Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel (5 page)

Lock believed she might be right, so what was the point? He thought the seats were uncomfortable, the coffee not hot enough. Nothing stuck. And he didn’t like all the talk about God, which he thought was funny, because he did have confidence that there was some kind of master consciousness at the heart of the universe. He just didn’t call it God.

Three days later, he was on his cellphone with his coke supplier as he drove to a bar in Philadelphia. He knew where it would inevitably end. But before things came crashing down around him, he would feel very little pain.
Hello, oblivion.

But that was then, and although the cravings for cocaine and alcohol continued, sometimes intensely, they were less and less powerful over time. The urges weakened with each passing day. Now he had the tools acquired from AA, and he used them. He had met people he respected who were there to support him. His sponsor told him the key to success was simple—don’t drink, don’t think, and come to meetings. That made sense.

There had been relapses, but he had stuck with the program. Things couldn’t be more different now, and they were radically better—a year of continuous sobriety and a profession he loved. The job was fulfilling, and he helped the helpless every day. He’d never felt better, and he’d been told by an admirer at work he had never looked better, either.

5

Around three o’clock, Lock drove out to see what Natalie wanted.
Bullshit
, he told himself.
You’re driving out to see Natalie
. He hadn’t returned her voicemail. He wanted to surprise her again.

This time, she wore cut-off jeans and a sea-green t-shirt. It went perfectly with her eyes.

She smiled and swung the door open wider. “Welcome back, Mr. Gilkenney.”

“You can call me Lock, if you want.”

“Okay, Lock. But probably not in front of my husband.” She smiled. “Come on in.”

He looked at her as she led him in. She had beautiful legs, and she wore sandals, her toe rings sparkling as she walked.

He walked in and sat at the kitchen table. He opened his clipboard, slid out a folder, and removed a notebook.

She pointed toward the sliding glass door that led to the solarium. “Why don’t we talk out there?” she said. “Candice is at the mall with the kids. She won’t be back until after dinner, and Witt’s in New Jersey until late. And I can’t stand being near all these dirty dishes.” She flipped her hand at the sink, which was full.

“Sure,” Lock said. “I’d like to see your flowers.”

He followed her, and when she turned into the solarium, Lock caught a glimpse of what he at first thought was a birthmark on her leg, but it proved to be the tattooed tail of a reddish snake slithering up her leg in the direction of her inner thigh. He made sure to raise his eyes before she looked back at him, but he knew she wouldn’t mind if she caught him looking. There was something between them, that much was clear, and Lock knew she had decided—as he had—to find out what it might be.

The solarium was well-equipped. There was a hot tub, a few yards of sand that sloped down to a small built-in pond, a water cooler with an inverted plastic jug sitting on it, a laptop on a stand, and an enormous TV. His eyes wandered around the room, but kept settling on her.

Natalie gestured for Lock to take a seat. He picked the loveseat. A paperback book lay on it, face down.

“What are you reading?” Lock asked.

She picked the book up and moved it to an end table. He sat down, setting his clipboard next to him.

“It’s
The Road Less Traveled,
” she said. She sat upright on a lounge chair directly across from him and tucked her legs under her in some kind of yoga position. “I’m only halfway through, but it’s speaking to me. I love it.”

“Life is difficult,” Lock said, quoting the first line of the book.

“I’m impressed.”

“I always liked that idea,” he said. “If you wake up each morning expecting life to be demanding, then suddenly it’s not so hard.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And the hard part is being able to remember that when things go wrong.”

Lock retrieved a pen from his pocket. “That is the hard part,” he said.

Natalie draped one of her legs over the other, showing more of the snake tattoo. “I want you to hear something before you meet my husband tomorrow night.”

“Okay,” he said, “but anything you tell me goes into my notes, and it’s all discoverable in court. I have to be totally neutral.”

“Fine with me,” she said, adjusting her t-shirt where it had ridden up her abdomen, exposing a tiny belly-button ring. She took a deep breath and said, “Witt is a spoiled little boy whose father left him nine million dollars. He’s the kind of guy you’d think would blow it all. Anyway, we met in a bar and dated for few months. He wasn’t that bad, and he made me laugh. I grew up poor. My father was the superintendent of a run-down apartment building in Newark, and we lived in four small rooms in the basement. We didn’t even have windows. I never had the kind of security that money brings. We got married five months after we met. He started changing right away, and not for the better. He went from affectionate to cold overnight. Then he took all that money and bought worthless land in Florida. Everyone thought he was a fool. Especially me. Then the developers began to see the land as prime real estate. Thousands of acres. He sold out and quadrupled our money.”

“Nothing wrong with money,” Lock said, “but what does this have to do with the children?”

She fidgeted and looked away, then took a breath and turned back to Lock. “I was stupid,” she said. “I was sick of Witt and I still am. I got bored and lonely and I found someone to hang around with. A guy. Nothing serious, and it’s over. I got caught with him at the Four Seasons by some greasy little private detective Witt put on me. I was only intimate with the guy one stupid night, but Witt had something on me and that was what he wanted. And I was surprised at how hurt he was. I thought he couldn’t care less what I did. I was wrong about that, too. He’ll never forgive me.”

Lock looked off into the middle distance, thinking about what he was hearing.

“Am I boring you, Lock?”

“No, I’m listening carefully, waiting for something relevant,” Lock said. There wasn’t anything else to say, really. He kept his attention on her face and waited for the tie-in to the children, though he thought he knew where she was headed.

“Well, between his lawyers and his private eye, in a divorce I’ll probably wind up with something like a thousand a month. I could barely live this way on a thousand a day. My God, yoga lessons twice a week cost me that much. And if he gets custody, I’d just be a visitor in my own kids’ lives.”

“What’s your lawyer say?”

“You mean the lawyer I don’t have because I have so little money of my own I can’t come up with a retainer fee? He even gives the grocery money directly to Candice. I guess he’s afraid if I have it, I’ll buy a pack of gum without his say-so. And he pays the yoga instructor by check each month.”

“No lawyer? That seems a little naïve for someone like you. You’re the one telling me how much is at stake.”

“Witt explained why it’s better to work it out between us, out of court.”

“Better for him, maybe,” Lock said. “Keep in mind that if you agree to a custody schedule now, even out of court, you’re Krazy-Glued to it. Unless there’s a significant change in circumstance, judges aren’t wild about altering existing schedules that aren’t causing major distress for the children involved.”

“See?” she said, her eyes lighting up as she sat upright and leaned forward. “That’s the kind of thing I didn’t know. Witt’s turned off my credit cards and let my checking account run dry. He knows what he’s doing.”

Lock made an entry in his notebook. “Get a lawyer as soon as you can. You need one. A good custody arrangement is obviously better for your daughters.”

Natalie shifted in her seat and rearranged her legs. His chest thumped again, and he thought of what she had told him, that she was so done with Witt that she had found a lover.

“But,” Natalie said, “he has every advantage. That’s what the fake complaint to your agency is really about. To screw me. He doesn’t play fair—reading my email, having people follow me. But I’m expected to stick to the rules.”

“Expected by whom?”

She didn’t have a ready answer for that. She hesitated. “By me…I guess. And I’ll get nothing. And the kids will be with a guy who doesn’t really care about them, isn’t involved with them, barely knows them. I deserve half of what he’s worth, but I’ll take forty percent to get it over with.”

Lock raised his eyebrows. “Why would he fight you?” he asked. “You say he’s worth thirty or forty million. How many steaks can a man eat?”

“He doesn’t care what it costs. All he wants is the win. And all I want is a quick out-of-court settlement so I can move on and focus on taking care of the girls. Like I said, not even fifty-fifty. I’m not unreasonable.”

The phone rang and Natalie ignored it. “Candice told me her parents had a nasty custody fight when she was in elementary school,” she said. “She says what’s important to husbands and wives might not matter to a judge, but things you think are too petty to bring up in court, judges might consider crucial. So I don’t know what to think or what to do.”

“That’s true. Judges view testimony and evidence subjectively. You never know what will resonate with them.”

“I’m a vegetarian and I raise my girls that way,” said Natalie. “But when Witt’s alone with the girls, I know for a fact he feeds them meat. To spite me. Would a judge care about that?”

“I doubt it. Yesterday, you mentioned you suspect that your husband drives with the kids in the car while under the influence of alcohol,” Lock said. “A judge would certainly care about that. But if you know your husband is drinking and you let him drive them, you’re complicit. Next time you think he’s DUI, call the police. Get it on record. You’re allowed to build a case, too.”

“All summer long, he dropped them at the pool at the club,” said Natalie. “He had Candice watch them and then he played golf, got loaded, picked them up, and drove them home.”

Lock made another note and put his pen down. “There you go. That’s an example of what plays well in court. A judge won’t like hearing that. But then again, there’s a flip side. You just described a guy who’s very involved with his children. A judge may care more about that than the drinking. It’s tricky. That’s why you need a lawyer.”

“He did have a fender-bender a few months ago. While drunk. But he didn’t even get a ticket—and now a Brandywine Township cop has 76ers season tickets. Our tickets.”

Lock picked up his pen again and made another note. She watched him. “Were the kids with him then?”

“No.”

“He gave a police officer your basketball tickets to tear up the DUI? I don’t know. Bribing a cop…that happens on TV a lot more than in reality.”

“All I know is he bragged about it that night. Remember, he wants to win, he doesn’t care what it costs. Now that the bribe could come back to bite him, he told me he was kidding about the whole thing. I called the captain of the police department a couple of weeks ago and he blew me off. Said I didn’t know the date of the accident or the name of the cop, and that no officer of his would even think about doing something like that. Then when he asked if Witt and I weren’t getting along, I hung up on him. Meanwhile, we haven’t been to a basketball game all year.”

She fidgeted, breathing deeply. She glanced at him, then looked down. “Calling the police on him when he’s driving drunk is a great idea,” she said. “Thanks for that.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not on your side or your husband’s side—”

“I know you have to be fair, Lock. But I know you’re on my side,” she said, smiling and looking down.

Lock smiled and sighed, then put his game face back on. “The only side I’m on is the children’s. Be smart. Don’t let him take the children when he’s intoxicated just so you can call the police on him. It’s your responsibility to make sure your children are safe at all times. No exceptions, no games. If he’s as bad as you say he is, he’ll give you plenty of opportunities to get him in trouble.”

“I never thought to call the police,” she said.

“Really?” He met her eyes. The sun shined through the solarium’s glass ceiling. He squinted.

“It’s like...I don’t want to be Witt, you know? He’s a world-class manipulator. No matter what’s going on, he’s looking for an advantage. When he suggested we handle the divorce ourselves, it seemed like the logical thing to do. Otherwise, what? I’d have to spend every minute trying to screw him over. Who wants to live like that?”

Lock shrugged and looked down at his notes. “I understand, but Natalie, now’s the time for you to start thinking like that. You have an idea of what’s best for your children, and you need to start acting on it. Like I said, make notes, report things that put your kids at risk, build a case.”

“Or maybe it’s that I’m too gullible,” she said. She got up and plucked a dead leaf from the stem of a magnificent sapphire-blue orchid. “I hear you. Now I feel guilty. I’ve been trying to take the easy way out, and that’s not good for the kids, either.”

“Being a parent, it’s pretty much feeling guilty for something every day, isn’t it? All you can do is try to do better tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. You have kids, then?”

Lock shook his head and looked down. “No.”

She walked to the loveseat, picked up the clipboard next to him, and sat down. She put the clipboard on his lap. Her bare leg brushed the material of his suit. She smelled of something wonderful.

He stood up, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling like a jerk. This is what he had wanted, but it was too soon. The children came first. What if he met Natalie’s husband and he turned out to be a good father? He didn’t think she would lie about it, but every divorce had two sides. He couldn’t start something with Natalie and still stay objective about what to put in his report.

She looked hurt, and he searched for the right thing to say. His eyes fell on the tree in the back yard. “Can I ask you a favor? Can I see the tree in your yard?”

She looked confused. “The albino? Why?”

“It’s a hobby. Like bird-watching. It looks like a redwood, but they don’t grow around here.”

“Lock, if you don’t think I’m…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You just looked so sad.”

“No,” he said, “it’s not that. You’re amazing. But I can’t think about that and do my job, too.”

“Rain check, then?”

“Rain check.” He smiled.

Her expression brightened, and she said, “Come on out back, then.”

He followed her to the tree, trying to feel good about doing the right thing, but it was hard. She said, “You’re right, the coast redwoods don’t do well in cold places. This one’s a dawn redwood, from China originally.
Metasequoia glyptostroboides
.” She pronounced the name carefully. Now he was impressed.

“Not
giganteum
or
sempervirens
,” Lock said. “I should have guessed that. How did it get this big, though? It has to be over a hundred years old, but with the white needles—”

“I know,” she said, an angry frown creasing her brow. “It was so unique, I looked it up. The parent tree used to be right there.” She pointed, and Lock saw a low mound on the lawn where the stump must have been ground out. “A branch from the other tree fell and hit the house, and Witt decided to cut the whole tree down. He did it out of spite.”