Finding Bliss (20 page)

W
hen I came home that night, I found Tyler cleaning out the garage. His shirt was off, and his tattoos were shimmering with perspiration. When he waved at me as I pulled into the driveway, he looked every bit the gorgeous football hero that I’d fallen in love with. I still wanted him so badly, but our quest for a family had muddied our romance. For years now, sex had come with a price. An expectation and a disappointment. It became something we did out of obligation, not passion.

“You’re going to shock the ladies next door. You know Saturday is bridge night,” I said and gave him as kiss.

He flexed his right bicep and grinned. “You’ve been asking me to do this, so I thought I’d get it done before your surgery tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s Grace’s mom doing?” he asked.

“She’s good. I went and whined to her so that you’d be spared.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Chloe. Tomorrow is just the beginning for us. I promise you, I have a good feeling about it.”

I nodded. “I know. I’m honestly doing everything I can to think positively. I wish I didn’t have such a crazy couple of weeks at work though. I mean, as if there’s ever a good time, but people’s schedules are so stringent—the courts, the fertility doctors—I feel like something is going to suffer, and neither can afford to.”

Tyler removed his gloves and wrapped his arms around me. I rested my head on his warm chest and just stood there for two minutes, hoping that everything would go smoothly in the morning.

“What’s going on at work?” he asked.

“I have the
Anderson
case coming up. We filed to get the wife exclusive possession of the house during the divorce proceedings so that her kids could have some peace and stability. At the moment, the husband just comes and goes when he pleases, and deliberately starts fights with his wife, which causes the kids to get hysterical and pee in their pants.”

“What an asshole.”

“You have no idea what these people put their children through all in the name of spite. If it means they get to be right or they get to see their spouse suffer, then they could care less about how it affects their children. It’s hard to believe how many people will throw their kids to the curb, just to have the last word.”

Tyler pulled away and met my eyes. “You’d be out of a job if there were no pricks out there.”

“Very true.”

We closed the garage door and ordered a pizza. Afterward, I went out to the trunk of my car and brought the candlesticks that Cam had sent me into the house.

“What are those?” Tyler asked as I sat them down on the kitchen island.

“Cam sent these to me. They’re fertility candlesticks.”

Tyler lifted one up and rolled his eyes.

I gently took it back from him. “And if you think I’m above lighting them, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“If they make you feel better, then knock yourself out. What time do we have to be at the clinic in the morning?”

“Seven,” I said. “They should let me know how many eggs they got while I’m in recovery. It’s supposed to be really painful.”

Tyler sat on one of the stools. “You and your eggs will do great.”

“Then you have to do your part,” I said, looking apologetic.

“Don’t worry about me, kid. As long as they have
Big Tit Bitches 4
, I’ll be just fine.”

I buried my nose in my hands and laughed and prayed and shook my head skeptically. No one understood what we were going through. Every day I fielded calls and court documents for people who showed no regard for their children. Sometimes I thought that every parent should be subjected to what we were going through if they wanted to have a child. Maybe then they wouldn’t take their kids for granted. I knew I wouldn’t.

The next morning we arrived at the clinic at a quarter to seven and were immediately ushered into a room for the procedure. Tyler held my quivering hand until Dr. Wilder asked him to stand aside. Having my eggs extracted was as painful as I’d expected, but I did my best to grin and bear it and remind myself why I was doing it. Afterward, Tyler went to leave his deposit and uphold his end of the bargain. When we were both done, we sat together in recovery for about an hour or so until the nurse came in.

“We were able to get twelve eggs, which we’ll begin fertilizing today. We’ll call you with the results tomorrow,” she told us.

“How many typically survive?” I asked her.

“It depends. Everyone is different, but we’ll have a better idea in the morning. You’ll come back in three to five days to have the transfer. At that point you’ll discuss with the doctor how many to have put back in.”

Tyler and I both nodded. “Thank you,” I said.

“My pleasure. Just go home and take it easy, and we’ll see you in a few days,” the nurse said and left the room.

“You ready?” Tyler stood and asked.

“Yeah.” I said, and we left.

The phone was ringing when we walked in the house. I checked the caller I.D. before answering. “It’s your mom,” I said.

“Just leave it. I’ll call her later. She probably wants to know how the surgery went.”

Despite her misgivings about IVF, she had done her best to be supportive once she realized we were going to go through with it. Far be it for her to act rude. It wouldn’t be proper. My own mother had also lent her support in the form of a loaf of banana bread, sent through the mail. Parcel post.

“I’ll call her back,” I said, feeling generous and familial. It was never lost on me that she would be my child’s only reasonably sane grandparent.

“Hi, Dixie,” I said when she answered the phone. “We were just walking in and missed your call.”

“Chloedear, how are you? How did the procedure go? I ran into Joyce McNary at the market this morning, and she told me her niece ended up with triplets after having five eggs put back into her. I simply had to tell you to be wise about it.”

“Thank you. I’ll defer to the doctor later this week when we have the transfer done. They were able to pull twelve eggs today, but we’ll be lucky to have one or two viable ones left in the end.”

“And how is Tylah doing? I’m sure this must be such a drain for both of you.”

“Would you like to talk to him?” I asked. Tyler overheard me and began to wave his arms. “Um, you know what, he just jumped in the shower, but he’s doing fine. Very supportive. He’s been wonderful,” I said, winking at him. “Thanks for calling. I’ll talk with you later.”

“Good-bye, dear,” she said and hung up.

I went to lie down on the couch, and Tyler brought me an iced tea. We put a movie in, and he eased his body in next to mine. I rested my head on his abdomen while he gently massaged my lower back. I was asleep ten minutes later.

N
o rest for the weary—or the divorce lawyers. Monday morning I had to be in court to argue why my client, Melinda Anderson, should be allowed to live in peace with her children during her divorce from her husband, Blake Anderson. Blake had cheated on Melinda with a woman named Christina, whom he’d met at a sales conference in Phoenix. Christina was married to a guy named Richard, who’d called Melinda and told her that he’d found her husband, Blake, having sex with his wife—doggy style—on a trampoline in their backyard. Melinda had been sitting in the car line at her sons’ school, waiting to pick them up when she got the call. Sad? Yes. A shame? Yes. Unfortunate? Sure. Out of the ordinary? Not a chance.

Cheating spouses were often the catalyst for my clients’ divorces, but typically not the real reason for the demise of their marriages. Apathy, addiction to prescription drugs, and self-loathing—among other things—often led people to rebel against their family and ultimately do something unforgivable. That’s when they’d come to me. For peace, justice, and merciless revenge. In my entire career, only one couple, out of hundreds, had agreed that they never should’ve married in the first place, and that was okay. She didn’t want anything from him, and he didn’t want anything from her. They split their assets, agreed to joint custody of their one child, and never looked back.

But not Melinda and Blake Anderson. As if crushing her with an extramarital affair wasn’t enough, he was hell-bent on destroying what was left of her dignity, her reputation, and her checkbook, with no regard for the emotional harm he would be inflicting on their children. Blake had refused to leave their home, despite the fact that he had extensive family in the area and Melinda had none. Blake also owned three other rental properties in Chicago, but insisted on staying in their house and making everyone miserable. He started fights and berated the children simply to goad Melinda. Only to chastise and scream at her when she came to the kids’ defense. The two boys were unable to sleep, began wetting their pants, and refused to be alone with their father. The courts had initially ordered a “bird-nesting” scenario, in which one parent would leave, and the other would enter for his or her allotted time with the kids. But this had only resulted in more confusion and uncertainty for the children who’d expressed anxiety about where their mother was going and when she would return.

Since mediation had failed, there I was in court, almost twenty-four hours after my own personal egg hunt, listening to Blake’s attorney address Dr. Michael Whalen, the court-appointed evaluator, on the stand. I popped three Advils before he began.

“Dr. Whalen, could you please review your findings on the two parenting styles?”

“Certainly. Shall I read from the report?”

“Please.”

“The children are primarily attached to their mother and enjoy a close, warm, and trusting relationship with her. Mrs. Anderson has been the boys’ principal caretaker since birth, and they rely on her to meet their needs for physical and emotional sustenance. The boys feel happy and secure in her presence and experience anxiety to
varying degrees when contemplating separation from her. Collateral contacts report that she is an exemplary parent in many ways.”

“And Mr. Anderson?”

Dr. Whalen cleared his throat and took a sip from his glass of water before continuing. “Mr. Anderson is not as patient, and loses his temper easily. Although the manner in which he disciplines may not rise to a level that would cause undue alarm, from the boys’ perspective it is so very different from what they experience with their mother that they perceive him to be frightening and off-putting. Additional findings reveal that Mr. Anderson is highly self-focused and preoccupied with meeting his own needs—often at the expense of the needs of others. Making it challenging for him to spend extended periods of time with children, who are by nature unrelenting in their demands and need for attention.”

“And what children aren’t?” Blake’s attorney commented snidely. “There’s nothing in your report that says anything about any of the parties being at risk; is that correct, Dr. Whalen?”

“That’s correct.”

Blake’s attorney removed his suit jacket and went back to pacing in front of the bench. “Would it be fair to say, if you considered there to be an imminent risk to either Mr. or Mrs. Anderson or the children, that that would have been contained in your report?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Would it also be fair to say, if you learned of circumstances during your evaluation that caused you to believe that one of the parties or the children were in physical jeopardy, that that would have been contained in your report?”

“Yes.”

“Is it reasonable for us to conclude, because those things are not referenced in your report, that you did not come up with any
findings showing that either party or the children were endangered during the course of your investigation?”

“That’s correct.”

“No further questions, your honor.” Blake Anderson’s attorney waved at the judge and took a seat while I stood and approached the witness stand.

“Good morning, Dr. Whalen. On this matter of a shared residence, I believe you stated in your report that you did not believe a shared residence was in the best interest of the children during the pendency of this case, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Is it your opinion that there are certain benefits for the children that come from sharing a residence, bird nesting as it’s called, as they were doing? And if so, what are these benefits?”

“Well, from their perspective, they get to stay in one location, not packing a bag, going back and forth. Life is consistent. The only thing that changes is Mom’s there some of the time and Dad’s there at other times.”

I walked back over to where my paralegal, Robert, and Melinda Anderson were seated and grabbed a piece of paper from the table. “Are there certain benefits, specifically for the children, of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson having separate residences?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“And what might those be?” I asked.

“I can only think that because the parents are uncomfortable with the circumstances and are at times anxious about the arrangement, that that’s something the children pick up on from time to time.”

“Would you agree that it would benefit the children to begin to deal with the reality, which is Mom and Dad are getting divorced, and they’re going to have two toothbrushes and two houses and two
bedrooms—two of everything, eventually—and that the parents are causing additional, unnecessary stress and anxiety by postponing the inevitable? That the children would ultimately benefit from two separate households?” I asked, standing right in front of him.

“Yes, I would agree,” Dr. Whalen answered.

“No further questions, your honor.”

Judge Kathleen Donahue acknowledged me. “Do you have any additional witnesses?” she asked.

“Yes, Judge. I’d like to call my client, Melinda Anderson, to the stand.”

Melinda walked over with a wad of tissue in her hand and took a seat next to the judge. I asked her the routine foundational questions regarding her name and marital status, and then went for pay dirt.

“On the evening of May fifth of this year, did anything unusual occur in the home?”

Melinda’s eyes welled as she sat straight and began to speak. “Well, the night began like every other night with Blake yelling and screaming because the kids were being loud and wouldn’t get in the bath. I asked him if he could give me a hand with them, and he flipped out. He grabbed my arm and twisted it so hard that his fingernails broke the skin and left bruises. It wasn’t the first time he’d grabbed me, but it was the first time I was really scared.” She sniffed.