Best Kept Secret (40 page)

At the sound of my voice, Charlie stops playing and waves vigorously. “Hi, Riley! Do you like water fights?”

A bright expression falls across Riley’s face. “Yeah!” Any hesitance he felt seemingly forgotten, he races over to join the other children in the pool.

“Hi,” my sister says to Kristin. “I’m Jessica, Cadence’s sister.” She extends an arm to shake hands.

“Hi,” Kristin says. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I should have introduced you.”

“Yeah, especially since I’m so shy,” Jess teases me. She shakes her head a little as she watches her husband gleefully wield the hose. “I’d better go over and make sure he doesn’t get them too worked up. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets excited enough to pee in the pool.”

Kristin laughs, and then reaches over to run her hand down my arm. “You okay?”

I put my hand over hers and give it a quick squeeze. “So far, so good. Just don’t leave me alone.”

“You got it.”

“Let me introduce you to the Mommy Mafia,” I say under my breath. I have told her about my run-in with them at Wholly Grounds and she vowed not to allow that kind of crap to happen again. We step over to the other group of women, who all give us big smiles. Only Julia’s appears genuine. I introduce Kristin to her first, then to Brittany and Renee.

“Where’s Martin?” Brittany asks me. She wears a sleeveless maternity top, which only partially conceals the basketball-size bump of her pregnancy.

“Inside, finishing a couple of things, I think. You look great, by the way. How far along are you now?”
Kill her with kindness.

“Six and a half months. The heat is killing me.”

“How are you doing?” Julia asks me. “We didn’t get a chance to chat that day at the coffee shop. It was so sweet of you to invite Cody to come, too.”

“I think Martin organized the party, didn’t he, Cadence?” Brittany points out.

Kristin shoots her the stink eye. Brittany doesn’t miss it.

I take a deep breath. “He did the invites, yes. I’m responsible for the five-pound goody bags, though.”

Julia laughs. “So
you’re
the one to blame for the sugar high Cody’s going to suffer from later.”

“Especially after you see the chocolate mud cake I made. With gummy worms.”

“Oh, boy,” Julia says, “he’s going to love that. He begged for one on his last birthday, but I’m more of a store-bought-cake kind of mom.”

“It’s pretty simple,” I say. “I’d be happy to get you the recipe.”

“I’m not sure if having a recipe will help my baking-gene deficiency, but I appreciate it. Thanks.”

Alice and Martin descend from the back of the house carrying a tray of hot dogs for the kids and Polish sausages for the adults. Derek relinquishes his hold on the hose to help Martin get the grill started for lunch. The kids race back and forth between the picnic tables for handfuls of chips and pretzels and hunks of watermelon, screeching and hollering when they jump back into the pool. Jess polices the crazy scene while Kristin and I chat with Julia. Brittany and Renee wander off to sit in the shade of a large pear tree in the corner of the yard. Another couple of Charlie’s friends show up and join the fun in the pool. For a moment, I almost manage to feel normal. I’m just a mother at a birthday party, not an alcoholic stuck in a custody dispute for her son.

My mother finally arrives just as the kids are sitting down to eat. Despite the heat, she is still in her workclothes—a pair of linen slacks and a short-sleeved, white button-down shirt.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, coming over to kiss my cheek. “An appointment ran over. Stubborn wisdom tooth.”

“Is there any other kind?” I say. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Nana!” Charlie cries out. “Where’s my present?”

“Charles Sutter!” I reprimand him. “Are those good manners?”

My son hangs his head for a moment. “No.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you for coming to my party, Nana.”

“Of course, sweetie. And your present is in the driveway.”

“Awesome!” Charlie exclaims, and races off toward the fence. Forgetting their lunches, all the other children follow, squealing like a bunch of baby pigs.

“Good God,” Brittany says. “Too bad I’m pregnant. I need a drink.”

“Me, too,” Renee agrees. “I’ll have an extra one for you.”

“There are beers in the cooler,” Martin says. “Derek, you want a beer?”

My brother-in-law shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ll pass. Need to
keep on my toes around this many monsters. Can’t let them get the upper hand.” He winks at me and I give him a grateful look.

Kristin squeezes my hand. I wonder if this is uncomfortable for her, too, watching other people drink. I know where alcohol will take me, and truly, I don’t
want
to drink; in fact, my stomach gets queasy just thinking about it. But I can’t help but be a little jealous that other people
can
drink and I can’t. It’s a sizzling-hot summer day. My mind tells me a Corona with a squeeze of lime would sure taste good.

“Nana got me a car!” Charlie screams from the fence. “A car, a car, a
car
!”

I swing around to face my mother. “You got him a
what
?”

She gives me a closed-lipped smile before speaking. “A Spider-Man jeep. Child-size and battery-powered. He can zip around the playground.”

“Geez, Mom.”

“Oh, stop. He’ll love it. And so will you.”

“He should keep it at my house, don’t you think, Sharon?” Martin asks. “Since he’s there more?”

“No, Martin. I think he should keep it at his mother’s.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Alice chimes in from her seat at the picnic table. “What if he falls over?”

“Then he’ll learn to get back up,” I say.

“Not a bad skill to teach a child,” Jess says. “You don’t want him relying on his mama to rescue him for the rest of his life.”

I have to turn away quickly so Alice won’t see me smirk at my sister’s not-so-subtle dig. Derek’s shoulders shake in an effort to conceal his amusement. I don’t look at Martin, but I’m pretty sure he’s fuming.

“I think I’ll go check this new ride out,” I say, stepping away from the group. I’m halfway to the front yard when I realize Julia has followed me.

“Cadence?” she calls out, and I stop. The kids come tromping back toward us, running to the table to finish their lunch.

“It’s so cool, Mommy!” Charlie says as he races past.

Julia and I both laugh. “He’s not amped up or anything,” I say.

“Typical, right?” she says. “I thought Cody was going to turn inside out, he was so excited on his last birthday.” She pauses and looks like she’s trying to figure out how to say something more. After a moment, she finally does. “So, I hope this isn’t totally out of line, but I wanted to talk to you about that day in the coffee shop when we first met.”

I bob my head once, suddenly apprehensive. “Okay . . .”

“Brittany and Renee told me what’s going on with the custody dispute.”

My heart seizes in my chest. I didn’t think anyone would bring the custody issue up at the party. Not really. I thought I could skate by on sheer determination. Or maybe it was denial.

“Oh,” I start, but then don’t know what else to say.

She gives me a soft smile. “I just want to tell you my sister-in-law has been in recovery for eight years now, and she’s the best mother I know. She wasn’t always, but she is now. My brother stuck with her through some pretty tough times.”

“Oh,” I say again, and something inside me relaxes.

“And again, I hope you don’t mind, but I told her I met you and she said to give you her number, in case you ever want to talk. She’s in the program.” She hands me a piece of paper.

“Thank you,” I say, taking it from her, then glance over toward the rest of the party. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but we should probably get back. It’s about time for cake.”

Back at the table, we sing a hearty rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Charlie and the kids finish off the messy mud cake in about two minutes flat, leaving most of Alice’s cake on the table. I thought I would enjoy this, but I don’t. I feel oddly bad about bringing mine, even though Charlie was thrilled to see it and asked to have his candles nestled among the gummy worms instead of the sunflowers. I have a big piece of Alice’s cake, as do the rest of the adults.

“It’s really good,” I tell her and everyone murmurs in agreement. It’s a fantastically light almond cake with thick, homemade raspberry filling. The kind of authentic European, melt-in-your-mouth confection she spent years creating at her bakery.

“Not a little boy’s favorite, it would seem,” she says, shrugging.

“Yeah, but they’d devour a box of sugar cubes if I left it on the table,” I say. “What do they know?”

Martin hugs his mother. “Cadence is right, Mom. It’s the best cake I’ve ever eaten.”

Alice smiles, leaning her head against his chest. “Not the best.”

“The best,” Martin insists. He mouths the words “thank you” to me over the top of his mother’s head.

I give him a quick smile in return and experience another brief flutter of hope. Maybe we can do this. Maybe after everything is said and done, we can find a way to be friends.

W
hat’s going
on
?” I
ask Scott toward the end of August. My desperation to get Mr. Hines’s report is evident. “Why is it taking him so long? It’s a pretty simple decision, isn’t it? Me or Martin. One or the other. The end.”

“He has to review all the documentation,” Scott explains patiently. “Your medical files, the reports from Andi at Promises, the declarations from both your and Martin’s references, plus take into account what he has learned from his interviews. It’s a lot of material to go over. Then he has to put it into a succinct report for the judge.”

“And we can fight it, right, if he recommends Charlie stays with Martin?”

Scott sighs softly. “Yes, but Cadence, more often than not the court will go with the GAL’s initial recommendation. If things go Martin’s way, you can spend thousands of dollars going to court and end up with the same result, or you can accept the decision and find a way to cope with it.”

“It won’t go Martin’s way,” I insist. “It can’t.” I can’t allow myself to believe for a moment I won’t get Charlie back. Not even a millisecond. I won’t have to accept it, because it won’t happen. I say as much to Nadine, who I am calling each day as she asked.

“I’d like to think I’m that powerful, too,” she says. “I’d love it if just because I want something to turn out in my favor, it will.”

“I think you get what you put out,” I say, mildly irritated that she’s not being more supportive. “If I believe I’ll get him back, I will.”

“I know it’s hard to come to terms with,” she says, “but you’re not in control of this decision. You’ve done what you can and you have to leave the rest.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“No, honey, it’s not,” she says, her tone laden with grief. “I spent years trying to will my son into not drinking himself to death. I thought that if I got him into treatment program after treatment program, if I supported him and believed in him, if I took him to meetings with me and all that good motherly stuff, he would get well. He didn’t. It wasn’t up to me.”

“That sucks,” I say sourly.

“Yes, it does,” she agrees. “But that’s life.”

Our conversations are brief and all seem to go like this. I tell her what’s going on with me and she points out the holes in my thinking about a situation, or how she handled something similar. I know on some level she’s right. This isn’t my decision and it royally pisses me off. I can do all the right things, and still, I could lose custody of my son. How does that make sense? Do the right things, and the right things should happen. I want to live in a world where this simple concept bears true.

I go through the motions of my days during the week, sticking to the usual schedule as much as I can, despite the thoughts racing through my mind. I’m distracted and edgy, attempting to remain focused only on the task in front of me—brushing my teeth, taking a shower, drinking coffee. I work at the cafe four days a week. Serena moves me to dinner shifts, where the real money can be made. I have lunch with Jess and my mother, go to a meeting with Kristin or Serena, have mildly flirtatious conversations with Vince. I’m only half listening when people speak. Too many thoughts pound through my brain
to hear their words.
Please,
I think.
Please let me have him.
I’m itchy inside—allergic to uncertainty—with no easy way of relief.

I keep myself busy. My mother and I work out the terms of our arrangement with the house. I pay my bills, do the laundry, and plant hopeful bunches of bright-eyed yellow and purple pansies in my flowerbeds. It helps some, but still, it is not enough.

I spend the weekends with my son. We have dinner with my mom, Jess, and her family. After I drop him back with Alice the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, I decide I need a project. My night is too empty, the house too quiet. All it takes is a quick trip to Home Depot and four hours later the pale, powder blue walls in my son’s room are replaced with an earthy, armed forces green. The next day I pick up new camouflage sheets and top them with a thick, dark brown comforter—grown-up colors for my grown-up boy.
A welcome home gift,
I think, as I smooth the bedding and fluff up his pillow. For when he moves back in.

Later that night, I am standing in Charlie’s newly painted room, looking out his window. The sky looms heavy with ponderous black clouds, the air is thick and cold with the threat of an incoming late-summer storm. I think of Charlie, how he races into my bed at the earliest rumble in the sky, at first sight of a threatening steel wool sky. He is terrified of the loud, wall-shaking booms and the brilliant flashes of lightning. During a rainstorm when he was three, a fir tree fell directly next to his bedroom window, freaking the living daylights out of him. For months to come,
any
loud noise—a door slamming, a toy clattering to the hardwood floor—would send him directly into my arms.
Who is holding him now,
I wonder.
Alice? Or Martin?
It should be me. There are some things mothers are specifically made for—holding their children during a storm is one of them.