He gave my mom the divorce. He gave her health insurance, alimony, everything her attorney wanted, everything she asked for.
Except me.
She still fought for custody, though. The day of the custody hearing had passed in a blur, but the time I’d spent at the courthouse still stabbed at me with painful clarity. I’d been called into the court room by the bailiff.
There was no witness stand like there was on television. It was just a room, with a judge behind a desk, a bailiff, and both attorneys. I remembered looking at my mom once, letting myself have that one second to say goodbye, then forced my gaze away. I knew if I tried to say what I had to say while looking her in the eyes, I’d break. And she would die.
Maybe not that day exactly, but it would happen. I glanced at my father and my breathing quickened. Hell, maybe itwouldbe that day. He sat in his seat, his gaze boring into me. My dad had walked into the courthousewithhis service weapon, and no one said a damn thing. I saw him glare at me, and he nodded at me once, his hand resting for just a moment on his weapon. He could have killed us both, right then and there. I had to make this good.
Mom and her attorney had flown in from out of state. I’d remembered Dad complaining about having to rearrange his work schedule. She’d sat in a wooden chair next to her attorney and the judge had started talking to me.
“Mr. Terhune…” he looked down at his papers, then back up to me. “Dominic. Do you mind if I call you Nicki?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Nicki, do you understand that your mother has filed for divorce from your father?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“Do you know why she has filed for divorce?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I said, swallowing hard and forcing myself to hold the judge’s gaze.
“Your mother says that your father…” he looked at his papers, then back up to me. “She says your father attacked her and beat her badly enough that she required medical attention. Her doctors show that she was in the hospital for several days afterward. She also says your father struck you.”
It didn’t seem to be a question, so I didn’t say anything.
“Has your father ever struck you, Nicki?” he asked.
I looked him in the eye, and I lied like my life depended on it. I lied likeherlife depended on it.
“No, sir,” I said. I heard my mother gasp and whisper my name.
“Nicki, baby…” she said. I couldn’t look at her. I knew I would break if I did and get us both killed. I held the gaze of the judge and told the lies my father and his attorney had devised.
I told the judge how angry I was with her, how she had basically murdered me by her infidelity before I was even born, and that I’d rather live with my law-abiding, morally upstanding sheriff of a father than with a woman who cheated on her wedding vows. I was hoping he couldn’t sense the sarcasm when I called my father “morally upstanding”.
A part of my soul broke inside me as I parroted lie after lie, letting fly darts of venom with each lie I told about her. I’d heard my lies strike home, and she’d finally collapsed and sobbed quietly in the chair next to her attorney, but I continued relentlessly. I had to lie if I was going to save her.
I told the judge all the half-truths and outright falsehoods my father made me say. There were stories my father had made up of neglect, excessive drinking, and men. Lots of men. I couldn’t look at her as I spoke, so I forced myself to look behind her to a part of the wall where there was a small water stain. I knew to an observer it would look like I was holding her gaze, but I couldn’t. I told the stories as if my own life depended on it, because, in a way, it did. If anything happened to my mother, and I could have prevented it, there would be no reason for me to live.
Not surprisingly, the custody judge ruled in my father’s favor. That night was the first time my father beat me bloody. It wouldn’t be the last.
The mere thought of the pain I had endured over the years at his hands was enough to cause my mood to sour even further, so I just shook my head at Vivian with an exasperated sigh.
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you, but I also know better than to fight with you, babe,” she said. “I wanted to stop by, because I got my co-op, and I’ve got something for you.” She dug around in her purse for a minute before pulling out a cream-colored envelope with a green registered letter sticker on the front.
“You know Mr. Dellen, the mailman? He’s been trying to deliver this to you, but he was never able to catch anyone at home, so I went ahead and signed for it,” she said, starting to give it to me before realizing I didn’t have any free hands. “I hope that was okay.”
I nodded. “Probably something for school. Can you put it in my pocket?”
She stuck the surprisingly heavy envelope in the pocket of my servers’ apron.
“Thanks, sweetie. You got your co-op!? That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you! I want to hear all about it. I have to get this food out while it’s still hot. though. You going to be around long?” I asked, hopefully.
“Yep, I figured I’d hang out for a while, then drive you home after your shift,” she said, smiling. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
