Holly's Heart Collection Three (33 page)

“Are we talking Jared Wilkins here?” Andie butted in.

“None other,” I answered.

Paula and Kayla remained stone silent.

“C’mon, girls, I have a strong feeling about this.” I stared them down.

“Jared does, too—about you,” Paula spoke up.

“Oh, not this again.” I remembered that Paula had thought I should talk to Jared about who was writing those mystery letters to me last fall. She’d actually believed he knew something. Of course, he did in the end, but Paula had encouraged me to have lunch with him about it.

Funny. Paula herself had been interested in Jared when they’d first moved here from Pennsylvania. Maybe she still was. . . .

“Listen, if you think Jared’s so wonderful, why don’t you go out with him?” I suggested. “Me? I’ve got myself the best guy friend in the world.”

On that note, the four of us disbanded. The bell had rung for homeroom.

At lunch I was able to sneak out of school, grab a burger at a fast-food place nearby, and find an available pay phone—all in less than fifty minutes.

“Hello, I’m calling to get some preliminary information,” I said.
Is this what I really want to say? Preliminary information?

I always got nervous when I had to talk to professionals. Especially strangers.

“One moment, please,” the receptionist said.

Soon a paralegal came on the line. She identified herself. Instantly I recognized her as one of Mom’s friends at the firm. “How may I help you?” she asked.

She’ll know me in an instant,
I thought. For pete’s sake, she was in my mom’s wedding to Uncle Jack! I almost froze, almost hung up.

I decided to count on her not recognizing my voice. “Well, I’d rather not identify myself if that’s okay. I’m simply gathering information at the present time.”

“I’ll help as best I can” came the professional-sounding voice.

I took a deep breath. “I’m wondering how to go about arranging for a joint custody situation between myself and my divorced parents.”

“Are you of age?” the woman asked.

“I’ll be fifteen in twenty-three days.”

“Then I believe you would have some say in what happens to you.”

“What do you mean, what happens to me?”

“I’m talking about in abuse situations, a foster home is often called upon. The Department of Social Services—”

“No, no, I’m not saying any of that. I’ve never been abused in anyway.” I stopped to catch my breath. “I only want to know how difficult it would be to get my parents to change custody arrangements against their will.”

I could just imagine her face. She probably wondered what rock I’d crawled out from under.

“Excuse me, miss, I don’t understand. Are you telling me neither of your parents is in agreement with joint custody?”

“I’m not completely sure about my mom, but I don’t think my dad’s very interested.”

“So your mother has full custody of you at the present time?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s tricky,” she replied. “I think you’d better make an appointment with one of the attorneys. And about the fees—”

“I have enough money saved up for the first visit,” I said. “If it’s not too expensive.”

“Well, I think maybe we might be able to arrange a court-appointed attorney for you. But that would require a court hearing. Would you like someone here to set that up?”

This court talk scared me silly. “Uh . . . I’ll have to think about it,” I said. “I’ll call you again tomorrow. Is that all right?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome” was the reply.

I returned the phone receiver to its cradle and opened the folding doors to the phone booth. The winter wind blew hard against me as I walked up the hill toward the high school. I wondered how I’d have the nerve to pull any of this off.

But I had to try. There was no giving up. I would call Daddy again.

Tonight.

EIGHT IS ENOUGH

Chapter 12

“Do you mind if I use the phone?” I asked Mom before supper. She was peeling a sink full of potatoes with Carrie’s and Phil’s help.

“Long distance?” Her eyes gave her away. She knew. I nodded.

“To your father?”

“Yes.” I could feel the tension between us.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” she said. “Why don’t you use the phone upstairs . . . in our bedroom?”

“Can I talk to him, too?” Carrie pleaded to Mom as I hurried out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and up the stairs.

I closed the door to the master suite, feeling my heart pound with anticipation. “Daddy?” I said when he answered.

“Well, hello again. How are you?”

Formal, unnecessary greetings,
I thought.
Let’s get on with it.

“I don’t know for sure what to do next,” I said. “I called a law firm today. Talked to a paralegal.”

“You did
what
?”

“Just to get some information. Nobody here knows.”

“Holly, dear, what are you doing?” He sounded upset. “I thought we agreed you were going to think about this—take some time before deciding anything—and talk to God about your feelings.”

This sounded strange coming from Daddy. All those years before, he’d never cared about what God thought about anything. He’d lived his life the way he chose to. Left Mom, Carrie, and me for the big city and a big-time job. All that.

But now. Now he’d come to a place of faith in Christ. Now he prayed regularly. Like I did. Or like I used to, I should say. Lately, I wasn’t on speaking terms with God much at all.

“Holly?” he said gently. “Can we talk about this?”

The lump in my throat was growing. “I don’t want to stay here anymore,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. “They’re taking my room away . . . they don’t care how I feel. . . .”

I couldn’t go on. The ache in my throat pinched my words.

“You don’t think your mother and Jack care how you feel about the baby?” Daddy prompted me. “Is that it?”

I managed to squeak out something.

“If you lived with your mother part of the year and with me the other months, how would this affect your education? Have you thought of that? And what about your sister? What would Carrie think?”

“Carrie doesn’t think,” I protested. “She’s starting to act like . . . oh, I don’t know what’s happening to her.”

“Now, don’t be hard on your sister. You know what she’s going through,” he said. “You remember your own preteen years, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but there’s no way I’m staying here just because of her.”

My statement didn’t seem to shock him. “What about your mother? How would such a change affect her?”

“We’ve already discussed her. She’s in love with Uncle Jack, with her new baby. Her life is perfect.”

Daddy made no comment about that. “But your friends. Wouldn’t you miss Andie? And the others?”

“Sure, I’d miss them, but it wouldn’t be like I was going away forever. I’d come back for half the year and then go live with you the rest of the time. A simple rotation—it’s easy.”

He sighed. I actually heard him sigh! Like this was a burden or something. “How did the attorney’s office advise you?”

“Listen, Daddy, if you’re not in favor of this,” I blubbered, “then I need to know right now. Yes or no.”

“Well, I must say that I certainly don’t approve of your reasons for joint custody. If you ask me, I think you’re acting rather selfishly.”

“
I’m
selfish? Mom’s selfish! She’s the one destroying my life. She’s the one getting everything she wants.”

“Hold on, honey. I think you’re overreacting, and I suggest you put your mother on the phone.”

He was ordering me around! My father was ruining everything—complicating my already horribly messed-up life.

“Mom’s busy,” I said. “She can’t talk now.”

“Well, then, I’ll phone her later,” he said. “I wish you weren’t so upset. Good-bye, Holly.”

That was the end of that. Daddy had practically hung up on me!

Putting the phone back on the nightstand, I hurried around the bed toward the door. On my way out, I noticed more skeins of yarn piled up on the chair in the corner. Greens, yellows, and a pearly white. Mom was playing it safe, crocheting colors that would work for either a boy or a girl.

I stood there, daydreaming. Scarcely could I remember the day Carrie was born. I was four years old when Mom and Daddy brought her home from the hospital. Hard as I tried, though, I couldn’t remember actually holding her as an infant. Oh sure, there were tons of pictures, and sometimes from studying scrap-books I got the mistaken impression that I actually remembered the occasion or how she looked. But it was really only the pictures tricking me, making me think I remembered when I really didn’t at all.

I shook off the images from the past and headed to my room, frantic. Daddy was going to call Mom and blow the whistle on me. How could he? If he loved me at all, he’d go along with my idea. Wouldn’t he?

Stephie was across the hall, playing over and over the same miserable song that she loved. Without saying a word, I tiptoed over to her room and closed her door.

“Hey!” she hollered. The door flew open. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to write something,” I said, towering over her.

“Well, I’m not stopping you.”

“No, but your music is. So either turn it off or shut your door.” I made a move toward her, and she misread me and started yelling for Mom.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop it right now, Stephie. Mom’s busy.”

Truth was, I didn’t want to recite any part of my phone call to Mom. In fact, I wished I’d never called Daddy in the first place.

“I’m telling,” Stephie yelled, and for an instant, I saw the worst part of myself in her. The way I’d been acting for the past week or so. Ever since the baby news.

“Fine,” I said. “Go ahead, yell and scream. Act like a spoiled brat. See if I care.”

That shut her up. She turned around, flounced back to her bedroom, and slammed the door.

Relieved, I raced to my room and closed my own door.

I knew I had about forty-five minutes before supper. Forty-five precious minutes. I needed to make tracks; there was no getting around it. If I didn’t hurry and finish this story, I’d lose my golden opportunity, as Daddy used to say.

Picking up my pen, I began to write.

Five words later, I was twirling the pen. Stuck.

What will I do if Daddy refuses me?
I’d be on thin ice. And all the while, Mom was planning for her new baby, while Uncle Jack was bursting his buttons with pride.

I tried to push myself, force myself to write more, but it was no use. Moods were a problem with me. Either I was revved up, ready to write, or I wasn’t. Today it wasn’t coming. Not at all.

Maybe today’s writer’s block was a good thing, because the phone rang, and when I answered it, I heard Jared saying, “Hey, Holly-Heart. Are you okay?” Like he cared or something.

I would’ve positively died if Mom had announced that Jared was on the phone, calling to me for everyone in the house to hear.

“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” I asked.

“You don’t have to be so polite with me.”

This was weird. Was Paula right? Did Jared still care? I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams dating him for real this time. Not now, not ever.

“Why are you calling?” I asked.

“Can’t a friend check up on another friend?”

“I don’t get it.”

He didn’t answer.

“C’mon, Jared, you don’t have to play games with me. Why’d you really call?”

He cleared his throat. Was he nervous? “I can’t forget you, Holly-Heart. I just can’t.”

“That’s what you say to all the girls,” I retorted. “I know you.”

“You
do
know me. That’s why I can talk to you. That’s why I’m telling you that if you push this custody change, I’ll never speak to you again.”

I snickered. “Hey, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Give a guy a break.” I knew I’d hurt him. But he’d hurt me. Bad. Last year and then again last fall at the start of school. He and Amy-Liz Thompson . . . seeing them together. Now,
that
hurt.

“I’m real sorry about this, Jared. But I don’t think there’s any hope for us. Ever.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am. But thanks for calling. And if I do end up going to live with my dad, I hope you won’t clam up on me. You won’t, will you?”

A long pause.

“Jared?”

“I can’t believe you’d want to leave us all behind, Holly-Heart. Doesn’t Dressel Hills mean anything to you anymore?”

He’d hit my soft spot. I loved this ski town. My roots were here. Always and forever. Still, it didn’t hurt to branch out—see the world. That’s what Andie kept saying all last summer.

“Sure I’d miss Dressel Hills,” I managed to say. “You know how I feel about my friends. And you, too, Jared. We’ve been good friends awhile now. Nothing can change our past. But the future . . . well, the future’s coming up fast. I don’t want to deal with what’s happening here.”

“I think maybe you’ve hit the nail on the head,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You know what I think, Holly? You’re running from your problems. Why don’t you ask God to help you handle things?” He paused for a moment, then said, “I’ve been doing that a lot lately. It really helps.”