Water from Stone - a Novel (31 page)

Eighty-Two

Mar.

Mar’s hands are shaking as she faces off with Sy. She picks up a glass from the counter top and begins to fiddle with it simply to give her hands something to do. Dylan, bless him, has taken a very frightened and upset Lizzie upstairs and is keeping her entertained. Keeping her away from Mar whose own emotions are flying out of control. Diane, unable to face Sy without tearing into him again, is upstairs in Mar’s studio trying to book a flight for Don Bloom. Shirley, the only calm one of the bunch, is sitting quietly at the kitchen table taking notes, but even she is pale and jumpy.

“I’m sorry, Mar,” Sy tells her for the thousandth time. “It’s not how you were supposed to find out.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass how I was ‘supposed to find out’, Sy. The fact of the matter is that you lied to me. To us. You came out here, pretended to be my, our, friend, and all along you’ve been scheming how to take my daughter away from me? Do you know how fucking sick that makes me? Goddammit, I let you into my house! I let you bring your ‘nephew’ into my house!” The glass sails through the air and crashes into the refrigerator. Both Sy and Shirley jump.

“Mar, honey,” Shirley murmurs.

“I let you into my house,” Mar repeats, hot tears of frustration beginning to roll down her cheeks. “Into my house,” she says yet again and slowly slips down to the floor where she curls around herself and begins rocking. “Oh, god, oh god, oh god.”

“Mar…” Sy moves to her.

“No,” Shirley tells him, gently pushing him aside to get to her friend. “Go, Sy. Just go.”

***

Later that night, Mar wakes up, her arm clutching Lizzie fiercely to her side. “Daddy?” she whispers.

“
Shhh
, honey, I’m here,” Don tells her. “Go back to sleep.”

“They want to take my baby away,” Mar says into the darkness. “They want to take Lizzie away.”

Eighty-Three

Sy.

It is late afternoon by the time the elevator opens at Jack’s floor of Weisman, Tannenbaum and Carruthers and Sy steps out. Elena sends him down to Caroline’s office, a floor below Jack’s, and tells him that Jack will be down as soon as he wraps up a conference call.

Now Sy is sitting across from Caroline while she pours through his files. Occasionally, she looks up, asks a question, jots something down, goes back to her reading. It is pissing Sy off.

Caroline marks a paragraph with her finger and looks up. “So, you never actually interviewed the people from Children’s Services?” she asks.

“No, I told you,” he gestures to the file, “it’s all there.”

“And you didn’t contact the FBI?”

“Shit, what is it with you? Didn’t you hear a word I’ve been saying?”

“I’m just pointing out that you were out there, what? A week, ten days, after you found Mia...”

Sy cuts her off. “Her name’s Lizzie.”

Caroline continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “A week after you found Mia and you didn’t follow up with any government agency.”

“There was no need.”

“No need? Sy, let me be bottom line with you. A crime was committed four years ago. It’s an open case, meaning the government is still very much interested in solving it. Now, it appears you solved it, and I use ‘appears’ very loosely because, until Shaheen puts his stamp on it, it’s still open. Got it?”

“I got it, but what’s going on now doesn’t have a goddamned thing with what went on back then.”

“So you say.”

“Yeah, so I fucking say. These are good people who’re just as fucking hurt by all this as Jack.”

“Not even close.”

“Yeah, whatever. I just don’t understand why this can’t be resolved between Jack and Mar.”

“Mar? Don’t you think you’re a little too close to this, Sy? And that maybe you dragged Jack in and now he’s too close?”

“Jesus F-ing Christ! These’re people! Don’t you get that? They’re just people. You talk to them, you work things out.” Sy gets up and starts to pace, anything to keep from smacking some sense into her. “You lawyers,” he continues, “you lawyers, you can’t even talk to people, it’s all gotta be motion this, motion that. You forget there’re people involved.”

“This is why we have lawyers, Sy. For people like you who can’t separate the emotion from the facts, from the law. Do you think your precious Mar is going to sit by and let Jack take his child? No. She’s going to do everything in her power to turn this around and, if she can’t turn it around, to stall, to drag it out, to make Jack suffer even more than he has. She’s not going to sit down at a table and be reasonable, to say, ‘sure, I understand, take her.’”

“Well, she’s got some points.”

“See? That’s where you and I differ, Sy. I don’t think she’s got any points. I’ve been going through case law and, guess what? Though there’s not much, the law says she doesn’t have any points either. None. And if you want to help Jack, you’d better remember that.”

Sy stops in the middle of the office and stares at her, frustration and anger raging in his belly. He knows she is right, hell, hadn’t he been the one to run all over the country, to find Lizzie in the first place? Still, it is personal to him, she’s got that right. “Fuck!” he swears and kicks a chair.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks from the doorway.

Caroline shakes her head and waves at Sy. “Talk to him, Jack. He’s got his boundaries confused.”

Eighty-Four

Mar.

“I’m sorry, Mar. Really, I am.”

Mar stares at Stacey Lindquist, the attorney Shirley had recommended. She hears the words, but their meaning does not compute. “But,” she counters helplessly, “the adoption was legal. Everything about it was legal. I have the papers.”

Stacey takes off her reading glasses and sets them on the table. “I know, but the adoption was based upon the assumption that Lizzie was free to be adopted.”

“But that’s not my fault! She was free. Everyone thought she was free.”

“It doesn’t work that way. The court, to the best of its ability, determined that she was free, that she had no living relatives and that adoption would be best for her. All this, though,” she waves at the files on her desk, “no one could have foreseen this.”

“But, they should have!”

“Mar, honey, calm down,” Don Bloom reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

“You’re right. They should have. But they didn’t and, from what I can see from the files, there was no reason to believe Lizzie was not that woman’s child.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’ll lose her.”

“Mar,” Stacey sighs heavily. “What do you want? Do you want the bottom line? Or do you want the one where I pretty it up for you?”

“I want the facts. I want the worst case scenario so I can work it from there.”

“Worst case scenario? OK, yes, you certainly could lose her. She was kidnapped and there are no provisions for keeping a kidnapped child from being returned to its parents once it’s found. Unless, of course, there are extenuating circumstances. Unfortunately, I can’t find any in this case.”

“What would an extenuating circumstance be?”

“Usually, in kidnapping cases, the kidnapper is a parent or another family member. Occasionally, the court has given full custody of the child to one parent and almost always for good reason. Meaning the other parent was abusive or criminal or just plain off the deep end. In very rare circumstances, the court gave the child to the wrong parent, and the one who took off with the child was able to show that the child had been in danger while living with the custodial parent. Again, though, the courts still don’t look lightly on the non-custodial parent taking off with the child. Regardless of the reasons, that person still has broken a few federal laws. But, Mar, remember, that isn’t the case here.”

Mar’s face is pale as she tries to listen past the migraine that pounds in her head. Her heart hurts in her chest and her eyes and nose are raw from crying. She clasps her hands together to keep them from shaking and asks again, “So, I’m going to lose her, aren’t I?”

“Mar, what we just spoke about is the worst case scenario. All things being equal, the most likely outcome would be for the courts to return Lizzie to her father. There are, however, a few things to keep in mind. First, though, I want you to know that it’s a long shot. You have to understand that.”

Mar nods and whispers, “I know.”

“OK, look, courts nowadays are very careful about doing the right thing by the child, and that’s key, ‘by the child.’ I’m sorry to say it, but in high-profile cases like this one, the pressure to get it right is even stronger. As far as Lizzie is concerned, you’re her only parent. She doesn’t know Jack Westfield from Adam. And, from what I can tell, you’ve been a good parent to her. I think it’s incumbent on us to show that having Lizzie remain with you, as her only known parent, is in her own best interests.”

“Is that possible?”

“Anything’s possible. It’s slim, but it really is our best bet. If that doesn’t seem to be going our way, we ask for joint custody, with Lizzie living with you but Mr. Westfield having full access to her.”

Mar nods, “That could work. How do we do it?”

“Research.” Stacey begins to tick off the list on her fingers, “First, we pull up every single piece of supporting evidence that shows that removing a child from its parent at such a young age can be traumatic. Second, we have Lizzie evaluated and find child psychologists who are qualified to testify on your behalf. Third, we interview every single person that you and Lizzie know who will support that you have been a caring, loving parent. Fourth, we research adoptive rights laws. They’ve become stronger over the years. We need them to be very strong now. Fifth, we use the media.”

“The media? But, why?”

“Mar, this is already a high profile case. You have all the elements of a great story – the baby’s mother was killed, the baby kidnapped, the grieving father, a four year search. On that side, throw in a kidnapping ring, the FBI, and a private detective. On your side, you’ve got a woman who has overcome a few of her own tragedies, not the least of them the one she is currently involved in. The tabloids live for this kind of thing.”

“That’s sick. This is my life.”

“Get used to it. Better yet, learn to love it.”

“How can that help?”

“Because, like it or not, the rules in our society are dictated by the media, and judges and juries are only people, too. Some of their opinions are bound to be formed by what they read, by what their family and friends read.  You need to be the media’s darling because, make no mistake, this case is going to polarize the nation, much like the Baby M case did in the ‘90’s.”

“What happened then?”

“A teenage mother put her newborn up for adoption without the biological father’s consent. He didn’t even find out he was a parent until years later and, when he did, he filed for custody. By that time, the child, a little girl, had been with her adoptive parents for almost four years.”

The blood rushes from Mar’s head as something pricks her memory. “What happened?” she whispers.

Stacey closes her eyes for a moment and when she opens them, she looks directly at Mar. “The biological father was given full custody.”

“Oh my god,” Mar cries.

“And that’s why we fall back on our sixth task.”

Mar’s eyes are intensely focused on Stacey. “And that is?”

“We pray.”

“We pray?”

“I’m sorry, but sometimes that’s all we’ve got left.”

Eighty-Five

Jack.

Special Agent Shaheen reaches across Jack’s desk and shakes his hand. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“Thanks for coming. Sit, please. Can I get you anything? Some coffee? A soda? Water, maybe.”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

Jack sits and pushes aside the file he’d been working on. No hardship there. His mind lately has been more on his own case than any other. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Well, first of all, the DNA checked out.”

Jack nods. The final results had come in the week before, not that he’d needed them. “I know.”

“And, your friend, the detective, was right. There’s nothing there to tie Ms. Bloom or the local child services department to the kidnappers.”

Strangely, Jack feels relief. He knows that Caroline will be deeply disappointed but, for himself, he is happy to have Mar cleared. “And? You look like there’s an ‘and’ or a ‘but’ to that statement.”

Shaheen allows himself a small smile. “It’s a ‘but.’ As in, ‘but, we think that Myrna Cross may have been involved.’”

“You’re kidding, right? I thought she was just a flake.”

“She was, there’s no doubt there. Most likely, she was bribed to kidnap a child, a white, female child. Instead of turning the baby over, though, she took off with her.”

“Jesus.”

“The funny thing is, that may be the only reason you know where your daughter is today.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been after this group for four years. They’re good. They’re pros and they know what they’re doing. They move around a lot, disappear, show up somewhere new entirely. When the kids are that young and they drop off the radar screen, the chances of finding them are next to nothing. Chances are, if that woman had turned your daughter over to them, we’d never have found her.”

“So I’m supposed to be grateful?”

“Considering the circumstances, I’d be grateful she ended up in Ms. Delgado’s care.”

“Jesus Christ, Shaheen.”

“I’m not saying you don’t get your daughter back, Mr. Westfield. Christ, I’m a father, too, and I’d move heaven and earth to get my kid back. I’m just saying you’re lucky she was found and taken care of, that she didn’t end up like Cassidy Renfro.”

Jack turns and stares out the window. Spring has slipped into summer and for a few more days the weather in New York should be perfect. He wonders about the weather in Boulder, wonders what Mar and Lizzie are doing with their day.

As if reading his thoughts, Shaheen tells him, “Ms. Delgado handled it pretty well. The investigation. It was pretty obvious from the beginning she wasn’t involved, but she was helpful.”

“She’s a nice lady.”

“Your daughter, Lizzie? Mia?”

“Lizzie.”

“Lizzie’s pretty strung out. All that media attention’s taking its toll on her.”

Jack turns to him, puzzled, “Why are you telling me this?”

Shaheen shrugs. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my career, Mr. Westfield,” he says. “This one, it got to me.”

“What would you do?”

Shaheen shrugs again. “What can you do? She’s your child. She belongs with you.”

Eighty-Six

Jack.

“Hello, Caroline,” Jack greets her at the door. “Come on in. I’m having Scotch. What can I get for you?”

Caroline pauses in the foyer and looks at him critically. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes, but I’m a happy drunk,” he grins at her. “Would you like to get happy with me?”

“Jesus, Jack, we need to talk.”

“So talk, my illustrious defender of justice. I’ll get happy for you, too.”

“Jack.”

At her tone, the goofy smile drops from Jack’s face. “I’m fine, Caroline. Just enjoying an after-work drink. I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Where’s DeJon? Shouldn’t he be home by now?”

“He’s off at a movie with some friends. Can’t stand to be around me lately.”

Startled, Caroline asks, “Why not? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. He’s pissed about something and isn’t ready to talk about it.”

“Jack, that’s not good.”

“Hell, I know it’s not good. It’s like talking to a wall. He comes home and locks himself in his room.” He shakes his head, “I don’t know what to do.”

“No, Jack, I mean it’s not good for the case. You’ve got to talk to him.”

“The case? What the hell does teenage testosterone have to do with the case?”

“The press are all over this. If he’s going to be pissy about anything, now is not the time.”

“Jesus, Caroline.”

“It’s a fact, Jack,” she snaps. “And you know it, too, so it’s bloody unfair that you make me have to remind you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re under a media microscope, and the whole bloody world is worried about what is going to happen to your daughter.”

“I’m worried about what’s going to happen to my daughter.”

“Exactly. And, like it or not, a public family fight between you and DeJon would not be helpful at this time.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“Of course it does! Right now, Mar Delgado is winning the media war. She’s the Princess Di of the new millenium, the tragic heroine in everyone’s eyes.”

“Well, hell, Caroline, her life pretty much does suck at the moment.”

“Be that as it may, that’s not your concern. Your concern is to stay clean and remind everyone that you’re the guy that got hurt here.”

“Look, I’ve read the case law. There’s nothing that indicates Lizzie won’t be returned to me.”

“Well, then, why hasn’t she been already? Don’t you see what they’re doing, Jack? They’re trying to show that Lizzie is better off with Mar. It’s their only chance.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“But, they’re trying, and a public fight with DeJon right now can’t help you.” Caroline sighs. “Look, all I’m asking is that you talk to him, find out what’s bothering him and fix it.”

“Fine.”

Caroline shakes her head and goes into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.  “Anyway, I came here to ask you to change your mind about something.”

“About what? I thought we were agreed on everything.”

“On the venue. I really want to bring it to New York.”

Jack sobers immediately. “No. I told you. It stays in Boulder.”

“But, Jack, it would be so much easier if we brought it all over here.”

“Easier for us, yeah, but not for Lizzie.”

“Mia.”

“Lizzie. Look, I talked to Shaheen today. He was just out there and he says Lizzie’s a mess.”

“All the more reason to bring it here. Get her away from all the media.”

“You don’t think they’ll follow her here?”

“Of course they will, but she’d be staying in a hotel with security to keep them away.”

“No, forget it. At least there, she’s got her home and her room and people she knows.”

“Dammit, Jack, listen to yourself! You can’t keep talking like that. You say something like that to anyone but me and the judge hears about it and you’ve just made their entire case for them.”

Jack drops into a chair and looks at her. “I don’t know. It just seems that maybe we took the wrong tack. I should’ve stayed out there and tried to work it out with Mar.”

“Work what out? There’s nothing to work out.”

“Maybe we should have gone for joint custody.”

“Haven’t you been listening all these months? We talked to Dr. Hartford. He’s the best child psychologist there is. He told you that would be the worst thing for her. She wouldn’t have any stability, wouldn’t form solid attachments. She needs to settle. She needs to come home and know this is her place and settle.”

“She’s settled now.”

“Alright, Jack, you want to talk about this? Let’s talk about it. Can you tell me, honestly tell me, that you’re going to give her up? That you’re able to just walk away from her?”

He shakes his head miserably. He can’t tell her that. Just staying away from Lizzie these past few months while the whole thing is being worked out is difficult for him. Mar’s attorney has proven formidable and has been able to stall and drag things out. She’d countered Jack’s Boulder attorney’s motions at every turn. Finally, next week, the judge is expected to rule on temporary custody. Jack has asked for weekends during the trial and he is sure to get them. And even though seeing her on weekends is more than he currently has, is more than he’d ever had, Jack knows in his heart that it won’t be enough. “No,” he answers.

“Exactly. I’m sorry, Jack, but that’s what it finally comes down to. Either you or Mar Delgado has to have custody of that child, and she’s yours, above and beyond anything Ms. Delgado ever had with her.”

“You sure?”

Caroline smiles and reaches out to touch his cheek. “I’m sure.”

Eighty-Seven

Mar.

Painting. That’s all there is. Just painting. Gold and Magenta and Cerulean Blue. Orange and Umber and Indigo Blue. Green and Black and Aqua Blue. Raw Sienna and Black and Aegean Blue. Gray and Black and Mediterranean Blue. Black. And Blue. Ocean Blue, so blue so blue so blue….

She nervously checks outside the studio windows, licks her dry lips. The mountains are there, standing tall. Shaking her head, she returns her gaze to the painting. Creeping slowly up through her spine, and then spreading throughout her body, she feels the wrongness of it, feels it on her skin, in her skin, feels the treason of it as a physical blow. How did this happen? When did this happen?

She is becoming agitated now, anxious in her frustration to change it, to fix it, to make it right. Taking her brush, she dips it in red, shovels it from the can to the canvas, throws it on and spreads it around and around. Goes back for more. When did the paint can move so far away?

Turning back to the painting, she gasps. The colors are moving, swirling, dripping. She’d used too much paint. Too much! They aren’t drying fast enough, are bleeding into each other, creating a hellish, chilling miasma of color and emotion. She closes her eyes, willing it to dry, to stay in place. Opens her eyes slowly, peeking out between heavy lashes, praying for it to be better, but feeling the nausea begin to toss inside of her. Swallows hard as her skin turns clammy. It is still moving, the Blues with the slashes of Red, the swirls and gashes and splashes of Red.

And, it drips. Already, just in the moment it has taken her to reach for more paint, it has dripped, formed a puddle on the floor. Where had so much paint come from? It is pooling on the floor, Blue with its river of Blood, drip, drip, dripping onto her hardwood floor, forming a small rivulet that winds its way, picks its way almost, across the hardwood floor toward the glider. And, how strange, she thinks, but I’ve never noticed the floor slant that way before. And she thinks she’ll have to clean it up, it is becoming such a mess.