He calls out my name in pure ecstasy every time after.
I leave the next morning with my contracts signed in triplicate and Loren wrapped around my little finger.
Mission fucking accomplished.
She usually saves the sigh
present
“I want full custody.”
The words charge through the phone and to my ear like a physical blow that takes me to my knees. They steal my breath and make my vision blur. They make my thoughts halt and suddenly my head feels like it’s filled with boiling, white-hot shock. That’s quickly replaced with fury and a fierce need to protect what’s mine, whatever the cost. “Over my dead body.”
She sighs. Loudly. She usually saves the sigh. It’s the exclamation point to emphasize extreme irritation. I’m surprised she’s used it so quickly, which makes me believe she somehow thought this would be easy. That I wouldn’t fight her.
Like hell I won’t.
“Seamus, be realistic. You can’t provide the life they need.”
I’m still seething and at a loss for words because all that’s raging through my head is a continuous, manic loop of “Fuck you.” I can’t come back with that because that’s what she wants, so I settle for, “What?” until I can gather my thoughts and refute this.
She sighs again. But this sigh is different, there’s an evil smirk behind it like she’s been anxiously waiting to spew hate and degradation. “They’re all sharing a bedroom. Kira was dressed like a vagrant clown last weekend. Rory is talking like an insane person. Kai is withdrawn and angry. You have them enrolled in public school—”
I cut her off because I can’t listen to this. She’s clearly only worried about her own image, not the kids’ well-being. I still don’t know what to say because fuck you still isn’t an option, so instead I repeat a bewildered, “What?”
She continues as if I haven’t spoken, “And physically you’re not fit to parent. And we both know that will only get worse.”
That’s where I lose it. “Fuck you. I’m perfectly capable of raising my children.”
“Our children,” she corrects. “And no, you’re not.”
“My children,” I correct through gritted teeth.
“Are you threatening me?” Her tone tells me the classic, evil smirk is still in place. She’s not insulted; she’s enjoying this.
“No, I’m stating a fact.”
“You’ll hear from my attorney.” It’s final. The line goes dead.
Of course, she got the last word. And of course, it was, You’ll hear from my attorney. It almost wouldn’t feel right ending a conversation without hearing it. Some people say goodbye. Miranda says, You’ll hear from my attorney.
The passage of time changes people, many different influences come into play. They combine to perpetuate and escalate the enrichment, or erosion, of our ideals and personal code of ethics. Dominion and power have elevated Miranda, in her mind, to untouchable status. A place where decency is exempt and treating others like shit is her norm. It’s ruined her. And I have a feeling it’s going to ruin us all before she’s done.
You might need your own sign
present
Miranda is in town again.
She has my kids until Sunday morning, exactly twenty-four hours from now. I didn’t want to let her take them because the nauseous feeling that started in my stomach seemed to bleed through my veins until it filled me, making me burn with the very real possibility that she may make some kind of screwed up play and take them back to Seattle with her. So, to quiet my fears, I followed her to the Hilton a few miles away. I considered parking my car on the other side of the lot and staying there to monitor her, but then figured that was probably a bit extreme and decided to leave and wait it out.
I drove straight to the beach and sat in the same spot on the sand until the sun went down. The water has always had a soothing effect on me. I don’t know if it’s the sound of waves crashing, or the sight of waves crashing that does it, but it’s the reason I’ll always live near the water. That and it makes me feel closer to my mom.
By the time I drive home, I feel like I’ve taken a sedative. I’m relaxed for the first time in ages.
I hear the buzzy exhaust of Faith’s scooter pull up outside her apartment just as I hit the W…E mat. Stupid unwelcome mat. My hand is in my pocket searching for my keys. I don’t know why but my heartbeat is beginning to gallop. Like it’s in a race. Or trying to escape.
“Are you avoiding me, Seamus?” Faith yells, as she kills the engine on her scooter. I know she’s yelling because I hear it loud and clear and she’s a story below me.
The gallop holds steady at her words, but I don’t answer. Where are my damn keys?
“Well?” That’s closer, she’s moving.
I hear footfalls on the stairs.
I stop searching my pockets, and my heart rate begins to slow as if someone’s pulling the reins hard against the gallop. I stand and wait, but I don’t turn around.