Custody (13 page)

“How very sad.”

“Yes. Very sad. And painful. Very painful. I mean physically, not just emotionally.” She looked away.

A tap came at the door, and the secretary entered carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea, the ice tinkling musically.

“Just put them here.” Dr. Lawrence nodded to the corner of his desk. “Thanks, Carrie.”

“Is that your sailboat?” Anne asked, looking at a photograph on the wall behind him.

“Yes. It is. Sugar in your tea?”

“No, thank you.” She picked up her glass and took a small sip. She heard the door close behind her, shutting Carrie out, and felt her shoulders relax.

“So it was a tough time for you then, the first year of your marriage.”

“Indeed.” She felt anger flush through her. “I believed, and I always shall believe, that it was Randall’s fault.”

Dr. Lawrence looked slightly startled. “Oh?”

“Randall is sexually rapacious. I’m sure that if he had not insisted on having sex so often, I wouldn’t have had the physical problems that I had.”

“Is there any statistical evidence to back up this theory?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t read medical journals. Besides, it might be purely psychological, I mean the cause and effect. I don’t care about
statistics
, anyway. They wouldn’t change things for me. They wouldn’t make me capable of bearing children.”

Dr. Lawrence stirred a packet of Sweet’N Low into his tea. Sweet’N Low was a woman’s thing, Anne thought, watching. Still the action of his stirring, the domesticity of it, soothed her.

“And so we decided to adopt,” Anne continued. “But we both knew, from working at the hospital, how crucial those first few hours, days, and weeks are for an infant. Things can happen then that can impact a child’s character forever. You must, as a psychiatrist, be aware of that.”

He nodded.

“In addition, I also felt strongly that I would like to have a child who looked rather more like us than less. Not just to prevent awkward explanations with other people. I thought I would relate more strongly to a child who looked like us.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

“So we decided to use a surrogate mother, a woman with my coloring and so on, who would be artificially inseminated with Randall’s semen.” She cleared her throat. She was a nurse, yet saying those words—
semen, inseminate
—brought a flush to her face.

“We arranged it through a friend of Randall’s. He found a willing surrogate mother for us, a blond woman, young, healthy, and—perhaps we should not have cared about this, but we did—of high intelligence. So Tessa was born—”

“Were you there for the birth?”

Anne flinched. “Heavens, no. We never met the woman. We insisted on retaining our anonymity.” She waited for him to respond. He only nodded. “So—Tessa was born. A hired nurse brought her to us within hours of her birth.” Anne smiled at the memory. “She was a lovely baby. A lovely little girl. I’d been secretly hoping for a girl. She has one flaw, a birthmark on her neck, rather ugly, but otherwise she’s beautiful, and she looks like us. People are always saying to us that they can’t decide who she looks like more, Randall or me.”

“A fortunate little girl.”

Anne smiled at the compliment. “I stopped working when Tessa was born. I thought it best if I stayed home with the baby. I have nothing against mothers who work—I want to make that clear. I think children can be just as happy and well adjusted if they spend part of their early years with caregivers. That just wasn’t what I wanted for our daughter.” She stopped to sip some tea.

Dr. Lawrence waited calmly for her to resume her narrative.

“I did find, after the first blush wore off, that I was a bit bored, just staying home, and after a while I got into the habit of volunteer work. The more I volunteered, the more I wanted to work. My parents had raised me to be altruistic. As the years passed and Tessa was in school, I became more involved. I initiated a hands-on educational program for teaching high school students about contraception, AIDS, STDs, and drugs. I’ve sat on, and sit still, on several boards. As you might know, I’m campaigning for the Democratic slot for state representative from the Arlington district. I believe I have a fairly good chance of winning the election. I have quite a few supporters—”

“Is it a problem with your husband? Your social commitments?”

The interruption annoyed Anne, threw her off track. She sipped tea once more, trying to regain her poise. She considered his question.

“No. No, that’s no problem for Randall. He has always supported me in my work.”

Dr. Lawrence continued to look at her.

“Oh, I see.” Anne threw him a smile. “You want me to focus on why Randall and I are divorcing.”

“I’d like to know about that, yes.”

How to put it in the most flattering light? She knew if she were vitriolic about Randall (which certainly she deserved to be), it would somehow reflect badly on her.

“Randall and I—have grown apart over the years. I suppose many people say that, but in our case it’s true. He works perhaps sixty hours a week, and in addition sits on boards, and with my schedule—well, I’m sure you know how it is.”

“You’ve discussed the possibility of his cutting back?”

Anne flicked a piece of lint off her skirt. “No, because that’s not really the problem.” She saw a stain on her skirt, just slightly darker than the rest of the linen, and rubbed at it. Lifting her head, she forced herself to say it. “Randall is promiscuous. He has been for years. I find it insulting, degrading, and disgusting.”

“You’ve talked about this with him?”

“Of course I’ve confronted him! It does no good. You have to understand, Dr. Lawrence, the physical side of marriage has never been important to me. Randall
knew
that when we married. I thought he had accepted it and would adjust himself accordingly. His life is full, after all. He has his work, Tessa, me, his parents and their farm. He’s not an adolescent any longer.” She leaned forward, impassioned. “This is why it’s crucial that I have custody of Tessa. Tessa’s at a delicate age now. She’s
twelve
. She hasn’t started to menstruate yet, but when she does, it’s her mother she’ll need to turn to, not her father. Randall’s attitude toward sexual matters is so … so
reckless
that it can only harm her.”

“Do you mean he might behave sexually toward her?”

“What?” Anne blinked and then flushed deeply. “Good God, of course I don’t mean that. Randall would never—” She shuddered. “I would never accuse Randall of anything so abhorrent.”

“That’s good, then. We’ve got that out in the air and out of the way.”

“Randall is a good man, for the most part. But just because he’s basically good doesn’t mean that Tessa should live with him. He works too many hours, and he spends too much time with his father on that filthy farm, and he takes far too many different women into his bed … that would have to have a deleterious effect on Tessa. If we had a boy, I’d agree the child should live with Randall. But Tessa’s a girl. She needs her mother.”

“Tell me about Tessa.”

“Gladly.” Anne leaned back in her chair and gathered her thoughts. “She’s beautiful. Really beautiful. Slender, with long blond hair. I work hard, encouraging her to remain slender—children eat so much junk these days—but I believe her hair will stay blond as she gets older. I
think her birth mother must have been Scandinavian. She’s got that look about her. I have a picture in my purse. Would you like to see it?”

“I’ll be meeting with her soon. I’d rather hear you talk about her.”

“All right. Well—she was a good baby. A happy baby. Indeed, I think she’s a naturally happy child. She’s extremely bright. She might be gifted, but I’ve never wanted to have her tested. It’s not necessary. She’s receiving an excellent education at a private school.”

“What about friends?”

“What about them?” Anne realized her tone had been hostile. She made herself smile. “Tessa has friends. She sees children her age at school, of course, and this summer she’s attending a day camp. There is one point of contention between Randall and me. I might as well go ahead and mention it. He’s certain to bring it up: I don’t allow Tessa to visit other girls’ homes very often.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I feel very strongly about the negative aspects of computers, television, and music. There’s simply too much sex, too much violence. I see this as an insidious evil in our culture.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

“Well, then, you’ll understand. How can I allow Tessa to go to someone else’s house? I can’t control what they see or do there. Other parents aren’t as vigilant as I. Even the things they’re exposed to on HBO …” Again she rubbed at the stain on her skirt.

“And yet children need to be with friends.”

“Tessa is with friends. At school. That’s most of the day, five days a week. Or, as now, at camp. She sometimes attends birthday parties or goes to the movies with a friend.”

“What about boys?”

“Boys?”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not! She’s twelve years old.”

Dr. Lawrence nodded. “Okay. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what you and Tessa like to do together.”

Anne reflected a moment. “I have to think about that,” she admitted. “If you’d asked me this a year ago, or two years … we were closer then. You must realize that as girls grow up, they want to spend less time with their parents. And I’ve had to spend so much time lately, campaigning. Well, for one thing, Tessa and I used to go shopping together all the time. I loved buying her clothes, and even when she was five or six, she was capable of helping me select my
clothing.” She smiled. “ ‘Mom,’ she’d say, ‘
no ruffles
.’ ” Tessa has never liked ruffles.

“But now—she’s almost a teenager. She’s swayed by the opinions of the girls in her class, who in turn are brainwashed by ridiculous television ads. Everyone looks so
sloppy
these days. Baggy jeans. Oversized shirts. Children wearing slacks so low on their hips they walk on the hems, intentionally.”

Anne picked up her glass and found it empty.

“Would you like more tea?”

“No, I’m fine. I just—” She threw him one of her most charming smiles. “I suppose I was just trying to give myself time to think. I feel I’m taking a test. I want to get the answers right.”

“There are no right or wrong answers.”

“Of course there are. You’re going to base your recommendation to the judge about the custody of my daughter on my answers! If I tell you, for example, that I used to do a lot with Tessa, such as reading, I always read to her, every night, when she was small, but of course now she reads to herself and doesn’t want me reading to her, so it seems I don’t do as much with her—but you have to understand—” She brought her hands to her face, pressing the tips of her fingers against the bridge of her nose. She’d lost her train of thought, she’d lost her self-control.

“Please don’t be upset,” Dr. Lawrence urged. “I know this sort of session is difficult. But you’re doing just fine.”

She looked up. “Then you’ll recommend that I have custody?”

“We’re just starting the process, Anne. I need to speak with Randall, and with Tessa, probably twice for each of you. And perhaps some other people as well.” He flipped through a pad. “I have a list here. Carmen, your housekeeper. Randall’s father, Montgomery.”

“The minister of our church, Reverend Christopher.”

“Yes, perhaps. His name is here. In any case, our time is up for today.”

“I just want you to know,” Anne said, her voice low but urgent, “I consider it essential to my daughter’s psychological welfare that she live with me. I know I seem controlling. I
am
controlling. Randall, on the other hand, is capricious, promiscuous, unpredictable, messy, and indulgent. Not the qualities of a monster, I realize, but combined with the fact that he’s a man and Tessa’s a girl, add up to the unbelievably simple fact that Tessa should be with me.”

“You seem quite passionate about that.”

“I am.” Anne rose. She knew a good exit line. “I am not passionate about much, Dr. Lawrence, but I am passionate about that.”

When Kelly awakened Monday morning she lay for a few moments, indulging herself in the pure animal sensations of good health and happiness. Sun filtered through the breeze-stirred summer leaves, making their shadows dip and flutter on the floor. The classical radio station that her alarm clicked on sent something like Mahler into the air.
Mahler
, Kelly thought.
Ugh
. Reaching out, she punched the seek button to the classic rock station.

“Good golly, Miss Molly!”
Little Richard shrieked.

This is more like it, Kelly thought, jumping out of bed. She had a million things to do. She showered, sipped her coffee while dressing in a pale cream linen dress and comfortable flats—she’d be doing a lot of walking today—twisted her hair into a chignon, grabbed her briefcase, and headed out the door.