Cracks in the Sidewalk(34)

“Why would you ask such a question?” he stammered.

“I’m sorry,” Dudley apologized. “I only ask because it would help if I could show the court our need for expediency.”

“Oh.” Charles again hesitated. It was impossible to guess, so he simply parroted Doctor Sorenson’s words. “It could be a year, two years, maybe more. It depends.”

“Great,” Dudley said. “Great.”

~

The following morning Charlie told Elizabeth they’d made an appointment with the lawyer.

“Dudley’s confident we’ll be able to force Jeffrey to let you see the children,” he said.

“Wonderful,” Elizabeth said wearily.

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, but…”

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

For a long while Elizabeth said nothing.

“It breaks my heart to think this is the only way I can get to see my children,” she murmured. “It may not seem so now, but Jeffrey and I were once very much in love. Now he wants no part of me—not my broken body, not even my heart. If we could create these beautiful children together, how is it possible that he can hate me as he does?”

Charles eased his arm around Elizabeth and gently drew her to his chest.

Speaking with a deep sadness Elizabeth said, “It’s hard to accept that Jeffrey’s grown so hard-hearted that a lawyer has to force him to let me see my babies. I never dreamed—”

“It’s the things we think can never happen that hurt the most,” Charlie whispered. He held his daughter close so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.



On Monday morning Claire’s eyes popped open two hours before dawn, and she immediately began making a mental list of the things she’d tell Dudley Grimm. First of all, Jeffrey Caruthers was mean, selfish, and ill tempered. He was also unemployed and flaunting an underage mistress in front of his children. To Claire’s way of thinking, any one of those things provided sufficient cause for a judge to award custody of the children to Liz. And it was common knowledge that the court almost always awarded custody of children to the mother, in which case she would assist Liz and happily care for all three children.

Kimberly, she reasoned, could go into Liz’s old bedroom, David in the guestroom, and the sewing room could become a nursery for Christian. Naturally they’d need to redo those rooms, buy children’s furniture, night lights, toy boxes, stuffed animals, and such. That wasn’t a problem. To the list of necessities, Claire added a rocking chair and a baby monitor.

As she lay in bed waiting for daylight to creep across the horizon, Claire began to envision the smile that would brighten Liz’s face when the children bounded into the room to kiss her good morning. Claire had no doubt that asking for full custody of the children was the right thing to do. Children belonged with their mother. They belonged with a family who would teach them to love, not a father who’d use them as a means of fulfilling his own vendetta. By the time they arrived at the law offices of Cooper, Fletcher, and Grimm, Claire felt better than she had in weeks.

“Good morning, Dudley,” she sang out happily.

Dudley Grimm, a small dark-haired man with the expression of an undertaker, answered, “Good morning.”

Charles nodded and followed them into the conference room.

They settled around the table and Dudley opened his writing tablet. “Let’s start with an overview of everything that’s been going on.”

“The long and short of it,” Charles answered, “is that Liz’s husband refuses to allow the children to visit their mother.”

“For how long?”

“It began shortly after Liz started chemotherapy treatments late last year. She saw the kids once in October, and after that Jeffrey stopped bringing the children to the hospital. In November he broke off all communication, even phone calls. Then last month he told Claire he’d rather burn in hell than allow anyone in our family to see the kids.”

Dudley began writing. “Did he give any explanation for this behavior?”

“Jeffrey told Liz he thought it would be better for the kids if she didn’t spend time with them. He claimed he was trying to wean the children so they wouldn’t be so traumatized when she dies. That was last fall. Liz has probably seen the kids once or twice since then.”

“You realize,” Claire interjected, “that such an idea is ridiculous, especially since Liz is doing extremely well. A terminal diagnosis doesn’t necessarily mean a person is at death’s door. It simply means that whenever the person does die, it will probably be from that illness.”

“Oh. And Elizabeth,” he said, still scribbling notes. “Is she awake, coherent, able to converse with the children?”

“Of course,” Charles said emphatically. “Liz occasionally has short memory lapses, but it’s mostly insignificant, everyday things. When it happens, it only lasts a few minutes. She might not remember the name of a color or what to call a food, but she remembers everything about the kids. Even when she can’t tell you what day of the week it is, she can tell you what Christian weighed when he was born and the name of Kimberly’s favorite doll.”

“Good,” Dudley said without glancing up. “Very good. So am I correct in assuming what we’re looking for here is a court-mandated schedule of parental visitations for Elizabeth?”