Page 77 of No Kind of Hero
“Noon,” he said. “Taco Time.” He hung up. He didn’t want to hear her anymore. He didn’t want to see her face. He didn’t want any of this.
He had no choice.
“Good,” Beth said. She was still feeding Gracie, her movements methodical and neat, the way Beth did most things.
“At least I can give her the papers,” he said.
“No. We’ll get the process server to do it. Proof of service from an uninvolved party. But you’re right. That works.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have done this,” he said. “I poked the nest, and out she came. I knew it.”
Beth turned to study him even as she dipped the spoon into the cereal again. “Evan. No. If you hadn’t done this, it would be hanging over you whether you realized it or not. She’d still be out there, and she could still come back any time. This is the only way you fix that. You need to put some limits around it, and this is how. What did she say, exactly?”
He didn’t want to remember April’s voice, or her tears. He’d had enough of her tears. They meant just exactly nothing. “That she needed to figure out what to do. She says she needs to see Gracie to figure it out, but I can’t think why. Seems to me she figured it out a long time ago.”
“That could be a good thing, though.” The cereal was gone, and Beth smiled at Gracie. “You did such a good job, didn’t you? You ate it all up, because the medicine’s making you all better.” She was wiping off Gracie’s mouth, her hands, taking off her bib and unfastening her from the high chair, lifting her out as if she knew how.
Evan should have taken Gracie, but he was standing still so he wouldn’t pace, taking those deep breaths. He needed a minute.
Beth looked at him some more as her hand cupped the back of Gracie’s head. “I don’t know for sure,” she told him, “because I’m not a mother. But I do know the kinds of things people say. The things clients say. They need to . . . to cast themselves in the best possible light. To convince themselves that they aren’t wrong, that they aren’t bad, even if what they’re doing looks terrible to anybody else. You could say their self-esteem demands it. I heard an interview once where somebody said, ‘Bad people don’t know they’re bad,’ and that struck me. In real life, the bad guy’s not looking in the mirror and twirling his mustache, thinking, ‘It feels so good to be so bad.’ He’s thinking, ‘I had to do it. She gave me no choice.’ Or in the cases I see, they’re thinking, ‘Mom would have wanted it this way. She always meant for me to have that.’ Or maybe, ‘My kids don’t deserve it.’ Who knows whether that’s true? I never do. I just know that self-justification is a powerful thing.”
It was what he’d been thinking, more or less. He said, “So tell me why she’s coming today.”
“I think,” Beth said slowly, her gaze not on him, but abstracted, looking out the window as if she were looking into April’s messy mind, “that she needs to see that Gracie’s fine. That she needs to be able to tell herself, ‘She doesn’t need me. She’s better off, and so am I, and that’s OK.’ Something like that. Especially if she’s not a strong person.”
“She’s not a strong person.”
“She probably knows that on some level. But she knows how everybody would judge her, so she needs to reframe the narrative. She wants a story she can tell herself when she thinks about it. She said she has to see Gracie in order to decide? Let’s hope that’s why, because that would be the best news you could hope for. Let’s hope she decides right.”
“So . . . what?” He wanted her to be right. He wanted it way too much.
“So when you meet her, you don’t get mad at her. You don’t tell her she was wrong, that she was a bad mother.” She must have seen that that wasn’t going over big, because she went on hastily, “Of course she was. But don’t tell her so. Tell her Gracie’s fine, that you’re fine. Be your . . . your solid self, your calm self, the one she always relied on to take care of everything. I know you were that for her. Be that guy.”
“How do you know?”
She smiled. “Evan. Of course I know. I know you. Let her know she can walk away and know for sure that Gracie’s fine. Don’t give her anything to . . . to push against, anything to resist. And just in case that’s enough? I’m going to talk to Joan about what your options are. Whether April can voluntarily give up her parental rights. I’m not sure what’s involved, but I’m pretty sure it’s a big deal, not just signing a paper. But just in case, I’m going to find out. And if thereissomething she can sign to get things started, I’m going to have that ready.”
“You’re coming with me, then? I’m not sure . . .”
“No,” she said. “Or yes and no. I agree, I’m not going with you, because that’s too scary, if she’s weak. Two people sitting there, and one of them a lawyer? Or looking like your girlfriend? No in both cases. That could be something to push against. I think I should be there, but in another booth. She doesn’t know me, and she doesn’t need to know what I’m there for. We’ll work out what you should say. We’ll practice. And if there’s a right moment, you can signal me, and we’ll take it from there.”
It sounded good. And April giving up her rights to Gracie? That sounded better. Too good to be true, in fact. “You said she had as much right to Gracie as I do. What if she wants to take her?”
“I’ll check on that with Joan, too. I imagine we could get an emergency hearing in that case. You tell April, ‘I’ll find out how to do that and let you know,’ like you’re calm, and she trusts you, because of course she trusts you. You’ve got the affidavits showing abandonment. This is going to be all right, Evan. It really is. It’s scary when things get put in motion, but it’s better. You want them in motion, because you want to get to the end. We’re starting, and that’s good.”
Evan hadn’t been able to sit still all morning. Beth was off somewhere, meeting with the attorney or printing out paperwork or both. She’d drive to Taco Time separately. If April got there early, she wouldn’t see anything. Just Evan showing up with Gracie.
Right now, Gracie was in her stroller with Henry lying at her side, the two of them supervising as Evan trimmed the bushes dividing his lawn from the neighbor’s. He’d already mowed and edged. If all this drama kept up, he was going to have one neat yard. He’d be sweaty to meet April, too, but he didn’t care. He needed tomove.And if April thought he was no prize? The feeling was mutual.
Gracie was squawking, and he glanced over at the shady spot under the Japanese maple where he’d stuck her stroller. Henry was standing up, and Gracie was leaning as far over as the lap belt would allow and reaching for him.
He headed over there. “Settle down, squirt,” he told her, picking up the soft bunny rabbit rattle she’d dropped, the one with the crinkly ears, and shaking it for her until she grabbed it and stuck an ear into her mouth. She was a mess again, her nose running. He should give her the antibiotic, too. It was half an hour too soon, but he couldn’t exactly stop in the middle of that conversation with April to do it.
“Hang on a moment,” he told her. He set the clippers on the bottom step and took another look at Henry. He’d lain down again, completely calm, so that was all right. Evan headed into the house, stopping to unlace his grubby boots and leave them by the door. That had been something, having Beth help him clean house yesterday. It had been domestic, and it had been fine.
He didn’t think about her going back to Portland. One crisis per day. That was plenty. He headed through the house to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of bubble-gum pink medicine and the dispensing spoon.
Henry barked.
