“Yes. Both vehicles.”
He turns to Mike. “Then it's simple. Mr. Carson may have indicated that the vehicle is his alone, but that's clearly not the case.”
Mike glances at me. “All right.”
“Since the truck is joint marital property, the husband can accuse my client of vandalism all day, but the fact is she could burn down this property if she took the notion.” Graham smiles. “Not that I'd recommend lighting any fires. Am I right, officer?”
“Fair enough.” Mike sets his jaw and flips his notebook closed.
“Thanks.” Graham shakes his hand like they're old high school buddies at a reunion. “I'll take that.” He puts out a hand for the bat.
“Gladly. I've got plenty of work to do. Sorry to bother you, Ava. Again.” Mike hands it over and heads back to the squad car.
I motion furiously for Graham to come inside. “Can you please explain?”
“My pleasure.” His silver-gray eyes twinkle at me and I have to look away to concentrate on what he's saying.
Once he's inside, I shut the door tight and lock it. “What is going on?” I ask. “The bat was at Mitchell's apartment because Jack called and asked for itâsaid he wanted some stuff from home. It was a gift from Mitchell, a big deal. I was trying to be nice, so I brought it to him. How did it get in the Jeep?”
“How do you think?” Graham says slowly, shooting me an incredulous look. “Ava, really. Come on. Get real.”
“Mitchell?” My breath comes hard and fast. I am furious and in disbelief.
“I have proof. I actually may have a witness.” Graham says.
“What? Who?”
“Ava, it doesn't matter. Just like you . . . he can do what he wants to his own truck.”
“Yes, it does,” I argue back. “Mitchell is trying to set me up. Make it look like I'm some crazy person who's going around bashing in trucks for fun.”
“Of course. But since the Range Rover's in both your names, the police can't charge you with anything. It's joint property.”
What Graham is telling me finally sinks in.
“Don't get me wrong, I don't like the appearance of it. We don't need to give him any opportunities like this again.” Graham taps his fingers on the counter. “I assume you're going to keep the house, since he moved out. So get an alarm system. Change the locks. You might want to get an alarm on the Jeep. That might scare him away if he tries to mess with it. Park in public places. Stay around crowded areas. Don't ever be alone with him. I'm serious.”
“All right.”
“Get a new phone number while you're at it.” Graham nods at Sam and Jack's photo on the fridge. “And a cell phone for the kids. Program in your new number. No harm in that. Then you can talk when you likeâor at least while Mitchell's at work. And Jack can call you.”
Graham crosses his arms and looks at the bat.
“Especially if there's an emergency.”
“All right.”
“And the important thing right now is to stay calm. Don't let on to your husband or anyone else that we knowâor thinkâhe's done anything. Mitchell's attorney has our settlement offer, and there's a small chance that they might take it.” Graham gives me a stern
look. “We have mediation tomorrow. I need you to be tough. Keep it together, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“Good.” Graham nods. “We have to figure out how to beat Mitchell at his own game.” He pauses. “How are you holding up?”
I purse my lips, trying to stay strong. It doesn't help. My eyes fill with tears anyway. They're spilling over faster than I can wipe them away.
Graham grabs for a tissue and catches my elbow to steady me. “Avaâ” But he doesn't finish his thought. Instead, very carefully, he presses the cloth to my right cheek.
My pulse slows a little. I watch Graham's hand as he folds the tissue in half and dabs awkwardly at the left side of my face.
“I'm so sorry,” he murmurs. “You don't deserve this.”
We stand there in silence, Graham drying my tears, until I've cried all that I can for the moment. When I can breathe again, I inhale deeply, inches from his chest, almost absorbing his outdoorsy scent of leather, fresh air, and gravel dust.
From deep within me, I feel a surge of emotion. A mix of longing for human touch and a jolt of shame that I'm having those feelings at all. I am still married, after all. Graham is my attorney. My adviser. A professional. Nothing else. I won't beâI can't beâthe kind of woman Mitchell is painting me for the court.
I step back, shake my head. “Thank you,” I say. “I'm fine now. Really.”
Graham nods and frowns as his eyes meet mine. “Of course, Ava. The last thing I want to do is upset you any more.”
I shake my head. “You didn't. Thank you for coming. I thinkâI just need to be alone right now.”
“Of course.” Graham says a quiet good-bye, opens the front door, and walks back to the Harley. I watch him from the porch, my hands clinging to my shirtsleeves.
Halfway to the bike, he pauses, looks back at me, and flashes his signature grin. “By the way, nice swing set. The kids will love it.”
That makes me smile. “Thank you.”
“Get some rest,” Graham reminds me. “We've got a big day tomorrow.”
MONDAY, APRIL 19
The term
mediation
âon the surfaceâmeans that two parties should work together to find a mutually acceptable resolution. Play nice. Get along.
What a joke. Here's why: the court can order a couple to try and resolve their issues, but no one can force you to reach an agreement. There is the fact that you have to show up. And your attorney will nag you to make a good faith effort and work toward whatever is in the best interest of the children. So fine. Let's get it over with.
Douglas stands at the door of the arbitrator's office, adjusting his bright red tie. “Dr. Carson,” he says, beaming. He holds out an arm to show me the way to our cubbyhole closet, which connects to a joint conference area.
I walk past his Brooks Brothers suit and ignore his syrupy-sweet salutation. The room screams claustrophobia. It's stuffy and hot, poorly lit, and smells of dusty citrus potpourri. I want air-conditioning, a cold drink, and closure.
“Ava's on the other side of the building,” Douglas informs me. He's holding a copy of some official legal-looking letterhead. “They sent over a settlement offer this morning,” he explains and hands it over. He peers at me from above his glasses, which have
slid down his nose, no doubt from the humidity. “It's pretty damn generous.”
I stifle a laugh.
From my initial scan of the document, I see Ava is going for broke. No child support, no payments of any kind. Just the children. Sole custody. Her attorney makes reference to visitation whenever I “desire.”
Under the table, I curl and uncurl my fists. Fury burns in my veins. The proposal is a joke, an insult at best.
A knock at the door interrupts. Douglas jumps up. “It's time.”
The conference room, despite the palpable tension, is admittedly twenty degrees cooler.
Ava is already seated behind the expansive oak table. In her gauzy yellow sheath, hair pulled back, sans makeup, she looks young. Innocent. Every bit the victim. I grit my teeth. How appearances hide the truth.
When she bends her head to confer with her attorney, I study Graham Thomas, royal-blue tie slightly askew, shirtsleeves rolled up, and his longish hair in need of a trim. His leather jacket hangs from his chair, motorcycle helmet on the floor behind him.
I turn away when I notice the arbitrator stand. “Thank you for coming today. Let's get started.” He's thin, in his midsixties, and graying at the temples. After introducing himself, he goes through the ground rules and asks for questions. Douglas looks at me and raises an eyebrow.
“I don't have a question,” I begin. “But I have two comments.”
“Certainly.” The mediator smiles expectantly.
Pressing my hands flat on the table, I stand and hover over the small group. “First,” I pull out Ava's proposal and toss it down. It skids across the table like a sled on a snowdrift. Ava watches but doesn't make eye contact. “We won't be needing this.” I narrow my
eyes at her attorney. “Don't send me anything that insults my intelligence. I know what you're after.”
Douglas whispers for me to calm down. I ignore his pleas.
“Second”âI stand up straight and point a finger at Avaâ“stay the hell away from my truck, my apartment, and my children.”
To my surprise, Ava shoots back. “They're
our
children Mitchell. Jack and Sam. Sit down.” Her lawyer glances nervously at the mediator and touches her arm. Ava clears her throat. “Please sit down, Mitchell.”
“I will not take directions from you or anyone,” I shout and point a finger in Ava's face. “You've been lying to me since day one. I never should have believed a word you said.”
The mediator begins to get up and wave his arms as if he's directing air traffic on a runway. “Come nowâ”
I slam my fist on the table, shaking the ice in our water glasses. “She's dangerous and out of control! I have my rights!”
Douglas gets ahold of my elbow. “Excuse us,” he apologizes and drags me out the door.
Once outside, he explodes. “What in the hell do you think you're doing?” He blows out a breath of air and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you want them to think we're the crazy ones?”
“She's trying to ruin my life,” I retort. “I want a restraining order against that woman. Right now.”
“I'll work on it. But I can't promise.” Douglas folds his arms. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead. “I am going to ask you, though, to get ahold of yourself and get back in that room.”
My cell rings. I take it out and pretend to glance at the screen. An hour ago, I instructed Mary Grace to call in case there was no other escape route from this God-forsaken joke of a meeting.
I straighten my tie and smooth my sport coat. “You forget who's paying whom. I call the shots. Not you.” I narrow my eyes. “Am I
clear?” I jab at his shoulder for effect. A tap to let him know who's in charge.
Douglas reels back, off-balance. His glasses tilt. Douglas pushes them back on his nose with one finger. “Um, clear.” He begrudges me even that one word.
I walk away. And smile.
“I'm needed at the college,” I snap over my shoulder at Douglas. “Get me the order. Today.”
TUESDAY, APRIL 20
I want to escape, crawl into a secret place and close the door. Not hang out in Dr. Bennett's office.
Today I feel like Bruce Wayne, minus the zillion-dollar mansion and butler, Alfred. As Batman, he hides in the shadows, takes cover in the Batcave, and feels at home in the dark. He's a loner, an outlaw, but eventually takes on a sidekick, Robin. Together they outsmart the bad guys, take the law into their own hands, and trust no one. They can never reveal their true identities. If they did,
Game Over
.
So, like Bruce Wayne, I act normal, keep my guard up. Inside I'm Batmanâwatching, waiting, looking for clues. Trying to decide who's good or bad, who to believe. I have to look out for me and Sam. I'm not sure anyone else will or can.
Like Ava. Can she really fix anything? She only sees us once a week. This afternoon it's her time. One whole hour. I should be happy, like Sam, but my insides spin like someone's put me inside a smoothie machine.
“Hi, Jack,” she says, her whole face a smile once she sees us. She's wearing a dress, blue like the Caribbean Ocean I've seen on postcards, and a white bracelet Sam and I gave her last Christmas. My eyes sting when I see it, and I whisper hello back. I make my eyes
read words on the page, but they start to twist and dance. All I can see is that morning, seeing stacks of presents, the sound of red and green wrapping paper crinkling. The smell of eggs and brown sugar coffee cake is like heaven. In that moment. Ava's hand brushes my head. My dad laughs at Sam.
I choke. My throat goes dry, like I've swallowed dust. I shield my face with the comic book until Ava picks up my brother. After a half hour, I am still reading the same words. My back hurts from sitting still. One leg's asleep. I lower the book an inch and I peek at Ava. Like always, Sam clings to her side like Velcro, crumbled cookie in one hand. She starts reading, and I pretend not to listen, but Ava does the best silly voices when she reads from
Moo, Baa, La, La, La!
After
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
and
Green Eggs and Ham
, I look at the clock. It's already time for Ava to leave. She gets to her knees and unwraps Sam, who starts to whine. Ava murmurs to him, stacking blocks and arranging toys around his feet.
“Can you play with him?” Ava asks, blinking up at me, patting the rug, and rubbing the back of Sam's little overalls. She glances around the room. “Have you seen his fuzzy bear?”
I nod, put down the comic book, and drop to the floor. It takes me a few minutes, but I find Sam's favorite toy next to the bookcase where he left it. Handing it to him helps a little, but he's locked on Ava, red-faced, looking like he'll never see her again.
Ava opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She shakes her head, smiles a little, and moves her hand to her heart instead. She kisses Sam on the head, does the same to me, then slides something small and smooth into my hand. She takes a quick breath and whispers in my ear.
All of a sudden, my heart screeches to a stop. I'm mad at my
dad
. This isn't Ava's fault. She couldn't do anything. I reach for the blue of her dress but only catch air. She's already gone. The door clicks shut.
Sam cries harder and louder now, his yowls like an abandoned
kitten. Hands trembling, I slide Ava's gift into my pocket, lift him into my lap, and wrap my arms around him. He hiccups, and his tears wet my shirt, making a dark puddle. As I rock him back and forth, the first tear falls on my cheek.