been able to hate Cassie, but in her note she begged me to forgive her. I couldn’t hate her.
I wanted to give Kimber the gift of hating me. It was the only thing I could do for her.
My phone rang, maybe from under all the papers on the table, but I kept looking at the page, drowning in my thoughts.
It was awhile later—I wasn’t sure how long—that there was a knock at my door. I ignored it.