Custody (35 page)

“All right.”

“It’s as good as forgotten, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I know you’re a good girl, Tessa. I really do. And you know I love you and only want the best for you.”

“I know, Mom.”

Anne nodded. “Good.” She looked at her watch. “We’ve got to leave for our meeting with Dr. Lawrence.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure you want to go like that?”

Tessa was silent. Then she said, “What do you want me to wear?”

“Your blue dress would be nice.”

“Okay. I’ll go change.”

“Thank you, darling.”

Tessa turned to go to her room.

“Oh, and darling?”

Tessa stopped.

“I won’t mention the photographs to Dr. Lawrence. I don’t want him to get the wrong impression of you.”

Tessa stood frozen, mortified.

“All right, Tessa?”

Tessa nodded.

“After our meeting, we’ll do something fun, all right? How about a movie? I think there’s a new Disney one at Fresh Pond Mall.”

“Okay.”

“Tessa?”

“Okay.”

Anne looked at her watch, then rose.

The August sun was still high when Kelly set out along 6A to the Sagamore Bridge and Route 3 toward home. Luckily the heaviest traffic was headed in the other direction, for the Cape and islands. With a twenty-ounce Diet Coke and a bag of Cape Cod potato chips to fortify her for the three-hour trip, Kelly punched the radio dial to a hard rock station, snuggled down into her seat, and tried to lose herself in the undeniable beat of music.

That didn’t work.

The music, slow or fast, soft or loud, made her think of Randall. Or not
think
, really, so much as remember, in a kind of insistent sensual replay that had obsessed her every night this week as she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, trying to fall asleep.

His mouth on hers. Warm breath.

His body on hers. Delicious weight.

His body in hers. Dense honey, dark heat. Silence and restraint as they tried to remain on the brink, eyes closed, mouth to mouth, entirely focused on the tip and sheath of extreme pleasure, greedy for it to stay. To stay. To stay.

And then the way the floodgates had opened.

All her body asked of her now was that she remember that moment over and over again, while she drove.

But she had some serious thinking to do. Some important questions to ask herself. Like, what the hell did she think she was doing?

Jason was a good man. Actually, he was a wonderful man. And he was in love with her, and she had made a contract with him—for an engagement is a kind of contract—and she knew she should honor that contract.

Randall had said he wanted them to be genuine, honest, and open to one another.
Real
to one another.

“If we are to have a future together,” he had said.

His daughter was adopted, he’d said.

He loved his daughter, more than anything in the world. Having a child had changed his life. He wanted more children.

What would he think of Kelly if he knew what she’d done?

And if he still loved her, what did that mean? What about Jason?

These questions were thorny, difficult, painful. It was much easier to drift back into sensual memories of the two of them in bed.

Dr. Lawrence opened the door to his office. “Anne, Tessa, nice to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Lawrence,” Anne replied. With a hand on Tessa’s shoulder, she guided her into the office.

Tessa went to a chair at the far end of the coffee table and sat down.

Anne sat on the sofa. Patting the seat, she said, “Honey. Come sit here with me.”

Tessa paused, then complied, although she sat at the opposite end of the sofa rather than close to her mother.

“Hot out there,” Dr. Lawrence remarked, settling himself behind his desk.

“Very.” Anne smoothed her skirt.

Tessa folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them.

“How was your week, Tessa?” Dr. Lawrence inquired.

Softly she answered: “Fine.”

“Did you go to camp?”

Anne crossed and uncrossed her legs. Not looking up at him, Tessa nodded.

Dr. Lawrence tilted his head sideways. “Do anything fun?”

Tessa shrugged.

Anne spoke up. “Tessa won’t be going back to camp, Dr. Lawrence.”

“Really? Is there a problem?”

Tessa chewed her thumbnail.

Anne smiled. “No problem at all. It’s just that I’ve decided to begin door-to-door campaigning, and Tessa thought it might be fun to come along with me.”

“Is that right, Tessa?”

Tessa nodded.

“Surely you don’t mean to imply that I’m lying,” Anne said silkily.

“Not at all. But giving up camp—most kids Tessa’s age prefer to do stuff with their peers rather than their mothers.”

“Tessa is hardly ‘most kids,’ ” Anne assured him.

Dr. Lawrence picked up his pencil and studied it, as if reading a message embedded in the yellow paint. “Still,” he mused aloud, “Tessa is a teenager.”

“She’s twelve.”

“All right. She’s almost a teenager. It’s normal for girls her age to like to be with their peers. During my session with Tessa, we talked about some of the things she’d like to do with her friends. Or things she’d like to do that her friends do. I think it might be a good idea if we discussed some of those ideas now.”

“That’s perfectly acceptable to me,” Anne said. She looked expectantly at Tessa.

Tessa stared at her lap.

“Tessa?” Dr. Lawrence prompted. When she didn’t speak, he tried to encourage her. “Remember what we talked about last time?” He looked at his notes. “Britney Spears?”

“Britney Spears!” Anne snapped. “She’s a slut.”

“I’m not sure—” Dr. Lawrence glanced at Tessa.

Tessa’s cheeks flamed.

“I
am
sure. The clothes she wears, the way she exposes herself—she’s pornographic.”

“Okay,” Dr. Lawrence studied his notes. “How about something completely different, then. Let’s talk about Tessa having a computer of her own. Or, at least, access to a home computer for schoolwork.”

Tessa sat silently, staring at her lap.

“You know,” Anne said through pinched lips, “I’m not quite comfortable with this—whatever you call this process. I feel as if I’m being blackmailed somehow: I
have
to let Tessa have a computer, or you’ll tell the judge to give Randall custody of my daughter.”

“I’m sorry if you feel that way,” Dr. Lawrence responded. “What I hope we can do here is listen to Tessa. Hear what she has to say. Her life is changing without her active participation—you and Dr. Randall are getting divorced. That’s an enormous change, and Tessa probably feels like a lot is happening beyond her control. It’s a good time to find out what
Tessa
would like to change, if she could. Large and small things.”

“I have always been attentive to Tessa’s needs.”

“I’m sure you have. But let’s talk, specifically, about a computer. It’s not an unreasonable desire on Tessa’s part, to want a computer.”

“She can learn anything she needs to through reading books and attending school.”

“Do you use a computer, Anne?”

“Of course I do! But I’m an adult!”

“Your concerns about Tessa using a computer are—”

“Pornography. Chat rooms. Deviants who lurk and hide behind seductive disguises. Violent computer games. So much of our popular culture is harmful to young people—you agreed with me about this when I was here before!”

Tessa’s eyes flew to Dr. Lawrence’s face.

“True,” Dr. Lawrence agreed. “Still, Tessa needs to fit in with her peers. It’s a common, normal need to be part of a group. And kids Tessa’s age, especially in Tessa’s socioeconomic class, have access to computers. They really can be amazing tools. They can provide instant information about any subject in the world. They’d be of enormous assistance to Tessa in her
schoolwork. You want her to go to college?”

“Of course!”

“Kids today use computers like we used pencils.”

“So you’re saying I have to get Tessa a computer.”

“I’m saying I’d like you to consider letting Tessa have a computer. Or access to one. Certainly you could monitor her use.”

“For schoolwork.”

“That and other things. There are computer games, and websites, that you might approve of and Tessa might enjoy. You might even find sites you and Tessa would like to visit together.”

Anne raised her eyebrow. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose you’re right.” She looked at Tessa. “I wouldn’t want her to have it in her room. Children can become isolated, hidden away in their room, using a computer in the middle of the night.”

“There’s also the issue of television shows,” Dr. Lawrence said.

“Really.” Anne folded her arms over her chest.

“Tessa? You’d mentioned this last time. Anything you want to say?”

Tessa rubbed a spot on her skirt. She shrugged.

“What shows would you like to see?” Dr. Lawrence prompted.

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
Tessa’s voice was a whisper.

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer
has been named one of the ten most violent television shows on the air today!” Anne argued. “I can find the statistics for you!”

“Okay. What else?” When Tessa didn’t respond, Dr. Lawrence remarked, “Tessa, you’re pretty quiet today.”

Tessa shrugged.

“Bad week?”

“It’s the end of the week,” Anne pointed out. “She’s tired from camp.”

“All right,” Dr. Lawrence said. Gently he laid his pencil on the table. “I think we’ve done about all we can do for today.” Flipping through his desk diary, he said, “Let’s schedule a meeting for next week, shall we?”

“For the two of us?”

“No. No, I think I’d like to see Tessa alone, one more time.”

Anne sniffed. “If you must.”

“I’m going on vacation next Tuesday, for a week. I’ll be back on September third, right after Labor Day. Could Tessa come here at three on Monday afternoon?”

“I’ll bring her.”

“Okay with you, Tessa?” Dr. Lawrence looked at Tessa.

Shrugging, Tessa stared at her skirt.

The traffic thickened as Kelly drew close to Cambridge, but it wasn’t impossible. At nearly nine o’clock on this hot August evening, the bright lights of Mass Ave illuminated strollers out for an ice cream cone or a movie. Yawning, she realized she was exhausted, from working, driving, thinking … When she got home, she’d turn off the air-conditioning, open all her windows, light lots of candles, and sink in a perfumed bath. Then she’d pull on her silk robe and curl up in front of the television with a pint of raspberry sorbet. Sorbet and potato chips for dinner—adolescent behavior, perfect for her mood.

She parked in the lot behind her apartment, hefted her overnight bag and briefcase with one arm, yanked her wheeled suitcase behind her with the other, clicked over the sidewalk and up the stairs and into her foyer. She sagged against the wall of the elevator as it rose—she really was tired—thinking that a hundred years ago a judge would have some kind of valet to help her with her luggage. On the other hand, a hundred years ago women couldn’t be judges.

She put her key in the lock, threw the door open, and walked inside.