The Deepest Blue (29 page)

“You don't have a choice,” she says, her voice taunting like a bully's.

McIntyre hands a paper to Ms. Young. “A copy of the current statute on visitation rights for noncustodial parents.”

“I have my own, thank you.” Ms. Young hands the paper back to Mr. McIntyre.

“We will be in touch tomorrow before Mrs. Mayers leaves the state to make arrangements for the initial visit.” McIntyre stuffs the papers into his satchel and begins waddling up the center aisle.

“Michael,” Julia says from behind Ms. Young. I turn and look at Maggie. “The more you fight, the harder this will be for us all.”

I turn and stare at her. “Maggie is my mother. Maggie has always been my mother. You never wanted me, and no matter what, you'll never be my mother.”

“Michael, I am your mother, and not even the judge can change that.”

I turn back to Maggie. Her face is pale and her eyes are red. “Let's go home,” I say.

“In a moment,” Ms. Young says from behind me. “There are some documents to be signed, and then we need to talk about some of the details.”

Julia's footsteps gradually move toward the hallway outside. I hear the door open, hear it close, then I turn to look to make sure she is gone.

Ms. Young looks at me, her lips pulled in a thin line, her brow furrowed, and I feel like I used to when I was about to get laid into by Dad for doing something stupid.

“First, I want to tell you that you're very fortunate the judge didn't hear about your boating trip, or she may have changed her mind. Second,” Ms. Young brushes a stray piece of hair from her eyes with dagger-like fingernails, “you are fortunate the decision was for the standard visitation schedule. You could have been told to pack immediately and fly to Washington with Mrs. Mayers, or the judge could have said that it would be a shared custody, and you would have to live half the year here and half the year with Mrs. Mayers.” She draws a breath and looks at Maggie. “As for attitude, I'm afraid that will now be yours to take care of.”

Maggie looks freaked out.

“I'm sorry,” I say to Maggie. She volunteered for this, and so far I've done nothing but act like a jerk to her—well, in general.

“We've all been through the ringer,” Maggie says, and the lines in her face are so deep that I wonder why I've never seen her look this way before. “It's too much for a lifetime, let alone just a week.”

Ms. Young motions to Maggie, and they head over to the blonde lady's desk to sign some papers. The weight of the past few days feels like lead in my veins, and I have a hard time even holding my head up. When they are done, they come back toward the table and go through the little gate. They walk up the aisle toward the door, talking in hushed voices. I try to follow, but it's like I'm encased in wet cement. They wait in the hallway as I slog my way toward the exit.

Ms. Young hands a flyer on pale blue paper to Maggie. “This is the information for beginning the evaluation process. Once a caseworker has been assigned, you can expect weekly visits, and when school starts, you'll be expected to provide progress reports and copies of grades.” She hands another paper to Maggie. “This form needs to be filed with Social Services so that you can be given the proper documents to show your guardianship for things such as school registration, insurance, medical and dental care, etc.”

Maggie looks at the papers, but I can tell she's too tired to pay close attention to what Ms. Young is saying.

We leave the courthouse and stand on the steps beneath the arched portico. Rain drums on the pavement, and the air feels heavy on my skin.

Ms. Young shakes hands with Chuck and then turns
to me. “It's a good outcome, better than we might have expected.”

I'm not sure I agree with her. My brain spins like it's in a blender, and I can't sort anything out. Maggie takes my hand and holds it with firm pressure. Her fingers are cool on my skin.

We stand at the doors while Chuck pulls the car up.

“I'm here to help,” Ms. Young says to Maggie. “If you run into anything you can't resolve, or if things should become—complicated?—give me a call.” They shake hands.

“Michael,” the lawyer says to me, “let go of this anger you have. It will only cause you more pain, and you've had enough of that for a while. Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

I nod. “I know,” I say. I pause, then add, “Thank you for everything. I really appreciate all you did for me.”

Ms. Young extends her hand. I take it, and she shakes it firmly. “You really will be fine.”

Chuck honks and we say goodbye, running to the car as the black sky pours down.

“Is the bridge going to be open?” Maggie asks.

“Won't know 'til we get there,” Chuck says.

We drive in silence, tension battling with exhaustion as we make our way along the flooded streets. It takes twice as long as usual to get back to Maggie's. The bridge from Moorehead to Atlantic Beach is flooded with water, and no one can go faster than about ten miles an hour, and Chuck keeps complaining about not being able to see
anything out the windshield. It reminds me of the night Dad and I drove to Maggie's; the night he told me he wanted to go to Raleigh and buy the ring. My heart pounds in my chest, but then it slows, and I lean my head against the side of the car and watch the sky pour.

Rocket meets us at the door and wags his tail like he thought maybe we weren't ever coming back. I get a can of dog food out, open it, and dump it into his bowl. He wolfs it down and then looks at me like he's expecting more, so I grab him a bone, and he takes it from my hand, crunching it happily on the kitchen floor.

Maggie has disappeared into the bedroom. She comes out dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and another one of Dad's T-shirts. She gets a glass of water from the tap and moves over to the sofa. I head to my room, the judge's words ringing in my brain.
. . . you also need the opportunity to develop a relationship with Mrs. Mayers and with your half-brother.
I don't want a relationship with either of them. I have all the family I need in this little beach house. I shed my suit and tie like the cicadas shed their outer skin. I flop onto my bed and wonder why every inch of my body hurts.

Even though it's only around four in the afternoon, I decide I'm done for the day.
In fact,
I think,
I could sleep for a week, as long as I don't have any more weird dreams.
I close my eyes and wonder at how my life doesn't feel like my life anymore.

chapter 24

The sun streams in the window. Rocket fidgets by my feet, which probably means he needs to go to the bathroom. I pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top and head for the kitchen door. He runs into the yard, darting behind trees. I lean in the doorway, enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin, the sound of the mockingbirds in the trees, and the relaxed feeling that more than twelve hours of sleep gives me.

Rocket returns, his nose covered in mud. I let him in and follow him to his food and water bowls. I fill the water bowl and set it on the floor. As I listen to the slurping noise he makes while drinking, I get his dry food from under the sink and fill his food bowl a little more than usual.

Maggie sleeps until around ten. She gets up, makes coffee, and sits quietly at the table, reading over papers I assume she got from the court yesterday.

“I have to take parenting classes,” she says.

“Oh.” I can't really think of a reply.

Around noon, the phone rings. It's Jayd. “You never called me yesterday to say what happened.” He sounds more worried than upset.

“I came home and crashed,” I say. “I fell asleep around four in the afternoon, and I didn't wake up until just a little while ago.”

“You were totally wiped out.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Any chance you can hang out at the arcade tonight?”

I turn to Maggie. “Can I go to the arcade with Jayd tonight?”

“The arcade, not the marina.” It's a statement, not a question.

“I swear. I'll be home by nine. I promise.” I hold up two fingers like a boy scout, even though I was never in a scout troop.

“Is Jayd driving you, or do you need a ride?”

I lift the receiver to my ear again. “Can you drive, or do I need a ride?”

“I'll get you and bring you home. And I'll baby-sit you and make sure you don't go anywhere you're not supposed to.”

“Oh, you heard that.” I laugh and then look at Maggie. “Jayd is driving, and he promises not to let me off my leash.”

Maggie smiles just a little. “Then I guess it's okay.”

We make the necessary arrangements, and I hang up the phone. I take a shower and get dressed, then I sit at the table where Maggie is still reviewing papers. “If I had
known there was this much work and frustration involved, I wouldn't have asked.”

Maggie lets out a burst of laughter. “Michael,” she says, and she looks me right in the eye. “If I'd have known you were going to put me through so much in the first few days, I would have declined the request.” She giggles a little. “I'm teasing. This isn't so bad. I go to a few classes, we get visited by a case worker, and I sign a few documents.”

I look at the stack of papers on the table. “Looks like more than a few.”

“Not so much.” She fans through the pile. “We are going to be okay. Both of us. It won't always be easy, but it will be okay.”

Something in her voice convinces me, and I feel a little lighter as a result.

I waste most of the day playing with Rocket, hunting through TV channels, and eating some of the many leftovers still in the fridge. Jayd picks me up around five o'clock, and we meet up at Jungleland with Rachel, Trevor, Caitlyn, and Bryce. It's good to be with my friends, but as much as I want to see them—especially Rachel—I'm still so tired from the past week that I ask Jayd to take me home around seven.

Rachel walks out to the car with us. “I wish you weren't leaving,” she says. “I feel like I haven't seen you in forever.”

“I'm so tired that I am not fun. Give me a few days, and I promise things will be more normal. We can hang
out, go to the Rusty Bucket, maybe go to the boat.”

“Um, maybe not the boat,” Rachel says with a laugh. “I heard about the last time you went to the boat.”

“Man, does everybody know about the boat?” I look at Jayd.

“Yeah. Pretty much. It's a small island and word travels fast.”

Rachel wraps her arms around me, and I feel that same content, calm feeling that I had the night she let me hold her. Her hair smells like spring flowers and her skin feels like silk. “I'll call you tomorrow, I promise.” I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, and I kiss her softly.

Jayd drives me back to Maggie's. Rocket meets me at the door with his usual enthusiasm.

“You're home early,” Maggie says from the sofa.

“I'm beat. I didn't want to hang out anymore, so Jayd brought me home.” I sit beside her. She has a book spread open in her lap. “I don't mean to interrupt,” I say, pointing to the book.

“I can't concentrate, anyway,” she says. She moves to the kitchen and fixes a glass of soda to drink.

The phone rings and I pick it up. I don't recognize the number, so I figure it's probably for Maggie.

“Hello,” I say, using my most polite voice.

“Michael. I didn't expect you to answer.” It's Julia. Immediately I regret not letting it go to voice mail. My palms grow sweaty, and I think about hanging up, but I figure she'll probably just call back.

“What do you want, and how did you get this number?”

There is no reply. I can hear a television in the background, with fake laughter and fake music like every TV sitcom has and that sound weird and out of place coming through on this call.

Maggie looks at me. Her face is screwed up with the same confusion I feel.

I mouth the word “Julia” to her. Her eyes widen, and she motions for me to hand her the phone. I shake my head.

“I just called to tell you not to bother making any plans to come and visit until you can speak to me in a civil and respectable tone.” She lets out a loud, quick breath, and I can almost feel her frustration—or maybe it's anger. “I will not let you poison Steven with your hatred the way your father poisoned you.”

I hold the phone, silent and confused. “Um, okaaay,” is all I manage to say. There are so many things I could say, but I take a deep breath and realize that she will never be my mom. My real mom is right here with me, offering to help but still letting me deal with this on my own.

“My dad didn't poison me,” I say. “You poisoned me. You called me a parasite. You told me I ruined your life.” My heart races, but I'm too tired for anger and too tired for tears. “I tried to call you, but you never wanted to talk to me.” Her voice from so many years ago echoes in my head with hateful words I couldn't understand when I was little. “I hope your son Steven can give you what you want. I'm sorry I couldn't, but I tried.”