Custody (18 page)

Kelly nodded. “So custody goes to the father?”

“I also watch for what I call ‘Red Lights.’ Kicking the dog, for example. Heavy drinking. Bringing a new girlfriend to each school event, just to drive the ex-wife crazy. It’s easy, of course, if there’s one obvious flaw, but in most cases you’ve got to pay attention to every little bit. In this case, the father doesn’t have one single glaring fault. So it’s like putting a jigsaw puzzle together. In most divorces, the parents aren’t thinking of their children. They’re all wrapped up in their own misery or revenge. It’s our job to consider the children. We always have to rule in the best interest of the child.”

“So how will you rule in this case?”

“I usually award custody to the mother unless she’s a monster. For this case, joint legal custody, with sole physical custody to the mother. The kids are still young. They’ve got to have stability—someone to cook their oatmeal and pick them up after school—and the father just can’t do that if he’s out traveling for two weeks at a time. He’ll have liberal visitation rights and a say in matters of education, medical care, religious and moral development, and so on. If he settles down, marries again, establishes a permanent, stable home environment, he can always come back to court to get the arrangements changed. And I’ll tell him so.”

When the waitress returned, Judge Spriggs ordered a double espresso. “I’ve got to go back to my office for an hour or so. I’m behind in my cases.”

“Is there any way I can help?”

“Thanks, but no.” She downed her espresso, scribbled her signature on the charge form, snatched up her credit card, and stashed it in her purse. “Let’s go.”

As they walked back toward the courthouse, Judge Spriggs said, “You’ve got to remember, this is the most human of courts. Criminals know the ramifications of going to jail. People who come to probate, both sides, probably feel like they’ve just been hit by a ten-ton truck. My motto: Power should be used to ease the pain of others. See you tomorrow, kid.”

“Yes,” Kelly replied, breathless. “Tomorrow.”

“Dr. Madison. Hello. Thank you for coming in.”

Randall shook the shrink’s hand, sizing up the other man, as he knew Lawrence was doing to him. Lawrence was smaller than Randall—most men were—and younger. But he had the eyes of an old soul. Randall had noticed in med school that he could almost always peg the ones going into psychiatry, either by their hyperactive chatter or the alternate—their sense of nearly fatal calm and those old-soul eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive my appearance,” Randall said, sinking into the chair the shrink had indicated. “I was up most of the night. A patient died of asphyxiation—from a rope around his neck.”

“A young person?”

“No, an elderly man. Friend of my father’s, actually. Everyone loved him, the nurses are just demented with grief and blaming themselves, it’s a real sad sight out there.” He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling his beard bristle against his palms, and up through his hair. Then he stared at Lawrence.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’ve had enough to float a ferry. With the nurses. They called me at four, when Amy discovered him. He’d hung himself by the sash of his robe from the light fixture. Pat knew he had Parkinson’s, and his wife was dead, and all his kids had predeceased him. He’d just moved himself into the retirement home. But he seemed to be making friends. He joked with the nurses. I drove my dad out to visit him just last week. Dad thought Pat was going to do all right. He was only seventy-three.” Randall shuddered. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Going on like this. I apologize.”

“No need to apologize. It sounds like a tough night. Did you have to tell your father?”

“Yes.” Randall shook his head. “He took it hard. My mother died just three months ago.”

The psychiatrist was quiet, in respect.

Randall roused himself. “But you want me to talk about Tessa.”

“Yes.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Everything. Tell me about her.”

“Have you met her yet?”

“Not yet.”

Randall smiled. “You’ve got a treat in store. She’s bright and witty, and she’s got an amazing mind. I mean more than intelligence. She’s creative. Thoughtful. One day when she was about six, she asked me, did trees talk to telephone poles? Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

Smiling, Dr. Lawrence shook his head.

“Well, that’s what she’s like. Surprising. Clever. She makes me think of that Wordsworth poem, you know, trailing clouds of glory, the child being father to the man—I mean, she’s
wise
. And she’s so incredibly open. She loves animals. Loves to ride. Loves everything, really.”

“It sounds as though you and your wife have done a good job with her so far.”

Randall pondered this. “To be honest, it’s been more Anne than me who gets the credit. She stayed home until Tessa went to kindergarten; she did all the diapering, feeding her organic food, that kind of thing. Oh, I suppose I walked her sometimes at night when she was crying, but Anne did the major work.”

“And yet you don’t want Anne to have custody of Tessa.”

Randall leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped between them. “That’s right. I believe Tessa would be better off with me, and I’ll fight for that.”

“Why?”

“I think I can provide Tessa with a wider world, for one thing. Anne doesn’t like sports, swimming, horses, that kind of stuff, and Tessa does, and I think she needs that. I’d let her have a computer, too, and I’d let her watch television—Anne is afraid, and she does have reason, that the popular culture is too violent for Tessa. But we can’t keep her in a china cabinet. We just need to keep talking to Tessa about stuff, not hiding it from her.”

Dr. Lawrence looked down at his notes. “What about the whole issue of sexuality?”

“What about it?”

“Well, for one thing, Mrs. Madison says you’re promiscuous.”

Randall slumped back in his chair, looking infinitely weary. “Anne has reason to say that. For years I
was
promiscuous. I don’t deny that. But for the past year, ever since I served Anne with divorce papers, I’ve been abstentious. Completely.”

“Because?”

“Because I don’t want to give Anne any ammunition, of course,” Randall shot back.

Dr. Lawrence nodded. “How do you see your future?”

Randall straightened. He looked the GAL in the eye. “I want to have a woman in my life. A real flesh-and-blood woman I can love. I want to get married again. I want to have more children. I want Tessa to have brothers and sisters. I want her to have a dog and a cat that shed so much our black coats turn white. I want her to see me kiss someone and hear her say, ‘Eeeu, gross,’ and know she feels secretly happy. I want to provide a role model for her of a normal loving family, and I think that can happen if she lives with me and I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening with Anne.”

“Okay.” The shrink looked down at his notes. “It seems you work a lot. Can you tell me your weekly schedule?”

“I’m on the staff of Mt. Auburn. I make rounds there about six in the morning—”

“Which means you’re up and out of the house around five?”

“Right. Rounds from six till eight-thirty. Over to my office in Cambridge from nine till twelve. I’m on the consulting staff of Shady Dale’s retirement home—where Pat was. I try to get over there from twelve to two. Back to the office from two to five. Over to Shady Dale from five to seven or so.”

Dr. Lawrence scribbled something on his pad. He looked over at Randall. “So you’ve got a thirteen-hour workday.”

“I guess I do. Or have had.”

“Saturdays?”

“Then, too, unless I have Tessa.”

“You’re on some boards? American Academy of Geriatrics? And you also write and deliver papers—”

“I’ve already resigned from the boards. I’m easing out of my hours at the retirement home. Look, Dr. Lawrence, whether or not I get custody of Tessa, I’m curtailing my schedule drastically. I’m limiting my work. If I get custody of Tessa, I absolutely will put her first. I’ll attend every cheerleading practice or Girl Scout ceremony or baseball game, whatever draws her
passion. I’ll drive her to school and pick her up. I’ll get her a new horse. She loves to ride, and my father’s horses aren’t much sport.”

Lawrence looked up at the ceiling a minute, considering, and then said, “Mrs. Madison feels that since Tessa’s female, she’d be better off with her mother. That’s not an unreasonable thought. What do you say?”

“I say Tessa would be better off with me. You’ve met Anne. She’s a paragon of virtue. She’s determined to do good in the world, but what she demands in return is that everything in her life, every single thing, be clean, and tidy, and immaculate. No nasty hungers for booze or chocolate or sex. No music too loud, no emotion too powerful.”

“For example?”

“For example, it’s crucial to Anne that Tessa be thin. The result is, Tessa is almost malnourished. Wait until you meet her—you’ll see for yourself. Of course, she wants to please her mother, but the cost is just too high. I want Tessa to be able to eat junk food. Now and then. Not every day. It can just be part of normal life. That’s what I want for Tessa, a normal life.”

“What about the issue of sexuality? Tessa’s twelve—”

“Well, for one thing, Tessa learned about the whole reproductive business from my mother, on the farm. Tessa saw horses mate, and dogs, and chickens. She saw puppies born. Tessa knows a lot, and she’s comfortable with it.”

“But there’s a difference between farm animals and a young girl.”

“Oh, yes, I realize that. There’s also a difference between a young girl and a porcelain doll. I can assure you that what Anne tells her is going to need an opposing side to balance it out. Somewhere along the way Anne got the idea that sex is dirty, that normal human desire is bad. I don’t want my daughter turned into a breakable porcelain doll, and if my wife gets custody of her, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“You sound angry with Mrs. Madison.”

“Angry?”
Randall considered this. “Yes. I suppose I am.” He sighed deeply. “Anne can deal with her own standards. But she’s the only one who can. Tessa should be with me.”

Lawrence wrote something on his pad. “Okay. Our time’s almost up. I’ll be seeing Tessa this week, and let’s see—” He scanned his list. “I’ll be interviewing Carmen, the housekeeper, and your father. Oh, yes, and Mrs. Madison asked me to speak with Reverend Christopher. On your way out, why don’t you make an appointment for another interview with me in about ten days.”

“Fine.” Randall rose and extended his hand. “You’ve got a difficult job.”

Dr. Lawrence shook Randall’s huge paw. “Not so difficult this time around. I mean,” he hastened to add, “Tessa is fortunate to have two capable parents who love her and want her. Not every child who comes in here has that. Often the courts have to decide between two evils. In this case, it’s been two goods.”

“That’s heartening.” Randall said, and went out the door to make his appointment with the secretary.

Friday it rained. The gray skies and plummeting temperatures echoed the mood of Judge Spriggs’s court as one long and contested battle began between a couple fighting over every possible issue: division of property, alimony, child support, custody of the children. The couple was rancorous and bitter, the lawyers oddly also antagonistic, and each litigant had brought a cluster of friends and relatives who sat at the back, on opposing sides of the courtroom, smiling, snorting, scoffing, and rolling their eyes to indicate their scorn of their adversaries’ words.

Finally the wife’s lawyer said, “Your Honor, my client is being intimidated by Mr. Herbert’s relatives. His sister and brother, especially, are laughing every time she speaks.”

Judge Spriggs sighed. “All right, counselor.” She peered out into the courtroom. “Mr. Herbert and, uh, what’s your name—?”

Register Wickes supplied the name. “Mrs. Anders.”

“Mrs. Anders. Would the two of you please do me a favor and separate? Mr. Herbert, you go sit on the left side of the pew, and Mrs. Anders, the right.”

Curling their lips, the pair did as they were asked, almost.