The Deepest Blue (13 page)

“Why did you go with your father instead of your mother after the divorce?”

“Duh,” I say, not meaning to sound as obnoxious as I know I do.

Ms. Young looks up at me in surprise, but she smiles. “I know, Michael, but the court will probably ask about it.”

“Dad and I left first. The divorce happened later. It wasn't really much of a choice. Julia made it pretty clear that she didn't want to be a mom. She told my dad that after she carried me for nine months, it was his job to make up for her sacrifice.”

Ms. Young continues writing. “Did your father tell you this, or is this something that you heard?”

“Both. I remember her saying things like she lived with a parasite inside her, and now it was his turn to have
it attached to him. Stuff like that. Dad told me one time that Julia resented him for the way her life was because she wasn't a happy person.” I try to remember what Julia looked like when she wasn't angry: long, dark hair; almond-shaped eyes. I get a faint picture, but it is interrupted by the memory of Dad scooping me up and taking me out of her way so she couldn't hit me. I shudder, remembering how afraid I felt around her sometimes.

“What was that?” Ms. Young asks.

“I was trying to remember what she looked like, and then I recalled my dad having to pick me up and move me out of the way because Julia was going to hit me.”

Ms. Young scribbles a lot, and I wait for her to finish. “Was she abusive? Was she ever reported for abuse?”

That's a word I had never applied to my situation before. “I don't think so,” I say. “I mean, I didn't suffer a lot of broken bones or things like that.” I think on the words for a moment.

Abuse.

Abusive.

Abused.

They don't seem to fit. They don't feel like my life.

“If we could prove she was abusive, the court would have to consider alternatives to sending you back to her.” Ms. Young flips the page of her notepad and continues writing quickly. “Do you recall going to the hospital or the doctor for sprains or injuries she told you to lie about?”

I'm beginning to feel a little resentful about these questions. “I don't want to live with the woman, but I
don't think she ever hurt me. I don't remember that. I just remember the one time.”

“All it takes is one time,” she says.

“But it wasn't like that. It was just . . . it was a lot of yelling. Both of them were yelling. It was shouting and name calling, but that's it. I can't remember anything else.”

Ms. Young puts down the notepad and looks at me. “I'm not trying to upset you, Michael, I'm just trying to get all the facts I can so I can be better prepared.”

I nod and sink a little deeper into the chair.

“When was the last time you heard from your biological mother?”

“About four years ago,” I say. “She sent me a picture of her new son from her new marriage.” I pause for a moment and then add, “And no, he didn't look abused.”

“Good,” she says without missing a beat. “What about holidays, birthdays, things like that?”

I think through the last ten years. “I got the picture. She never sent presents for any reason—not a Christmas card or anything. Dad told me when she got remarried, but he didn't tell me how he found out. I think I was about ten.” I search my memory for any other meaningful contact, but nothing comes to mind.

“What about child support?”

“She was supposed to send a check every month. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she'd send $25 and sometimes $250. Dad used to stick it in my college savings account unless we were having a bad month. Then he'd ask me if it was okay to use Julia's
money for groceries or something.”

“Your father would ask you if he could use the child support money?” Ms. Young looks at me with wide, blue eyes. “You realize that the money was his per court order to use for your needs while in his care. It wasn't up to you to choose.”

I blink. “He said Julia owed me, not him. He didn't think of it as his money. I don't think he wanted to feel like he might owe her something for it.”

“So why do you want to live with Miss Delaney instead of your biological mother?”

This is easy. I sit up a little in the squishy chair. “Because Maggie is my mom already. She's been like my mom since I was about ten, and she's the only mom I've ever really had.” I think for a moment, then I add, “Besides, she puts up with me when I'm being a jerk.”
Which is happening a lot recently,
I think, but I don't say it aloud.

“And how do you know your biological mother wouldn't do this for you?”

“Yeah, right.” The words snap out of my mouth before I can stop them. “She doesn't even know me. She didn't even want to know me until my dad died. She's just taking advantage of a bad situation to try to make up for something. Maybe for the guilt she has for ignoring me so long.”

“But if she is claiming you as her legal offspring, wanting to be your parent full time, surely that means she must care about you.”

“I don't know what her motivation is, but I doubt it has anything to do with love.” I sink into the chair again.
“Maybe she's trying to impress her new husband or something.”

“Why do you think living with Miss Delaney would be better than living with your biological mother?”

That's a big list. “Because this is my home. Atlantic Beach is my home. My friends are here. My girlfriend is here. My school is here. My life is here. Maggie is here. I don't remember too much about Washington. I don't have anything there.” I can feel my shoulders riding up, the stiffness in my neck. “I don't want to lose my whole life after I just lost my dad by having to move all the way across the country to live with people I don't love and I don't know.” My mouth is sticky and dry. “If she really loves me, she'll understand this and let me stay.” I've moved to the front of the chair, and I'm leaning forward.

“That, Mr. Bryant, may be the most profound thing you've said today.” She underlines on the notepad, and I can hear the paper tear from the force of the pen.

“Maggie has been around me forever, or at least for like the last five years or so. She loved my dad, and I know she loves me. She likes scuba diving and deep-sea fishing. She works at the aquarium. She's good with people, and she knows me better than my girlfriend knows me.” I stop and realize what I just said. “Not like that. I mean, she understands me.” I can see an amused smile on Ms. Young's face, but she doesn't laugh out loud. “Julia doesn't know anything about me, and I don't know anything about her except she has a little boy who is about four or five.”

“All of this will be taken into consideration,” Ms. Young says. “I think you're a very bright young man who has been put into a very terrible set of circumstances at a time when he needs all the love and support that a parent can give him.” She rolls in the chair and moves behind the large, cluttered desk. She sets the yellow notepad on the top of a stack of papers and then stands and steps from behind the desk and comes toward me. “You make a strong case for yourself. I can see what Mr. Marshall meant when he called me.”

“What did Chuck say about me?” I'm curious and a little worried.

“That you have a good head on your shoulders, which is clear from the way you present yourself and your interests.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” I say, not sure if I should or not.

“He meant it as one, certainly.”

We talk a little more about things like working on the boat, school, Rachel, and what I want to do when I graduate.

“I'd just like to get my driver's license first,” I say, and Ms. Young chuckles at me.

“Good first step,” she says.

She stops taking notes, but we continue talking. She fills out some paperwork that says I really am asking to have Maggie as my mom, and then she has me sign it. She guides me back into the hallway and outside into the bright light. I can see Chuck's VW coming up the road.

“Ms. Young, they can't really make me live with Julia, can they?” I ask as Chuck pulls into a parking spot.

“I don't see how that would be in your best interest, but sometimes judges make odd decisions for odd reasons. And the courts have traditionally sided with biological parents in many cases.”

My heart misses a beat and drops three inches in my chest.

“However,” she continues as we move toward the car, “you make a strong case for yourself. You're well spoken, bright, and aware of the decision you're making. I think you stand a darn good chance of getting what you want.”

“What I want is my dad, alive and happy.” I don't mean to be so sarcastic, but the words slide out before I can stop them.

“Well then,” she says, “I think you stand a darn good chance at the next best thing.”

Ms. Young and Chuck shake hands.

“I'll see you Tuesday,” she says to both of us.

I climb in the car, and Chuck and I pull onto the street. I feel confused, uncertain, and more scared than I remember being in a very long time.

chapter 10

I spend about an hour telling Maggie about Ms. Young and the interview. Chuck talks about legal stuff, papers that have to be filed, life insurance claims, and junk I neither understand nor want to understand.

While they continue discussing paperwork, I grab the phone and head to my bedroom to call Rachel.

“Hey,” she says when she answers.

“Hey,” I say.

“You doin' okay?” The concern in her voice is kind of touching, but it worries me, too.

I close my eyes and squeeze them tight, then I sit on the edge of my bed and let my shoulders sag. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Can you get out tonight? Maybe go to Moorehead and see a movie?”

The thought of going to a movie doesn't appeal to me, but the thought of being close to Rachel does. “I don't know. I'll ask.” I try to think through the logistics of it. “Except I'm just about broke because I had to buy a pair
of shoes for Monday.”

“I'll treat.” Her offer is more of a plea, and it makes me want to see her even more despite how tired I am.

“I'll ask.” I set the phone on the bed and walk into the other room. “Any chance I can be sprung to see a movie tonight in Moorehead?” I look at Maggie as she shifts a pile of papers from in front of her.

“Can I give you an answer in about twenty minutes?” she says without looking up. “I'm in the middle of something, and I can't think too clearly right now.”

Boy, I hear ya on that one.

I go back to my room and pick up the phone. “Let me call you back in a little bit, Rach, and I'll let you know.”

Rachel sighs. “Okay.” She sounds disappointed. “Call me as soon as you know.”

I close the door to my room. “Sorry. Things are really crazy and weird right now.” Even as I say it, I realize I feel light-headed and shaky. All I've had to eat are those few bites of cereal from breakfast.

“I know, Mike. I just really want to see you, that's all.”

“Soon,” I say. “I promise.”

I hang up the phone and walk into the kitchen in time to see Chuck giving Maggie a hug at the door.

“We'll get it all done, it just takes time.” He shuts the door as he leaves, but Maggie stays standing at the doorway like she thinks he might come back in.

“Maggie?”

She turns with a start. “Sorry,” she says. “Lost in thought.” She moves to the table and gathers up some of
the papers. She takes them to her room and then comes back to the kitchen. I stand with the fridge door open, looking but not really seeing anything I want.

“I can fix you a sandwich,” Maggie says.

“I don't know what I want. I'm hungry, but I don't feel like eating.”

“Me, too,” she says.

I shut the fridge and lean against the counter. “I feel empty.” The words seem to rattle around in my body, echoing off my skin. “I don't know what I want to eat. I don't know what I want to do. I just want to wake up at some point like six months or a year from now and have all of this be over.”

Maggie looks me in the eye. “Some moments I feel like I'm holding together just fine so I can be strong for you. Other moments I feel like I might collapse on the ground and never get up again.”

I nod. “How do we do this?”

She shrugs. Big tears slide down her cheeks, and she drops her head, raising a hand to her face. I step in front of her, wrapping my arms around her. I realize how small she is as she moves toward me, resting her head against my shoulder. I tip my head back, trying to keep the tears in my own eyes from falling because I know if I start, I won't stop for a long time.

Maggie and I stand there for what feels like forever. She finally stops gulping air in jagged gasps. She steps back from me, wipes her hands across her face, and lets out a deep sigh.