Custody (44 page)

When they first arrived on Sunday night, Kelly phoned Randall to tell him where she was staying, but managed to reach only his answering machine. She left a message, and when she returned to her room on Monday, found a message from him. They kept missing each other, and with Felicity hanging around, it was impossible to find a moment of privacy to have a real conversation.

Finally, on Thursday evening, while Felicity was in the shower, Kelly dialed his number and Randall himself answered.

“Kelly. Thank God. What a week. I thought we’d never make contact.”

The sound of his voice smoothed and soothed the tips of every frazzled nerve end.

She asked, “How’s your father?”

“Physically, fine. Emotionally, he’s pretty battered. The fall frightened him. Embarrassed him, really. He’s always been so strong and capable. Now he feels old, weak, foolish. He’s being pretty tough on himself. How are you?”

“I’m good. Tired, but good. There’s so much I’d like to tell you about. I can’t wait to see you Sunday.”

“That’s a problem. I’ve promised Tessa I’d take her to Nantucket to visit her mother’s parents. They’re rather eccentric and don’t often issue invitations, so we’ve got to go while we can.”

“When are you coming?”

“Sometime Friday.”

Kelly’s heart leapt with hope, then crashed. “You’ll be
here
 … but we’re leaving the island Friday night!” She thought aloud: “I could stay, perhaps, but I’ve got to get Felicity organized for school. Besides, it’s Labor Day weekend. All the hotels are full.”

“It’s probably just as well. I’ll have to devote all my attention to Tessa and her grandparents. They’re not exactly
neglectful
, just rather daffy. And it will be a good opportunity for me to spend a substantial hunk of time with Tessa.”

“That will be nice for you. And for her.”

“And what about you and your half sister? What’s happening there? She’s moving in with you?”

“Yes. She’s with me now, actually. Taking a shower in the other room. Her father and his new honey are moving to Los Angeles, with great dreams of René finally, at the age of sixty, becoming a movie star. Felicity didn’t want to go with them, and I don’t blame her. So—”

The bathroom door opened. A cloud of steam billowed out into the room and with it
Felicity, swathed in a cluster of towels. If Kelly wanted a shower, she thought bemusedly, she’d have only a washcloth left to dry off with.

“I’ll tell you more when I see you.”

“When do you think that will be?” Randall asked.

“When do you get back from Nantucket?”

“Monday night. Monday’s Labor Day.”

“Ah. Right.” Kelly tried to concentrate while Felicity moved around their small room, dropping damp towels, digging through clothes piled haphazardly in a drawer, looking for her pajamas with one hand while flicking the remote control with the other. “Felicity. Could you keep the volume down, please? I’m on the phone.” The girl complied, still pawing through her rumpled clothing like a dog after a bone. “Your pajamas,” Kelly reminded her, “are probably under your pillow where you left them this morning.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Felicity snagged them from the bed and took them with her into the bathroom. She left the door open.

“What were we talking about?”

“Our schedules.”

“Right. Felicity’s school starts this Tuesday.”

“Tessa’s in a private school. It doesn’t begin for another week.”

“Tuesday morning I start—”

“Just a minute,” Randall interrupted. “I’ll be right there, Dad!” he called. “Kelly. I’m sorry. Dad needs me. Look. I’ll call you Monday night, and we’ll make arrangements, okay?”

“Okay, but—I have a lot to tell you, Randall.”

“And I, you. I’m sorry this is all so complicated—
I’m coming
!” In a rush, Randall said, “Kelly, trust me. We’ll work this all out. We have to. I think I love you.”

He hung up, and Kelly was left, astonished, looking at the phone buzzing in her hand.

“Wanna watch television?” Felicity asked, and without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the remote and clicked the volume up.

“Hello, Tessa,” Dr. Lawrence said. “Thanks for coming in.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Lawrence.” Tessa was the very model of politeness as she crossed
the room to settle in the chair across from the psychiatrist’s desk. With the flat of her hands, she smoothed her pink linen sundress over her legs. Her blond hair, brushed to a sheen, lay neatly, held back by a silk headband that matched her dress.

“How are you today, Tessa?”

Meekly, she replied, “Fine.”

He held two pencils today, one in each hand. He tapped them on the edge of his desk, seven quick beats:
Do me a fa-vor: Drop dead
. “Just fine?”

Worriedly, she asked, “What’s wrong with
fine
?”

“Not a thing, if that’s the truth. But I’d think you might have a few other feelings going on. Your parents are getting divorced. It’s the end of the summer. School’s going to start pretty soon, and you don’t know where you’ll be living.”

She looked back down at her lap and said nothing.

“I’ve met with quite a few of the people in your life, Tessa. Your parents, of course, and your grandfather, and Carmen, and your minister. They are all good, caring people, and they all love you.”

“I know,” Tessa replied quietly. “I know I’m very fortunate.”

“Fortunate.” Dr. Lawrence beat another riff on his desk. “Yes. That’s true. Your family is financially well off, your parents are educated, they both love you. Still, Tessa, you’re allowed to admit that things aren’t perfect. You’re allowed to be angry—or sad. And it might be helpful to you if you told me about some of those feelings. I might be able to help you in ways those closer to you can’t.”

Tessa didn’t reply.

“Okay.” He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and slowly swiveled in a complete circle. When he’d settled back in place, he said, “You seem sad today, Tessa.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Tired. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

She shrugged.

“Sometimes our emotions make us tired. Anger or sadness, if we try to hide it or stuff it down inside us, that can make us exhausted.”

She didn’t respond.

“You might, for example, feel angry at your parents for getting a divorce. Or you might feel sad about that.”

Tessa pleated her skirt with her fingers. “Not really.”

“You’re not sad? Not angry?”

She shook her head.

“Okay, then.” He beat the pencils against the desk and then laid them carefully on either side of his blotter. “Tell me how you do feel.”

“I told you. Tired.”

“Tired and
worried
?” When she didn’t reply he said, “Tired, but
happy
? Like someone who’s just won a race?”

She glanced at him. “No.”

He squinted his eyes, considering. “Tired but
determined
? Like someone starting a race?”

Her head lifted. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I wish—”

“Yes?”

“I wish, I wish I
could
feel like I was starting a race. I wish I could feel
strong
. Tough.”

“Aren’t you strong?”

“Not really. Not like I want to be.”

“How strong would you like to be?”

Tessa chewed her nail. “Like Jodie Foster in
Candleshoe
? Did you see that movie?”

“I think so. Refresh my memory.”

“She was an orphan in New York. She was tough. She played basketball with guys. She was my age, twelve. And she got taken to this castle in England to find a sea captain’s treasure that was hidden there, and she and her friends—they were kids, too—they found the fortune and beat up the bad guys and saved the castle for the good grandmother.” Leaning forward, she continued, “And did you see
Fly Away Home
?”

“The one about the girl who raises the Canadian geese?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Remember, when the police officer tried to clip a baby goose’s wing, she hit him on the head with a pan? And
she
learned to fly an airplane so she could teach her geese to fly.”

“That’s true, Tessa, but—”

“They all fix things!” Tessa cried. “Even in cartoons, like
The Little Mermaid Two
—Melody is just my age, and she doesn’t think her mother understands her either, and Melody is the one who saves everyone! She grabs the trident from the evil Morgana! She saves her grandfather; she saves her friends!”

“All right. I get the idea.” Dr. Lawrence frowned. “But those are movies, Tessa. The Little Mermaid is a cartoon character, and a fictional one. Those aren’t real girls.”

“I
know
that!” she snapped. “I’m not
crazy
.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude.” She shrank back into her chair. All animation left her face. She smoothed her skirt.

Dr. Lawrence cocked his head and blew a breathy little whistle. “You know what I think? I think you
are
determined. I think you have a plan to fix things.”

She looked at him.

“Have you thought of a way to get your parents back together?”

Tessa pulled a face. “I told you I’m not crazy.”

“Well then, what
are
you plotting?”

“I’m not
plotting
anything.”

He sat quietly, letting the silence build.

Tessa sighed. “I just—I’ve just decided that I’m going to help my mom.”

“Okay. Good. How are you going to do that?”

“Well, she’s really sad that Dad’s leaving. Dad’s happy, plus he’s going to live with Grandpops, so
he
already has someone on his side. My mother needs me. She’s really happy that I’m going to go door-to-door campaigning with her. She really likes it when I wear dorky dresses like this. It will really help her if I’m good, so I’m going to be good. Really good.”

Dr. Lawrence frowned. “What about you, Tessa? Will ‘being good’ make you happy?”

She wriggled in her chair. “I think so.”

“I’m not so sure. It sounds to me like an awful burden you’re taking upon yourself. It’s not the best thing, at times like this, to hide your emotions, Tessa. It’s all right to be angry, and scared, and worried. And you’re a child, remember, not an adult. You’re not responsible for your parents. They’re responsible for you.”

Tessa dropped her eyes. “I’m really tired,” she said meekly. “And my stomach hurts.”

“Are you going to throw up?”

“No. No, it just aches.”

“Does it ache a lot these days?”

“I guess.”

“Have you told your mother you’d like to meet your birth parents?”

Tessa stared at her lap. In a small voice, she said, “No.”

“Are you planning to tell her?”

Shrugging: “I don’t need to anymore.”

Dr. Lawrence leaned back in his chair. After a while he said, “Tessa, I’m going on
vacation tomorrow. I’ll be back next week, after Labor Day, and I’ll be speaking to the judge during your parents’ divorce, but I probably won’t see you again. I’d like to suggest something, and I’d like you to think about this seriously. I think you should try to persuade your parents, both parents, to arrange counseling for you.”

Tessa looked up, alarmed.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re a smart, good, interesting girl. And I think you’ve got a lot of pressures weighing in on you from all sides. Too much pressure for one twelve-year-old girl to handle alone. I think it would help you a lot to see a counselor during the next few months, to help you sort out your emotions. Whatever happens in court, you’ve got a lot of changes coming your way. And this idea of yours of being good—well, frankly, it bothers me.”

“Why?”

“Well, let’s see. For example, you’ve told me you like to ride horses. Your mother’s afraid of horses. Does being good mean you won’t ride horses anymore? Not even your grandfather’s old nags?”

Tessa put her hands to her stomach.

“Tessa, no one can be perfect. No one can be totally responsible for someone else’s happiness.” He leaned forward. “And you are just a kid. A smart, clever, fortunate kid, but still just a kid. Your parents are pretty engrossed in their own life changes right now. You need someone impartial to talk things over with. You really do.”

“Are you going to tell my mother that?”

“Yes. Your father, too.”

“Can it be you?”

“No, honey. But I can recommend someone. There are lots of great counselors around.” He looked at his clock. “Time’s up. I’ll walk out and say hi to your mom.”

Tessa rose and walked toward the door.

“Tessa,” Dr. Lawrence said.

She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Tessa, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“All right, Dr. Lawrence,” she responded dutifully.