Custody (34 page)

As parents, they were strangely aloof. Anne was so exceedingly healthy, pretty, intelligent, and fortunate in every way that they could hardly bring themselves to have any interest in her at all. Of course, they never would have put it quite that way, but that was the way it had always felt, and still felt, to Anne.

“Mother,” she’d asked at the beginning of this summer, “why didn’t you leave bedrooms for me and Tessa? Or at least one bedroom. Don’t you want us to visit?”

“Of course we do,” Sarah shot back. “Don’t be silly. But
you
can afford to stay in a hotel. And you must admit you can’t come down very often, not with the campaigning you’ve got to do. It would be a terrible waste to keep one room empty just in case you wanted to use it for a few days scattered over the entire summer, when the room could be put to more worthwhile use. It will make the difference in someone’s life, and in their family’s lives as well.”

Anne agreed with her mother intellectually, but secretly she felt slighted, resentful, even angry. She’d thought Randall’s desertion would arouse some kind of protective sympathy in her mother’s heart, but not so. Apparently a divorce was not a grand enough tragedy. She’d imagined that her campaign for state representative would draw her parents’ attention and admiration.
She’d envisioned discussing strategies with her parents, and goals to work toward. But her representation of her district, healthily although not stunningly prosperous in its quiet way, was obviously not crucial enough to lure their eyes her way. Not that she was doing all this simply to gain her parents’ respect. She
wanted
to do this kind of work, she
believed
in it with all her heart and soul, and she would attempt with every dram of energy in her constitution to make a difference in the world, whether her parents ever noticed or not.

It would be just a bit nicer if her parents noticed.

What made it all even worse was Randall’s announcement that he was going to live with his father. How much more clearly could Randall announce that
his
father cared for Tessa, while Anne’s parents scarcely remembered she existed? Now he could inform the judge that there would be, in
his
home,
two
adults to care for Tessa, and both of them physicians. Furthermore, Mont was retired. He would be at home, all the time, he would be a parent available at any moment, no matter how busy Randall was. While Anne had only Carmen to act as another adult in the home, and Carmen, of course, had her own family who came first in her affections and in her priorities, no matter how much she might care for Anne and Tessa.

She had to find a way to offset the advantage Mont would provide Randall as caregiver. She had to think.
Think
.

For one thing, it couldn’t be good that both Randall and Mont were men, when Tessa was female. Surely a twelve-year-old girl needed to be with a female parent more than with a male. Yes,
that
was the tack to take. And furthermore, Mont was
old
. Perhaps not senile, not yet, but perhaps not altogether capable these days, especially with the recent death of his beloved wife. She ought to investigate this. She ought to pay Mont a visit. Mont had always liked her, or at least he had seemed to, while Madeline had been, Anne felt, a bit cool. A bit judgmental. Well, more than that, really—there had been times when Anne and Madeline had argued rather fiercely over the way Madeline let Tessa play with her filthy animals in that filthy barn. Anne hadn’t been at all sad when Madeline died. If anything, she’d felt relief.

But Mont liked her. Mont was a kind and reasonable man. Anne would visit him sometime, sometime when she knew Randall wouldn’t be around to interrupt them. Perhaps she could even persuade Mont to be on her side about this child custody matter. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Anne adjusted and aligned the objects on her desk a final time. She stared at her empty appointment calendar and quiescent answering machine as if the sheer force of her desire would make writing appear on the page and spur the red light into furious blinks. The house was as
quiet as death all around her.

Still, she felt better. She’d made some good decisions. She would shower; then she’d take Tessa to a movie. They hadn’t done that, or anything, just the two of them, for a while.

She was heading down the hall toward the stairs when the front door opened and Tessa ran in.

“Hey, Mom!”

As she did every day after camp, Tessa looked, in her blue shorts, white T-shirt, and sneakers, as disheveled and filthy as a homeless person. Perhaps Anne ought to take a photograph of Tessa like this and send it to Sarah, perhaps
that
would arouse her interest in her grandchild.

“Don’t say
hey
, Tessa, that’s vulgar. Say hello. Or hi. You look like you’ve spent a lot of time in the sun today.”

“I did. Tennis in the morning, swimming in the afternoon, and we got our photos back from Youssif. Mine are so cool, want to see them?”

“Why don’t you shower first?”

“Mom.”

“I don’t want you to track dirt through the house.”

“Mom, I’m not
dirty
. I’ll take them into the kitchen. Anyway, Carmen will clean in there tomorrow morning.”

Tessa headed down the hall, blond braids bouncing against her back, loose curls spiraling around her ears. Anne inhaled sharply. Ever since she’d turned twelve, which was pretty much parallel to the time when Randall said he wanted a divorce and moved out of the house, Tessa had become more forward. Not
antagonistic
, but
assertive
. Probably it was just part of growing up, but Anne didn’t care for this new development any more than she did the approaching sexual issues they were going to have to deal with sooner or later.

Reluctantly she followed her daughter.

Tessa slid a group of photographs from a manila envelope onto the table. They were all black and white, many out of focus. Grass. Ferns. Leaves. A bunch of white poles.

“Those are legs, Mom. Can you tell? I did a study of legs. Shins.
Shins
is a funny word,
isn’t it? Anyway, I think it’s cool. I’m going to hold a contest to see who can guess whose legs are whose and the winner gets—oh, I don’t know, help me think of a prize. I mean, could you identify your own shins from a group?”

Anne plucked a photograph from the pile. Her words came out stiff, loud. “What is this, Tessa?”

Tessa looked. “Oh, I didn’t take those. Chad and Tracy did.”

“Tessa. These look … pornographic.”

Tessa laughed. “Mom! What are you talking about?”

“What were you doing here? Lying on the ground. What was this boy doing to you?”

Tessa got very quiet. “I was lying on the ground because I was photographing the underside of leaves. I was trying to get a new perspective.”

“And here? Where this boy is trying to push your shirt up?”

“He wasn’t trying to—”

“Look at these, Tessa! Look!”

Anne fanned the photos out on the table. In one shot the boy was absolutely
straddling
Tessa, one leg on either side of her writhing body. His hands were on her waist. Tessa’s legs bent toward her belly, her back curled up, thrusting her breasts forward, her neck arched toward the margin of the paper, ending with her open mouth in a grimace. She could have been laughing, but she could have been screaming.

“He was just tickling me, Mom.” Tessa’s voice was very small.

“How can you be so sure? You know nothing about men. Nothing about boys and what they like to do.”

“Chad’s my friend.”

“You think a boy his age wants friendship from a girl like you? These are very disturbing photos, Tessa. Has your camp counselor seen them?”

“Yes. He was the one who got them developed, and he commented on all of them.” Tessa reached out to take the photographs. “If you hate them so much, I’ll throw them away.”

“Oh, I think not.” Anne snatched the photos. “I think Mrs. Allison should see these. I want an explanation.”

“No, Mom! I gave you an explanation! We’re not doing anything wrong!”

“If you believe that, you’re naïve.” Anne tapped the photos into a tidy pile and slid them back into the envelope. “I’m going to take these to Mrs. Allison.”

Tessa, sobbing, reduced to a child, implored, “Mom,
don’t
, please. It would totally
humiliate me.”

Anne studied her daughter. “Either that, or you drop out of camp.”

“But Mom, I love it!”

“We’ll arrange for you to have private tennis lessons.”

“No, Mom, come on! I have friends there! I have fun there!”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Tessa. You have to trust my judgment. I’m the adult here, and responsible for your health and welfare, and I can see things happening here that you are just too young to understand. I’m doing this for your own protection.”

“Mom,
please
.” Tessa was wild with crying, her entire body shaking.

“Calm down, Tessa. You’re becoming overwrought. Go shower. That will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax! I want you to—”

“Tessa.”

“I
hate
you!” Tessa screamed suddenly. “I don’t want to live with you anymore. You’re weird and crazy and mean! I want my
real
mother!”

Anne went white.

Tessa couldn’t stand the way her mother looked now, her face naked with misery, so she turned and raced up the stairs, as if she could outrun the pain.

Tessa showered a long time. The noise of the water fell around her like a refuge, obliterating all other sounds in the house. She was nearly ill with sadness and self-hatred. The way she looked in the photo made her sick to her stomach.

Worst of all was the fact that, in a way, her mother had been right. When Chad tickled her, she had felt something more than a kid would feel. His hands on her had been scary and mesmerizing. “Stop!” she pleaded, but she hadn’t really wanted him to stop. She’d felt like Beryl’s cat who in the midst of being petted suddenly bit you hard on the hand. Tessa had wanted to bite Chad hard, or
something
.

And all that showed in the photograph. Tessa was sick at heart.

Her mother was right. Her mother had seen the truth, and was only trying to protect her.

Tessa dried off quickly, hating her body—it was so
naked
. So gross. So full of nasty hungers, for food, even for the sight of Chad—

She had to change somehow.

She pulled on jeans and her baggy sweatshirt and padded in thick white cotton socks down the stairs.

Her mother wasn’t in the kitchen or in the library. Tessa walked down the hall to her mother’s study, and as she drew near to the door she heard a sound that wrenched her apart.

Her mother was crying. Sobbing, really, as if her heart were broken. Guilt flooded Tessa like a black stew. She could not bear this. She had to make this right.

“Mom?” She pushed open the door and huddled just inside.

“Not now, Tessa.” Anne was sitting at her desk, her place of strength and sanctuary. Her shoulders were hunched, her face buried in her hands.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to see my birth mother. I love you.”

“Oh, Tessa.”

Tessa went to her mother. She put her hand on her mother’s arm. “I don’t have to go to camp.”

Anne’s eyes flickered toward Tessa’s. They were red and swollen, and her nose was swollen, too. Her cheeks were tear-streaked. She looked completely undone, but at Tessa’s words, she sniffed and essayed a smile.

“You could help with the campaign,” Anne offered.

“Sure. That would be okay.”

“It might even be fun, honey. I’m going to start going door-to-door. You could go with me. It would be a pleasure to have your companionship, and people always love to see children. Would you like to do that?”

“Sure.”

Anne took a crisp embroidered linen handkerchief from her purse and wiped her face. “You’re such a good girl, Tessa.”

“I didn’t mean … in that photograph—”

“We won’t talk about it ever again.” Anne patted the bottom drawer of her desk, which was locked. “We don’t need to mention this to your father.”