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“You do if you want to keep the girls. I did some research. Good custody attorneys are hard to find. She can pick and choose her clients.”
“All right. I guess there’s no harm in talking to her.”
A few minutes before five, I set the girls up at the kitchen table with their paper dolls and promise to cook them hamburgers on the grill if they’re quiet while I’m on the call. Sitting down at my desk in my study, I click on the link for the conference and wait ten minutes for the attorney to appear. Vanessa has black hair pulled in a tight bun and stark features that give her face a hard edge.
I expect her to get right down to business, but Vanessa surprises me when she says, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Darby. I frequently shopped at her boutique on my way to visit my parents in Florida, and I was saddened to hear about her accident.”
“Thank you,” I croak out past the unexpected lump in my throat. I’ve heard countless stories like this since Tracy’s death. She touched the lives of many. I wait until I trust my voice again before continuing. “And please, call me Will.”
She gives me a curt nod. “And I’m Vanessa. Now, down to business. I’ve spoken with opposing counsel. They are building their case against you based on your anger management issues.”
Heat flushes through my body. “Tracy’s parents are making that up. I don’t have any anger management issues.”
Vanessa arches a manicured brow. “Really? Because I’ve seen the video with the reporter outside the police station. It’s all over the Internet.”
“That reporter accused me of killing my wife. What was I supposed to do?”
“Walking away would’ve been a better choice.” Vanessa rifles through some papers on her desk. “And speaking of your wife’s accident. Tracy confided in her parents. According to them, she was terrified of you and planning to leave you.”
I fall back in my chair. “Sounds like you’ve already decided I’m guilty.”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate. Only you and Tracy know what happened on that boat.”
My gut hardens. “My mother passed away in May. So, I haven’t been in a good place these past few months. Is a guy not allowed to grieve?”
“Were you close to your mother, Will?”
“If you’re suggesting I was pretending to grieve?—”
Vanessa folds her hands on her desk. “I’m not suggesting anything, but I can tell you’re harboring a lot of emotions.” She hesitates, as though deciding whether to continue. “You shouldn’t have custody of young children if you’re struggling with anger issues.”
Her words strike a nerve, leaving me speechless and uncertain of how to reply.
Vanessa rants on, “The Beaumonts’ attorney was practically gloating about your short temper. She’ll use it to their advantage, and when she’s done, you’ll be painted as a villain. They are pushing for a speedy trial based on the potential danger for their grandchildren. I can convince the judge to delay, but only if you’re willing to seek help. At some point, you’ll need to have an extensive psychiatric evaluation. It’s the only way, Will. Otherwise, you’re going to lose your daughters.”
I look down as I swallow back tears.
“And there’s the matter of Bert.”
My head shoots up. “How do you know about Bert?”
“From the Beaumonts’ attorney. They plan to dredge up every bad thing you’ve done in your life, and they will drag your name through the mud. I’m one of the top custody attorneys in the Southeast. I didn’t get that reputation by losing cases. If you want to win, you have to do as I say. Take a couple of days to think it over. But don’t wait too long. Your in-laws mean business.”
ELEVEN
JULIA
Conrad and I load up our plates from the offerings on Myrtle’s breakfast buffet. Scrambled eggs, sausage links, and hash browns. Ham biscuits and toast slathered with fig preserves and mini muffins in fall flavors such as cranberry and pumpkin spice.
“My, you two sure are hungry this morning,” Myrtle says when she stops by our table.
“Yes, ma’am. You’re such a talented cook, we can’t help ourselves.” I don’t tell her this may be our last meal for a while. After three days of leaving Rick Harvey long-winded voice messages, he still hasn’t returned my call. At this point, I’m doubtful he ever will.
When we finish eating, we return to our room for our luggage and say a tearful goodbye to our new friend. I don’t have enough gas to leave town. What is left in my tank will run out soon, and we’ll be stranded wherever we land. The beach is as good a place as any. If we get desperate, I’ll break into one of the beach houses, now abandoned by owners who have returned to their everyday lives in other parts of the state.
I’m watching my son chase seagulls when I receive a call from Betty Bleaker at the preschool. “I have great news for you! One of our students has dropped out of the program. If you’re still interested, the spot is yours.”
Without thinking, I blurt out, “Thank you so much. When can he start?”
