“What about the polka-dotted elephant?” Lucy says, a smile playing over her lips. “Total freak of nature.”
“On the contrary—sticking him on the island was a blatantly racist move. For all we know his mother had an affair with a cheetah.”
“The doll is the scariest . . .”
“What’s her issue?”
“She’s depressed,” Lucy says. “Because none of the kids want her.”
“Do they ever actually tell you that?”
“No, but what elsecouldher problem be?” Suddenly, she grins. “Unless she’s ahe. . .”
“Cross-dressing,” we say, at the same time.
We both laugh, and then Lucy bends down over her artwork again. She draws in silence for a few moments, adding spots to that poor misunderstood elephant. “I’d probably fit right in on that stupid island,” Lucy says. “Because I’m supposed to be invisible, but everyone can still see me.”
“Maybe you’re not supposed to be invisible. Maybe you’re just supposed to be different.”
As I say the words, I think of Angela Moretti, and Vanessa, and those frozen embryos. I think of Wade Preston, with his Hong Kong tailored suit and slicked-back hair, looking at me as if I am a total aberration, a crime against the species.
If I remember correctly, those toys all jump into Santa’s sleigh and get redistributed beneath Christmas trees everywhere. I hope that, if this is true, I wind up under Wade Preston’s.
I turn to find Lucy staring at me. “The other time I feel things,” she confesses, “is when I’m here with you.”
Usually after Lucy’s therapy session, I go to Vanessa’s office and we have lunch in the cafeteria—Tater Tots, let me tell you, are vastly underrated—but today, she’s off at a college admissions fair in Boston, so I head to my car instead. On the way I check my phone messages. There’s one from Vanessa, telling me about an admissions officer from Emerson with an orange beehive hairdo who looks like she fell off a B-52’s album cover, and another just telling me she loves me. There’s one from my mother, asking me if I can help her move furniture this afternoon.
As I get closer to my yellow Jeep in the parking lot, I see Angela Moretti leaning against it. “Is something wrong?” I say immediately. It can’t be a good thing when your attorney travels an hour to tell you something.
“I was in the neighborhood. Well, Fall River, anyway. So I figured I’d swing by to tell you the latest.”
“That doesn’t sound very good . . .”
“I got another motion on my desk this morning, courtesy of Wade Preston,” Angela explains. “He wants to appoint a guardian ad litem to the case.”
“A what?”
“They’re common in custody cases. It’s someone whose job it is to determine the best interests of the child, and to communicate that to the court.” She shakes her head. “Preston wants one appointed for thepre-bornchildren.”
“How could he . . .” My voice trails off.
“This is posturing,” Angela explains. “It’s his way of setting forth a political agenda, that’s all. It’s going to be knocked out of court before you even sit down in your chair.” She glances up at me. “There’s more. Preston was onJoe Hoffmanlast night.”
“Who’s Joe Hoffman?”
“A conservative who runs the Voice of Liberty Broadcasting. A mecca for the closed-minded, if you ask me.”
“What did he talk about?”
Angela looks at me squarely. “The destruction of family values. He specifically named you and Vanessa as being at the forefront of the homosexual movement to ruin America. Do you two receive mail at your house? Because I’d strongly recommend a post office box. And I assume you have an alarm system . . .”
“Are you saying we’re in danger?”
“I don’t know,” Angela says. “Better safe than sorry. Hoffman’s small potatoes, compared to where Preston’s headed. O’Reilly, Glenn Beck, Limbaugh. He didn’t take this case because he cares so deeply for Max. He took it because it gives him a platform to stand on while he’s preaching, and because it’s a current hook that gets him booked on these shows. By the time we go to trial, Preston’s going to make sure you can’t turn on the TV without seeing his face.”
Angela had warned us that this would be an uphill battle, that we had to be prepared. I’d assumed that what was at stake was my chance to be a mother; I hadn’t realized that I’d also lose my privacy, my anonymity.
“When you think about the lengths he’s going to, it’s laughable,” Angela says.
