Whisper Me This(99)

This is the problem with logical, decision-making people. I would have run off with the papers, made up a lie. Protected my daughter as long as I could. But it’s too late for any of that now, so I let her read the papers.

Meanwhile, Marley is busy laying out battle strategy. “Of course we’ll fight this. Doesn’t Walter have an attorney? Maybe that Tony guy has some connections. He’s a firefighter, right? They’re tight with the cops. We need a judge we can corrupt. Or—”

“Don’t I get any say in this?”

Elle’s voice stops us cold. She lays the envelope on the step and the papers on top of it, squaring them all precisely before she looks up at me.

Her face looks remote, her eyes cold, and my heart freezes. What if I’ve been delusional all this time? What if the things Greg says about me as a parent are true, and Elle would rather live with him?

“You might,” I tell her, tuned to her reaction. “I’m sure the judge will ask. But that’s probably not the deciding factor.”

“Well that’s just stupid,” she says. “This whole thing is stupid.”

“Elle. He’s your father.”

She stares at me. “What the hell? You’re going to give me the respect-your-father lecture now, when he’s pulled this shit? Then you’re just stupid, too.”

I freeze, mouth hanging open, not sure whether I should begin with the swearing or the disrespect to her father or her disrespect to me.

Marley, on the other hand, applauds her. “Attagirl,” she says. “No abusive asshole is ever going to hoodwink you.” Before I can remonstrate, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Maisey, go easy. You think the girl doesn’t know any swear words? If there was ever a time to say them, this is it. Also, if you believe one word of that trash he wrote about you, then Elle is right. You are stupid.”

Between the two of them, on top of what I’ve just read, I’m pretty much incapacitated. Elle comes to sit beside me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have called you stupid.”

I put an arm around her, and she leans her head on my shoulder. “I love him,” she says. “But I don’t understand him. And I want to stay with you.”

Her words thaw the frozen place inside me. I plant a kiss on top of her sun-warm hair, breathe in the smell of her—shampoo and soap and cotton. In that moment, all my rationalizations flee. To hell with the notion that a girl needs her father. If he’s going to behave himself, sure. But she doesn’t need to grow up believing it’s okay to be discounted, belittled, slapped for having opinions.

I’ll run away with her, if I have to.



Dad, as it happens, has an attorney and invites him over for battle planning. Geoff Jenkins is about my father’s age, but there’s nothing of softness in his eyes or his face. He carries himself erect and with confidence and declines the slice of pizza Elle offers him.

“This is not a social call,” he says. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to business.”

“Hang on a sec,” I say. “Marley?” She understands what I’m asking without me saying the words.

“Come on, Elle. Pizza is better outside.”

Elle looks torn. “Maybe I should stay here.”

“You need to go,” I tell her. “Please, Elle.” I say please, but she knows I mean it and will insist. To my relief she doesn’t push the issue. Maybe she doesn’t want to be caught in the middle any more than I want her to be there.

“All right,” she says, finally. “But don’t try to pretend you’re not just getting rid of me. You sure you don’t want any, Mr. Jenkins?”

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

As soon as the door closes, Dad turns to him. “Well? What do you think, Geoff?”

“I think we have a good case. Custody tends to favor the mother, and Maisey has been the custodial parent from the beginning. The parents are not and never have been married. In addition, I took the liberty of pulling the original parenting plan. It was filed here. So we’ll start with the request that the venue be here in Colville.”

“Is that likely?” I ask. “Greg is an attorney and has connections.”

“And I am an attorney and also have connections,” Geoff says drily. “I also have the advantage of older and deeper connections than his. I suspect the judge will not be interested in a change of venue.”

I absorb this information with the first real glimmer of hope I’ve felt since being served the court order.

Geoff continues. “Your job is to collect written statements from teachers and friends who are likely to feel you’ve done a good job parenting your daughter. Is his name on the birth certificate?”

“No.”

“Good,” he says, scribbling. “Any chance she might be someone else’s child?” He peers up at me over his glasses.

“What? No. God, no. Greg is her father.”

“This is not about morality,” he says. “In this case, we could wish you had been promiscuous. However, he will have to prove paternity. Anything else?”

“Violence,” Dad says. “Tell him, Maisey.”

Geoff’s face lights up. “He hits you? Domestic violence can play in the mother’s favor, at least if you have protected the child.”