Page 5 of Finding Home

No, while I’m forced to be here and go through the motions, I simply want to be left alone to bang on my drums, attend all required, useless therapy sessions, work out, play ping-pong with that cool actor dude who’s staying here under a fake name, and otherwise keep to myself.

“I don’t know who’s here to see you,” the staff member says. “All I know is I was told to come get you for an emergency visitation.”

I walk down the hallway toward the visitor’s lounge, shitting bricks.

Emergency.

That’s the word the staffer used, a day after my sister boarded a flight.

I swear, if my sister has been ripped away from me, less than three months after Mom, I won’t survive it. One way or another, I’ll figure out how to end myself, despite the tight security in this place.

I turn a corner and enter the lounge, and when I see my attorney, Paula, sitting at a table in a corner, the dread I’ve been feeling during my short walk here morphs into downright panic.

“Is my sister okay?” I blurt, as Paula rises and extends her hand.

“I’m not here about Miranda.” Paula takes my hand and then motions to a chair. “Please, sit.”

I exhale an ocean of relief and settle into a seat across from Paula. If she’s here for a legal reason—even one that’san “emergency” in her book—that’s something I can handle without breaking a sweat. “Did the hotel in New York decide I caused more damage than initially reported?” I ask with a scoff.

“I’m not here about that. I’m here about Claudia Beaumont.” She takes a deep breath. “She’s dead.” When my jaw drops, Paula adds, “She got hit by a drunk driver a few weeks ago while walking to her car after work. And now, her father is trying to get full custody of her child—yourchild—because, Beaumont thinks, full custody will entitle him to the same thirty grand per month you’ve been paying to his daughter.”

I run a hand over my black, knit cap, feeling sick to my stomach. Of all the scenarios playing in my mind as I walked to the visitor’s lounge, this wasn’t one of them. “Does he have the kid now?”

“No, Claudia’s long-time best friend, Aubrey Capshaw, is with her. She’d been living with Claudia and the child in Seattle for quite some time. I’m told she’s taken the child back to Prairie Springs, to her childhood home, where she’s living with her parents and caring for the child there.”

I stare at Paula in stunned silence for a long moment. I’ve been enraged at Claudia Beaumont for a while now, ever since she replied to my heartfelt, pleading email about my mother with a concise, “Fuck off, C-Bomb. A deal’s a deal. Don’t ever contact me again.” But even so, I’ve never wished the womandead. My god, poor Claudia couldn’t have been more than twenty-four or -five, and this was how the poor girl went out?

“Is my kid a boy or girl?”

“A girl. Raine Beaumont. That’s Raine with an ‘e’ on the end.” Paula hesitates. Assessing me, apparently. Finally, she says, “I’ve got a photo of Raine, if you’d like to see her.”

I nod, too overcome to speak, and a moment later, Paula hands me her phone, its screen filled with the stunning, smiling face of an adorable toddler with big, blue eyes and blonde curls. Also, to my intense fascination, she’s got miniature versions of my exact nose and eyebrows.

“Raine,” I murmur, staring at the smiling photo. “You poor kid.” My heart aching, I slide Paula’s phone back to her across the table.

Two and a half years ago, when Claudia and I struck our deal through attorneys, Claudia said she had big plans for my money. She was going to rehab before the baby was born to get herself clean and sober and ready for motherhood. She was going to rent a big house in a safe neighborhood in Seattle—a place with a backyard big enough for an elaborate playset. She was going back to school to finish up some remaining credits for a nursing degree and she planned to start a hefty college fund for her child. All of it was well intentioned, but unlikely, I figured. Especially after her terse, cold reply to my heartfelt email, I thought to myself, “This girl is so full of shit.”

I haven’t given Claudia’s lengthy To Do List much thought recently; but now, suddenly, I need to know if Claudia did any of that stuff before her untimely passing, or if, instead, she pissed all my money away on plastic surgery, drugs, and tropical getaways.

“Did Claudia rent a big house in Seattle with a gigantic playset in the backyard?” I ask. “Did she become a nurse, like she said?”

Paula tips her head to the side. “I know Claudia was a nurse. The police report said she was killed right outside the hospital where she worked. I don’t know anything about her living situation, other than the fact that she livedwith Aubrey Capshaw. Age twenty-four. A waitress.” She narrows her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I hang my head. Tears are unexpectedly pricking my eyes, and I don’t want Paula to notice. Thinking about Raine losing her mother is making me think about me losing mine. I can’t even imagine how fucked up I’d be right now, if I lost my mother at age two.

Paula touches my forearm and whispers, “We have some time-sensitive things to talk about, Caleb; but if you need a few minutes to collect yourself, I’ll take a walk and come back in fifteen.”

I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, and look up. “No, I’m fine. What’s the emergency, as it pertains to me?”

“We need to stop Ralph Beaumont, Claudia’s father. I’ve received a demand letter from his attorney, demanding you support his claim for custody and start paying him child support, immediately. As next of kin, he’s already swooped in and taken control of all Claudia bank accounts, including the substantial sum she’d set aside for Raine’s college fund. But apparently, that’s not enough for him. In fact, that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what he wants, as Raine’s only living blood relative.” She levels me with dark, intense eyes. “Other than you, of course.”

I sigh. “I signed my parental rights away, remember?”

“Jesus, Caleb, did you not listen to meat allback then? No, you didn’t. Like I told you at the time, a private custody and support agreement isn’t the same thing as a legal relinquishment of parental rights. Luckily, with that positive paternity test on the books, we’ve already got indisputable proof you’re the child’s father, so we’re ready to roll without delay.”

“Ready to roll . . .how?”

Paula shrugs. “Based on that paternity test alone, you’dalmost certainly win custody over Beaumont. Against Aubrey Capshaw, I’m not as sure, given that she’s been in a co-parenting role for most of the child’s life. But at the very least, you’d most certainly be able to win regular visitation rights until?—”

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