Page 3 of Harts & Hurts

She whisper-shouted at me, “I lost my son, Griffin! This baby is the only piece of him that’s left on Earth.”

“She lost her daughter. Isn’t it the same for her?”

Anger burned in her eyes as she glared at me.

I walked away. My mother was caught up in a feud that really didn’t have anything to do with her. She was a damn Mattison before she married my dad. Besides that, she wasn’t even from Fort Jackson. My father met her when he traveled up to Londynville, Kentucky, for an NBA game one time. Now, she was embroiled in the rivalry, like her grandfather had been wronged.

“Shit’s stupid,” I muttered to myself as I plopped down on the second row. My eyes landed on the two closed caskets at the front of the room, and annoyance bubbled up inside my stomach. Two people, who loved each other fiercely and hoped that the baby they created would bridge the gap between their families, were dead, and the families were still at odds. “Shit’s stupid.”

2

Anistyn Hurt

I tried not to get mixed up in the whole Melrose vs. Hart debate. I tried to stay out of it and keep an unbiased opinion. I was pretty successful at it, too, but this time, I definitely felt some kind of way. My sister and her sweet husband had barely been in their graves for three days, and we were at the attorney’s office for an emergency custody hearing and reading of the will to determine who got custody of little Melrose.

Of course, when we first got the news that Ashlynn and Fisher were killed in the crash, my mother had been handed Melrose, no questions asked. She was, after all, the mother of the baby’s mother. Melrose stayed at my parents’ house, and the Harts were welcome to come over and visit with her. I thought it was understandable that my mother didn’t want to let Melrose out of her sight. Melrose was her only connection to Ashlynn. I also thought it was understandable that Mrs. Hart would want to be close to her as well. She had lost her son, and Melrose was her only connection to him. It was tricky.

I thought it was big of my mother, after some convincing and cajoling from my father, to agree to let the Harts take the baby after the funeral. I did not think it was big of Mrs. Yolanda Hart to refuse to return Melrose to my mother, nor did I think it was big of her to suggest that my mother retain an attorney if she wanted any chance of ever getting Melrose back in her possession.

I really didn’t understand Mrs. Hart’s position, unless her puppet strings were being pulled by Mr. Hart. After all, Yolanda Hart was only a Hart through marriage. She didn’t have any more skin in the family feud game than my father did. As a Hurt, he stayed out of the Melrose/Hart shenanigans. But maybe that had more to do with him being a man or something. Men typically shied away from drama, while women often ran full speed ahead toward it.

Anyway, my head already hurt from the stress of the entire situation. Fighting with the Harts over Melrose was taking a toll on my mother, which meant that it was taking a toll on my father, which meant that it was taking a toll on me. I said a silent prayer that the custody determination was fair to both families.

Attorney Clark walked into the conference room of his medium-sized law office located on the corner of Creekside Lane and Morning Glory Road. “If we could all take a seat.”

On one side of the table sat my father, Adam; my mother, Tara; my older brother, Anthony; my older sister, Amberlyn; and me. On the other side sat Mark Hart, Yolanda Hart, Mariah Hart, Griffin Hart, Marissa Hart, and Melrose Hart.

The Harts hadn’t even let my mother hold Melrose, claiming she would run off with the baby if they did. My mother sat at the table, blotting her eyes with tissue.

“We have come here today,” Attorney Clark began, “for the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Fisher Mark Hart and Ashlynn Marie Hurt-Hart. This is a very serious matter that supersedes all personal issues at hand. Please show the reading the respect and decorum it deserves.”

Damn. Attorney Clark was clearly familiar with the Melrose/Hart shenanigans. He started the meeting off asking the families to put their bickering aside until he could read the will. I breathed a sigh of relief, even while my heart broke at the sound of my mother’s whimpers.

The attorney went on to explain the life insurance policies and the trust that would be set up for Melrose to receive the profit from the sale of her parents’ house and their vehicle. He talked about bank accounts and investment accounts. Finally, finally, he got to the part of the morning that everybody at that table was waiting for—the custody determination.

“In Article Six of their joint testaments, Fisher Hart and Ashlynn Hurt-Hart left an explicit directive regarding the custody and guardianship of their minor child named Melrose Marie Hart. Their wishes read: In the end of our untimely demise before such as Melrose Marie Hart is recognized as an adult, our wishes are as follows: legal guardianship for our daughter shall be named as Anistyn Belle Hurt and Griffin Maxwell Hart.

A collective gasp traveled through the room, and I couldn’t be sure that the sound that left my mouth wasn’t the loudest.

Yolanda was the first to speak. “That’s ridiculous. Fisher knows that Griff travels all the time for work.” She turned to Griffin. “Baby, what are you going to do with a baby?”

“Right,” my mother said. “So hand her over to us because Anistyn lives here, . . . and she has our full support. Where do we need to sign?”

“Anistyn taking the baby?” my sister questioned, turning in her chair to face me. “Ani, you’re a single girl. You’re thirty years old. You have your whole life in front of you. I know you don’t want to be tied down to no baby. Do you?”

“Just because you like to jet-set from country to country on your wannabe travel-blogger shit doesn’t mean that Anistyn wants that. Quit trying to make decisions for her.” Anthony gave Amberlyn a frown.

“And you’re just hoping and praying that nobody will ask you to take the baby. You’re hoping Anistyn gives up her freedom so nobody’ll ask you to make the sacrifice,” Amberlyn told him.

Yolanda pointed across the table. “Look at ’em. Already in-fighting. That’s not healthy for my granddaughter. I think Griff should sign over his rights to us. We’ll raise Melrose in peace and harmony.”

“Right.” Marrisa agreed, gently pinching Melrose’s cheek. “Right, Niecy Pooh?” she cooed.

I couldn’t stand Marissa, and it had nothing to do with her being a Hart. It had to do with her being an asshole.

“Agreeing to take on a brand-new baby isn’t a decision you make to win, Yolanda,” Mark told his wife. “That’s starting all over from the beginning. I think Fisher and Ashlynn wanted her to be raised by somebody with youth. That’s why they chose Griff and Anistyn.”

Yolanda’s mouth fell open. “What?”