The Swap(60)

My husband slid a print-out of the news story about Max’s paternity case across the polished walnut desk. “Maxime Beausoleil said, in court, that he’s sterile.”

We waited as the lawyer’s eyes roamed over the article. She read slowly, thoroughly, taking in every word, as Brian and I fidgeted in our seats, glancing at each other and back at her.

Finally, Brian said, “The baby has to be mine. The dates line up. And Max is infertile.”

“But we need to prove it,” I added. “Can we make them do a paternity test?”

Nancy finally looked up from the page. “You could take this to court. If there’s enough evidence, the judge might compel them to test the baby. But there’s still no guarantee you’d get custody rights or even visitation.”

Brian said, “Even if we prove she’s my daughter?”

I winced inwardly at my husband’s words. He didn’t mean to exclude me, but this was his fight.

“That would be a separate trial. The judge would want to determine the best interests of the child.”

“Freya and Max aren’t meant to be parents,” I interjected. “They never wanted kids. They’re . . . superficial and self-absorbed.” As soon as I said it, I realized how benign it sounded. Superficial and self-absorbed people reproduced all the time.

“Is the child in danger with them? Do they abuse substances? Is there violence in the home?”

We couldn’t mention the magic mushrooms without implicating ourselves. But Brian took another tack.

“Max has a violent history. He broke a man’s neck during a hockey game. The guy later overdosed on opioids.”

“I heard about the case,” Nancy said, sounding unimpressed. It was on the ice and in the past. It had little bearing on Max’s ability to be a dad.

“Freya told me he picks fights in bars,” I added quickly. “He feels like he deserves to be punished, so he instigates things and then he doesn’t fight back. I saw his black eye.”

Nancy nodded slowly. “It sounds like you might have a case.”

My heart leaped. Brian reached over and squeezed my fingers.

Nancy said, “I don’t go to court anymore since I moved here, but I can refer you to a colleague on the mainland.” She reached for a pen and paper, but then paused. “Pursuing this will be expensive. Trial lawyers charge upward of four hundred bucks an hour. You’ll need to travel to hearings, stay in a hotel. It will be a significant financial outlay.”

My eyes flitted to my husband, and despair reflected back at me. We couldn’t afford a lengthy court battle in another city. Brian had handed in his manuscript and received another installment of his advance, but it was just enough to live on until business picked up at the store. We didn’t have the resources to fight for this child.

Nancy clocked our concern. “Alternatively, you could do what they call a curiosity test.”

“What’s that?” Brian asked.

“If you can get access to the baby, you can do a cheek swab. You send it off to a lab with your DNA. The results won’t be admissible in court, but they might give you leverage with the mother.”

“Freya’s not a reasonable person,” Brian said. “She already knows this baby is mine, but she refuses to acknowledge it.”

“Maybe presenting her with scientific evidence will change her mind,” Nancy offered.

“It’s worth a try,” I said hopefully.

“It’s not.” Brian’s contradiction was curt. “And we don’t have access to the baby, anyway.”

Nancy let a breath out of her nose. “Court is going to cost you—a lot of money and a lot of hours. By the time you get a result, the child could be a couple of years old. It could be difficult to form a bond with her.”

Panic fluttered in my chest and tears pooled in my eyes. We were so close to having a child, a little girl who was biologically Brian’s baby. And the opportunity was being ripped away from us. Pressing my lips together to quell my emotions, I stood. “Thanks,” I managed to mumble, “We’ll discuss it.” And then I bolted for the door.

? ? ?

Brian joined me outside minutes later, where I stood blowing my nose and swiping at my tears.

“You okay?” he asked, rubbing my back.

“We can’t lose this baby because we don’t have enough money to fight for her,” I said. “Nothing is more important than Maggie.

My husband ran his hands through his cropped hair. “I could ask my brother for a loan. . . .” Brian’s brother was a tech multimillionaire in Silicon Valley. He was also an arrogant douche.

“How would you explain it?” I asked. “I got my wife’s best friend pregnant while I was high on ’shrooms, and now we want access to the baby.”

Brian did not laugh. “I’ll make something up.”

“How will you write your next book? How will I run the store? Even if we prove the baby is”—I stopped myself from saying ours—“yours, we might need a second trial to get custody or even visitation.” I stuffed the snotty tissue into my pocket. “We need to work this out with Freya and Max. We can do the curiosity test. Once we prove, beyond a doubt, that you’re the father—”

My husband cut me off. “They know I’m the father, Jamie. Max is sterile. He can’t have children. We’re not dealing with reasonable people here.”