“Yeah,” I agree, glancing up at Desmond, who gives me a small nod of approval. “Yeah. Some other time.”
8
Desmond
My hands are shaking so badlyI have to place the document on the dining room table to read it.She’s actually going through with it, I think numbly, looking down at my mum’s name listed as the petitioner.She’s actually going to sue me for custody.
I should have known better than to give her the benefit of the doubt. Known that just because it had been a few months, that didn’t mean we were safe. Apparently, all she was waiting on was the legal system, because everything is listed on this service of process down to the fucking judge who will be presiding over our case. I’ve got a court date, like I’m some sort of bloody criminal.
“Parks?” I raise my voice, fighting against the volume of his video game. He yells back. “I need to step outside and make a phone call, okay? I’ll be right back.”
After he lets me know that he doesn’t care what I do, I leave the apartment and lock the front door behind me. Bythe time I’m out front of the building, I’ve got the lawyer’s phone number pulled up and am listening to it ring, the service of process clutched in my other hand.
“Jost Family Law,” a low, male voice answers.
“Hi, this is Desmond Gates. Uhm, my sister is—was Victoria Lewis?”
“Is there something I can help you with?” the man asks.
“Well, my sister, uhm, died recently and you guys handled her will…she granted me custody of her son and I just got served papers that my mum is taking me to court over it and?—”
“Mr. Gates, I’m sorry to interrupt but if I can just cut in here.” I can hear a keyboard clicking in the background. It’s oddly comforting, knowing he’s taking the call serious enough to be taking notes as I talk. “Let me go through a few questions with you; gather some information. After that, we’ll get a meeting set up with Mr. Jost as soon as possible, okay?”
“All right,” I agree, and then answer each of his questions to the best of my ability. Every time I look down at the court summons, a fresh wave of nausea rises. I sit down on the curb, not totally confident that I won’t pass out. My own fucking mum—unbelievable.
“So, I can get you in to meet with Mr. Jost as early as Monday. We do require a retainer be put down ahead of time, which I can collect from you now.”
“Okay,” I respond slowly, closing my eyes and pulling my legs up to rest both elbows on my knees. “How much is the retainer?”
I’ve always known lawyers were expensive, but the actual cost of hiring one was a nebulous, unknown figure. I’ve never had cause to know what exactly “expensive” is, in regard tolegal fees. As such, it’s a damn good thing I’m sitting down when the figure is rattled off.
“Three thousand?” I ask. “Dollars?”
A pause. “For the retainer, yes. Future payments will be determined and collected at that time and are, of course, dependent on the complexity of the case. It is also non-refundable, Mr. Gates.”
“Bloody hell,” I mumble, taking a single deep breath in and swallowing down the bile that’s desperately trying to crawl its way up my throat. I barely make three thousand dollars a month as an assistant coach, and almost every penny of it is needed to pay for living expenses. “And…and what are the odds of me needing to pay more than that?”
“I’m unable to provide an estimate like that, as it’s dependent on how many hours Mr. Jost must devote to your case.”
“Okay. Can I…can I call you back?”
“Sure. But keep in mind that the retainer is needed to hold that appointment with Mr. Jost as well as retain his services moving forward with this case.”
Yeah, mate, I know what a bloody retainer is, I think, but say out loud,“No drama. I got it.”
Sue, our neighbor, parks her Buick and waves at me as she climbs out. I return it, clambering to my feet and tucking the legal papers into my waistband as I walk over to help her with her shopping. She sees me coming and beams.
“Oh, aren’t you sweet,” she notes, popping the trunk of her car. Helping carry shopping up the stairs is the least of what I should be doing for her. She’s saving my life by helping watch Parker on nights when I have a hockey game. Not to mention all the days she gets him from school.
“G’day, Miss Sue,” I greet her, hyping up the Aussie a little bit because it makes her smile.
“How’s my Parker doing?” she asks, and then sends me a conspiratorial look out of the corner of her eye. “I might have some treats in here that aren’t strictly nutritional.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from him about that. Or me,” I add, making her laugh. Sue, a retired schoolteacher, was the first and only person to come knocking on our door after we moved in. I hadn’t actually known people brought over baked goods to greet their neighbors, but apparently in South Carolina they do. She’d passed off a loaf of warm banana bread, asked where I was from and how old Parker was, and offered to babysit if I ever needed it. It was the first time in my life I’d ever fallen in love with a woman.
Together we manage to bring the shopping upstairs in one trip. After getting all the bags into the kitchen for her, I head back over to my own apartment and let myself in. The brief respite Sue offered doesn’t make it through the door, though; the moment I’m inside, the dread returns and the court summons burns against my skin. Pulling it from my waistband, I consider chucking it into the rubbish bin. Maybe flicking a match in afterward.
“What’s that?” Parker asks, strolling from his room and over to the pantry for what is probably his fifteenth snack of the day.
