Cracks in the Sidewalk(33)

“Yes. He said he’d call the police if I came back again.”

“Police? He has no cause to—”

“He said I was destroying his property.”

“Destroying what property?”

“The front door. Not the whole door, just the brass knocker and a little bit of wood.”

Charlie’s face had a question all over it. “What did you—”

“I hit it with your sledgehammer, okay? I didn’t plan to do it, it just happened. I took it with me. If Jeffrey had answered the door, I would never have done it. I just wanted to talk to him. I thought maybe we could—”

“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Charlie still looked bewildered. “You hit Jeffrey’s door with the sledgehammer?”

“Yes, but just so he would open the door. When I saw that flashy red car in the garage and him moving around upstairs, I lost my temper.”

“Why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?”

“I did, for nearly twenty minutes. When he wouldn’t answer, I hit the door with the sledgehammer. Only once,” she added. “To show him I meant business.”

“Once, twice, or ten times is unimportant,” Charlie said. “It’s still against the law.”

“But if I didn’t do it, he wouldn’t have opened the door.” Claire then proceeded to tell how she’d asked for Liz’s personal belongings.

“JT said okay, but all he sent were her clothes bagged up like sacks of garbage and dumped in our driveway.”

“He didn’t send anything else?”

“No.” Claire related Jeffrey’s conversation with Liz in the hospital, told how he’d tried to get her to sign the house over, and the threat he’d ultimately made.

“He intends to make good on that threat, because in those bags there was not one thing of value. None of the fur coats, not Liz’s engagement ring, not her Rolex, not one piece of jewelry, not even the leather luggage we bought for her.”

“That’s what this is about? You want to sue Jeffrey because of Liz’s jewelry?”

“No, those things mean a lot to her, but they’re not the issue. If Jeffrey’s doing what he threatened, he’s probably already sold the jewelry. We need a lawyer so we can force him to let Liz see the children.”

“How can he not let her see the kids?” Charles asked angrily. “She’s their mother. Jeffrey might decide he’s not going to allow us to see the children, and we’d be helpless to do anything about it. But for one parent to take children away from the other parent without a court order is illegal.”

“Illegal or not, he’s doing it.”

Before she could say anything else, Charlie picked up the telephone and began to dial.

“Dudley,” he said, addressing his long-time friend, “we’ve got a confrontational situation with Elizabeth’s husband, and we need some legal help.” Charlie explained how after delivering Christian and leaving the hospital, Liz had come back to live with him and Claire. “Now her husband refuses to allow the children to visit their mother.”

“On what grounds?” Dudley asked.

“No grounds. He just ignores her requests to see the kids.”

“Have either you or Claire approached him about this?”

Charles swallowed hard. “Claire has.”

“And what was his response?”

“He said he’d sooner burn in hell than have the kids see Liz.”

“Whew, that’s quite a response,” Dudley said. “Has he got any credible reason for feeling that way? Abuse, anything like that?”

“Good Lord, no! Liz is a wonderful mother. The kids adore her, but Jeffrey claims that seeing her would not be in their best interest.”

“Why?”

“Because Elizabeth—” The remainder of the words stuck in Charlie’s throat. He hesitated for a moment then continued, “—has a brain tumor that’s terminal.”

“Elizabeth?” Dudley gasped. “What? How?”

“They discovered a malignant growth last summer.”

“But surely they can do something to—”

“No, they can’t,” Charles said. “The tumor is located on the hypothalamus, so it’s inoperable.”

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Dudley stammered a string of sympathies. “I’ll help you in every way I can,” he said, “but family law is not my specialty.”

“I’m aware of that,” Charlie answered. “But you’ve known Liz for most of her life, and I can’t think of anyone I’d sooner trust to look out for her best interest.”

“That much, I can guarantee you.” Dudley scheduled a meeting for Monday morning. “I’ll move on this immediately and petition the judge for accelerated action. Can you give me some idea of how long Elizabeth’s got?”

The question came at Charles like a thunderclap. For more than a year he’d struggled through the days, crowding his hours with lengthy business meetings and conferences, never daring to consider the future, never facing that there could be a last and final day of Liz’s life. Elizabeth was seriously ill—okay, terminal. But terminal was not definite. It was vague, a shadow loitering on the far edge of the future, not something that forced a father to predict the remaining number of days in his daughter’s life.