Custody (32 page)

Dr. Lawrence leaned back in his chair, twiddling a pencil between his fingers. “So,” he mused, “we’ve got two fine adults, engrossed in their work, their significant work. One child, twelve years old. Two parents who both want full custody of the child. What’s the answer?”

“I suppose you could always, like Solomon, threaten to cut the child in half and give half to each parent.” Noting the startled expression on Dr. Lawrence’s face, Reverend Christopher hurried to add, “I don’t mean to be flippant. It often seems to me that this is what divorce does to a child, cleaves her in half. It would take the wisdom of a Solomon, Dr. Lawrence, to decide which parent should have custody. I do not have such wisdom.”

Dr. Lawrence nodded. “I’m grateful for your honesty.”

The minister rose from his chair, as thin and brittle as a magician’s wand that had telescoped and now was unfolding. The two men shook hands. At the door, Reverend Christopher turned back.

“It was Anne Madison who asked me to see you. It is Anne Madison whom I know best. I admire her enormously. I must stress that. I do admire her enormously. But she is a tough taskmaster. Most severe on herself. But the standards which she seeks—close to perfection—are difficult to attain.”

“Let me ask you this,” Dr. Lawrence suggested. “Do you think that Tessa is happy?” Reverend Christopher looked away. His mouth tightened. Then, reluctantly, he said, “No.”

The register called the first case. Judge Parsons said, “All right, counselors, what’s up?”

“I’m Tim Feldmar, Your Honor, representing the plaintiff, Georgina Weld.” Tim Feldmar was a young man in a rather wrinkled suit. He’d nicked his chin in several places and had dark circles beneath his eyes. Kelly would have bet fifty dollars there was a new baby in his home.

“Georgina Weld, Your Honor.” The wife spoke softly. Very plump, with lots of black hair back-combed to fright-wig volume, her face was marred by a swollen eye and bruises.

“Judge, I’m George Weld. I’m representing myself.” The husband was short, stocky, and muscular in the way of weight lifters. His jeans were filthy and ripped—not fashionably—and frayed at the cuff. His hooded sweatshirt bore signs of food, dirt, and something darker that
might have been dried blood. His hands were cuffed behind his back.

“George and Georgina, huh,” Judge Parsons said. “All right, let’s swear you in. Please raise your right hands. Mr. Weld, you raise your right shoulder.”

The register read the oath: “Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you shall give in the case now in hearing shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” said Georgina Weld.

“I do,” said George Weld.

Judge Parsons looked at her folder. “Okay. I see here we’ve got a motion for DNA testing. What’s that about?”

“Your Honor, may I speak?” George Weld said.

“Please do.”

“I have reason to believe, Your Honor, that my wife committed adultery and gave birth to a son that she claims is mine but is really the son of Landon Frank.”

“How old is this child?”

“One year, Your Honor.”

“One year. What makes you doubt your paternity now?”

“I found letters, Your Honor.”

“Go on.”

“You see, we was renting one house down on Fox Lane, and it sold, so we had to move, and I was packing up all our stuff and I found this box at the back of Georgina’s side of the closet, full of letters. They was love letters, Your Honor. And they was pornographic!”

“Were they dated?”

“They were, Judge. 1998 to 1999. My son—” Suddenly he turned bright red. “
Her
son, the baby, was born in July of 1999.” George Weld’s eyes filled with tears. His face looked as if he’d been set on fire.

Judge Parsons looked at Mrs. Weld. “What can you tell me, Georgina?”

Georgina swallowed. Her jeans strained over her corpulent thighs. Her red-and-black flannel T-shirt looked hot in the courtroom, and two sizes too small. Even without her bruises, she did not seem like a temptress, but by now Kelly had learned that temptation and desire raged in almost every heart.

“The baby’s his, Your Honor,” the wife said meekly. Desperately she added, “I
swear
it’s his.”

“Liar,” George Weld sneered.

“What about the letters from Mr., uh, Frank?”

Georgina went white. She swayed. She looked as if she were about to faint. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak.

“Okay, Mr. Weld,” Judge Parsons said calmly. “I think we’ll go ahead and order the DNA testing. For you, your wife, and your son.” She scribbled some notes in the folder. “Now,” she said, looking up, “it costs about three hundred dollars. Who’s going to pay for it?”

The husband snarled. “
She
should!”

“Do you have a job, Mrs. Weld?” the judge asked.

The wife shook her head. “I did. I stopped working when the baby came.”

“Do you two have a joint checking account?” When they both nodded, Judge Parsons said, “Then you’re to pay the costs from your joint checking account.”

“That’s not fair, Your Honor—she’s the whore!” the husband shouted.

“You’re getting your DNA test, Mr. Weld.” Judge Parsons peered at the other man, her face calm and patient, until the angry husband settled down.

“Now. Mrs. Weld. Mr. Feldmar. We’ve got a motion for temporary orders from you.”

Georgina Weld whispered.

“Speak up.”

“Your Honor.” Tim Feldmar took charge. “You can see for yourself that Mrs. Weld has been assaulted. Last night she came home from buying groceries to find her husband in a rage.”

“Wouldn’t you be in a rage if you discovered your wife was a whore?” George Weld shouted.

The judge made a not-now gesture with her hand.

“Mr. Weld accused Mrs. Weld of infidelity. He threw the shoe box at her, hitting her in the head. Then he slapped her, spat in her face, and when she tried to leave the room, tripped her so that she fell, hitting her head on the coffee table. He would have continued had not the neighbors, hearing the noise, intervened and called the police. When the police came, Mr. Weld refused to leave the house and had to be taken forcibly.”

Wearily Judge Parsons looked at the defendant. “What do you have to say, Mr. Weld?”

“In the first place, Your Honor, any man would lose their temper when he found out what I did. In the second place, a
shoe box
—you know how light those things are. I didn’t throw a knife or a heavy pot. And sure I tripped her, but how was I to know she was going to fall that way and hit her head? She probably did that on purpose to get sympathy. And of course, I
refused to leave the house. It’s my house. She’s the whore. She should leave. She can go live with—”

“All right, Mr. Weld. That’s enough.” Judge Parsons tapped a red fingernail against her lips. “I’m going to sign a 209A. Mr. Weld, you’re to stay away from your wife and your house for a month, until the results are back on your DNA tests.”

Weld’s face turned purple. “That’s not fair! It’s her fault! Why am I being punished?”

“Mr. Weld, you have a one-year-old child living in your home. Our first priority is the welfare of that child, and it’s in his best interests for the child to remain in his home, in the care of his mother. His mother won’t be able to take care of him if she’s disabled or in the hospital.”

“Where am I supposed to live?”

“I’m sure you have friends, Mr. Weld. There are always inexpensive residential hotels. Also, you’re going to have to go over to Superior Court now, to see what they want to do with you. You might not have to worry about where you’re going to stay.”

“That’s so bogus!”

“Mr. Weld.” Judge Parsons stared the man into silence. “I’ll see you and Mrs. Weld again, when the DNA results are in.”

“Dr. Madison? Dr. Lawrence will see you now.”

Mont entered the psychiatrist’s office, shook the man’s hand, and looked him over.

He was not impressed. The other man wore black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black vest. He looked like a late-night television comedian.

On the other hand, Mont reminded himself, he probably looked like an antiquated old fart. He’d lost so much weight recently that his summer-weight blazer hung from his bones like a sail on a windless day.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Madison,” Dr. Lawrence said. “And I want to thank you for coming in.”

“I’m glad to come. I’d like to do anything I can to help Tessa.”

“Could I offer you some lemonade? Coffee?”

“Thank you, no.”
Because I piss all the time as it is
, Mont added silently. He didn’t want to have to get up in the middle of the session.

“You’re a physician?”

“I am. General practice.”

“Not so many of those anymore.”

“No. No, these days people prefer to specialize. And with good reason. We have such amazing technological assistance.”

“Do you still practice?”

“No. Oh, no.” Mont shook his head. “Too old. Too forgetful.” Better not let him think I’m senile, Mont quickly told himself. “I’m thinking of writing a book.”

“Oh, yes?”

“About my forty years as a GP. Sort of an
All People Great and Small
sort of thing, only about humans.”

“Sounds good.”

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of changes in medicine in my lifetime.”

Dr. Lawrence nodded. “And, I suppose, a lot of changes in family life.”

“That’s true.”

“What would you say is the most significant change?”

Mont considered. “Well, I don’t know if I could single one out. I suppose first I’d say the general motility of people today. When I was young, people grew up, married, and lived where they were born. Near their families. About two decades ago, anyone who worked for a corporation had to go where the corporation sent them. These days people move where their interests lie: tech whizzes to California or Seattle, sun worshipers to the Southwest. Young kids move to big cities. So on. I consider myself fortunate that only one of my children has moved far away. Most of my friends’ children live clear across the country.”

“You and your son are close?”

“Yes, I think so.” Mont felt his face sag. “Randall was closer to his mother. She died this year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It’s been hard for all of us. I think Randall’s making an effort to spend time with me so I don’t feel lonely, and I appreciate that. He’s always been a good boy. Dutiful.”

“Yes. Randall seems to prize duty.”

Mont peered at the shrink. “That a bad thing?”

“Not at all. It’s just unusual. Duty isn’t something a lot of people even talk about these days.”

“Well, I don’t want to make him sound like a priss. He’s never been that.”

“No. But he has been—he is, I believe, idealistic. As is Anne.”

“That’s true. I’ll tell you one thing I think Anne and Randall have in common: they’re too hard on themselves. They both think they have to fix the world all by themselves, and in the process, they end up doing harm to themselves and those nearest them.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Mont slapped himself on the forehead. “Oh, Christ, what an old fool I am. I don’t mean
harm
.”

Dr. Lawrence smiled reassuringly. “I think I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” Mont shook his head. “You’ve met them both, right? They both have trouble seeing the trees for the forest.” He stroked his forehead. “Yes. That’s what I mean.”

“The individual gets lost in the larger picture?”

“Right.”

Dr. Lawrence leaned back in his chair. “You’re a doctor,” he said. “And you seem wise.”

“Well. I am a doctor,” Mont acknowledged with a smile. “Better leave it at that.”

“Tell me about Tessa. About Tessa and her parents.”

Mont pondered this a moment. “I had a sort of speech prepared, full of sound and fury, blasting Anne and praising Randall. Because I do want Randall to be given custody of Tessa. I
do
think that’s the best thing for her. But I find, now that I’ve gotten right down to the wire, that I have no real yearning to denigrate Anne. She’s been a good mother to Tessa. Assiduous in her caretaking. While Randall has been”—Mont cleared his throat—“a less than perfect father. Especially in the early years. Of course, that’s common. I mean, Anne, like many women, tended to believe she was the only person who could take proper care of Tessa when she was an infant. She was the kind of mother who hovered if someone else held the baby. When Madeline and I visited, when Madeline asked to hold Tessa, Anne was nearly in agony. She was always saying, ‘Don’t let her head droop,’ or ‘You’ve got the bottle tilted too far.’ I’m a doctor, and Anne was still terrified if I held Tessa. My theory—and you can bet Madeline and I discussed this a lot—was that Anne’s mother, Sarah—have you met Sarah?”