Every Fifteen Minutes (6 page)

“Kids are resilient, Eric.”

“Not that resilient.” Eric disliked the skepticism in Susan's tone. Kids with anxiety issues were in psychic pain, and nobody knew that better than he did. Anybody could be pushed over the edge, given the right circumstances. He wondered how many school shootings it would take before people woke up.

“Eric, here's what I suggest. See how the practice goes. Let her try it one or two times. That will make you look reasonable to the court if we have to go.”

Eric was getting a new idea, a bold one. “Listen, I really got blindsided by this house business, and it raises the question of whether I should have given Caitlin primary custody. If Caitlin is going to change so many things, then Hannah isn't going to get the benefit of the continuity that I bargained for.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Can we apply to the court for me to be primary custodian?”

“Are you serious?” Susan asked, surprised.

“Yes, why not?”

“But you and Caitlin agreed the other way. We just filed a custody agreement that gives her primary physical custody.”

“That was before I knew she was selling the house.” Eric took another swig of beer. Either the Bud Light was improving his reasoning powers or he was getting blitzed. “Think outside the box. Why shouldn't I be primary custodian? I can work fewer hours than Caitlin and I have more flexibility. Hell, if I wanted to, I could quit my job at the hospital and see patients only at home.”

“Slow down, Eric. You're talking about changing your life.”

“Maybe I need to change my life.” Eric felt his heart lift. Months of watching his fatherhood whittled to nothing had been getting to him more than he realized. “It's time to get aggressive, isn't it? Caitlin is.”

“It's not a contest between you and Caitlin. It's about the best interests of Hannah.”

“I know that, and I think it's in Hannah's best interest to be with me, now.”

“Why? Just because your ex is selling the house?”

“No, not
per se,
but it got me thinking. I went with the least disruptive thing for Hannah, but that purpose just got defeated. If she has to move, let her move in with me.” Eric took anther swig of beer. “I thought it would benefit Hannah if we didn't fight over her, but I shouldn't have tried to avoid the conflict. I should fight for what I think is right.”

“Why is it right for you to be the primary custodian? It's unusual for a female child.”

“I'm very close to Hannah, closer than Caitlin. I
get
her in ways that Caitlin doesn't.” Eric knew it in his heart, even if Caitlin would never admit it. “I think if you asked Hannah, she would choose to live with me over Caitlin, but I'd hate for Hannah to have to testify. Would she have to?”

“No. The judge could ask her in chambers whom she wants to live with, but she's too young for it to be dispositive. If you want primary custody, then I would withdraw our papers, right away.”

“Then what?”

“We would open the custody discussion and negotiate. If we couldn't agree, then we battle it out in court. It's not pretty, but if it's what you want, we can do that.” Susan hesitated. “You know, before we go there, there is a middle ground.”

“What?”

“We could ask for fifty-fifty physical custody. Hannah would be one week at your house, and one week at Caitlin's.”

“I don't like that idea, for Hannah. She'd have to get used to two new houses, and kids with anxiety don't do well with change, shifting back and forth. It's hard for them to adapt and it creates even more adjustment problems.”

“Okay. Sleep on it over the weekend. Call me Monday morning and let me know what you decide.”

“If we go to trial, will we win?”

“It's a borderline case, and I don't know. All I can say is, if you decide this is the way to go, I will do my very best.”

“Thanks.” Eric felt a warm rush of gratitude.

“In the meantime, toe the line. Don't call Caitlin and fuss about softball. Don't call Hannah and ask her how it went, either. Bow out. Let it be between the two of them.”

“I'm allowed to talk to Hannah, aren't I? I call her every night. We gave her a cell phone so she could talk to me.”

“Yes, but don't pump her for information. Courts frown on that.”

“I don't do that.”

“So far. But everything is about to become adversarial, which it hasn't been before. Caitlin isn't going to take this lying down. You don't need me to spell that out, do you?”

Eric didn't.

“Everything you do now goes on the record. The court will see all of it.” Susan sounded like she was wrapping up. “Do you follow me?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“You're welcome. Let's talk Monday. I have to go. My son's game is over.”

“Did they win?”

“If they won, I'd be cheering. Have a good night.”

“Great, take care. Bye.” Eric pressed End Call and took another swig of beer, draining the bottle. He set it and his phone down on the counter, and on the screen glowed the red alert on the text icon, from young Kristine.

He headed for the shower, to consider his decision.

 

Chapter Seven

Eric lathered up, letting the hot water relax his neck and shoulders. His thoughts ran free, fluid, and easy, if somewhat disorganized, which was unusual for him. His initial enthusiasm about trying to get primary custody of Hannah worried him, and he challenged it in his mind. He loathed to put her through a custody battle, which pitted her against her own mother. If the judge asked her whom she wanted to live with and Hannah chose him, then that would burden her in a new way.

Eric turned around, and water sluiced down his back. His mind stayed on track. As long as both parents were fit, a custody battle seemed the classic no-win position for her; Hannah would lose either her mother or her father as a hands-on parent. Eric didn't like being the odd man out, but he knew that he was better behaved than Caitlin. If Caitlin were the loser in the battle of Hannah, she would never forgive him. He would lose her, even as a friend, until the end of their days. So he had a no-win decision of his own.

Eric shut off the water, thinking. Like any married couple, he and Caitlin knew each other's secrets, and many of hers concerned being a mother. Caitlin's own mother, Teresa, whom she used to ironically call Mother Teresa, had been a cool and distant mom, and Caitlin had always worried that she wasn't maternal. She'd felt guilty that she enjoyed being a prosecutor, and she'd always doubted that her postpartum depression was truly hormonal. She hadn't wanted to stay home when Hannah was born, not even for a month, and she quit nursing after two weeks.

Eric opened the glass door of the shower, stepped out, and reached for a towel, drying himself off. He began to think he could be the natural primary custodian for Hannah. The fact that he was a father, not a mother, was simply beside the point, wasn't it? What defined a man? A father? Did he have the balls to quit the hospital and work only at home? How much of his own self-worth was tied up in being chief at Havemeyer General? Would it affect his career? His status in the profession? His private clients?

Eric tucked the towel around his waist, catching sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes were an intense blue, close together and sunk into his eye sockets; Caitlin always called them mournful, but he preferred to think of them as intense because it didn't sound so symptomatic. His short blondish hair stuck up like a brush, even dripping wet, but she used to think that was cute. He had a strong nose, narrow with just a slight bump, and thin lips; she had liked his smile. He was tall and strong, with broad shoulders, pronounced shoulder caps, and fairly cut abs from running.

You have the best body of all the husbands,
Caitlin used to say.

Eric realized that he couldn't look at any of his features without reference to her. He didn't know if that happened to every married guy, but he'd come to see himself only through her eyes. Caitlin had gone from being his girlfriend, to his best friend, to his wife, to the mother of his child. She was his only family and now he had to decide whether to take their only daughter from her; make
her
the every-other-weekend parent, the afterthought, the footnote, all the bad things he'd felt lately. He didn't know if he could do it to her.

He left the bathroom, securing the towel around his waist because he hadn't had a chance to put up curtains. He'd discovered this was a problem in his second week in the new house, surprised to catch the older woman across the street watching him through binoculars. Caitlin used to tell him that old ladies always had a thing for him, but he shooed that thought away. Then he flashed on poor Mrs. Teichner and her grandson, but he put that thought out of his mind, too.

He walked barefoot down the narrow hallway, with its hardwood floors and eggshell-colored walls, trying to imagine how the house would work with Hannah here, full-time. It was a charming carriage house in Devon, with weathered brown shingles and forest-green shutters, only ten minutes away from his old house, in the same school district. It had two bedrooms roughly the same size; one facing north for him and the other facing south for Hannah. She loved it and never got homesick, even overnight, which they did only on weekends, so she wouldn't be shuffled hither and yon during the school week. Here, she played in the same playground, went for ice cream at the same Baskin-Robbins, and picked out books at the same local library, Wayne Memorial, and bookstore, either the Barnes & Noble in Valley Forge or their favorite indie, Children's Book World.

He stopped in the threshold of Hannah's bedroom, assessing it with new eyes. It was a good size and held a double bed, a white dresser and bookshelf, and a matching white desk, situated next to a large window that overlooked the backyard. It was sunny and inviting in daytime, but right now it looked unfinished and unwelcoming; there was no headboard on the bed, nor any curtains on the windows. He had bought her a plain beige blanket, unlike the flowery quilt she had at home; the walls were the same white as throughout the apartment, although Hannah's room at home was a girly pink, her favorite color. If Hannah was going to be here full-time, he would have to warm the room up.

Eric felt a surge of new energy. He had painted to earn money in high school, and he could turn this bedroom into a pink palace. He checked his watch, and it was ten o'clock, so Home Depot was still open. Then he could run over to one of the big box stores and buy a lot of pink things—a comforter, some pillows, stuffed animals and games, more books, some pink flowery curtains.

His thoughts clicked away, and a vision came together in his mind. Hannah had also been talking about missing Peachy, their gray tabby cat who had died last year. Maybe it was time to go to the shelter and rescue a new kitten. Unlike Caitlin, Eric loved animals and wasn't embarrassed to say he was a cat man.

His phone started to ring in the bathroom, and he hurried back down the hallway, dashed to the bathroom, and picked up his phone, its screen glowing in the dark. The number on the screen wasn't one he recognized, but it wasn't Kristine's either. He picked up.

“Dr. Parrish, it's Max Jakubowski.” Max's tone sounded urgent. “I met you at the hospital, with my grandmother.”

“Sure, hello, Max.” Eric's heart leapt to his throat, thinking the worst. “How is she? Is she okay?”

“She's fine, she's asleep, but we talked, like, about me. I decided, I would like to come and see you.”

“Good.” Eric felt relieved. The boy was in crisis, and it was a good sign that he was asking for the help he needed. “When would you like to come in?”

“Can it be as soon as possible? Did you say you see clients on weekends?”

“Yes.

“What about this weekend? Can I come tomorrow?”

“I think so, let me check.” Eric thumbed to the calendar function on his phone. He was booked from nine o'clock until three, but he could start earlier. “You can be the first appointment, at eight o'clock. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, totally, thank you so much.”

“Good. You have the address on my card, right?”

“Right.”

“Make sure you use the driveway on the left, which is the office entrance.” Eric's new office was a sunroom on the back of the carriage house he rented and, because it used to belong to an orthodontist, had its own separate entrance and driveway.

“Yes, thank you so much. I'll see you tomorrow at eight.”

“Great. Good night. Give my best to your grandmother.”

“I will, thanks.” Max sounded calmer. “Good night.”

Eric hung up, then scrolled to the text function, where Kristine's text was staring him in the face, unanswered. He deleted it and got dressed to go out. He couldn't believe he was choosing Home Depot over Hot Medical Student.

At this rate, he would never have sex again.

 

Chapter Eight

3. I lie easily and well.

Circle one: Doesn't apply to me. Partially applies to me. Fully applies to me.

I can't sleep. I'm too hyper. I've cleared the first, maybe the biggest, obstacle. It took time, but it's working.

The enemy has been engaged.

I can't settle down. I feel a thrill, a tingling, not excitement but more nervous, like anticipation, if darker.

The clock by my bed reads 3:02
A.M.
, but I keep tossing and turning, shifting onto my right side, then my left. I get up to fiddle with the air-conditioning, twisting the knob to HI, then to LO. Why can't they spell English?

Idiots.

I go online and play a video game, but I can't focus, so I go back to bed. I'm bored with these losers and I don't want to be WorthyAdversary tonight. I found myself a real-life game, and my character is about to destroy someone who needs to be taken down because he's unworthy and weak, a lesser angel.