Cracks in the Sidewalk (14 page)

“He said he’d sooner burn in hell than have the kids see Liz.”

“Whew, that’s quite a response,” Dudley said. “Has he got any credible reason for feeling that way? Abuse, anything like that?”

“Good Lord, no! Liz is a wonderful mother. The kids adore her, but Jeffrey claims that seeing her would not be in their best interest.”

“Why?”

“Because Elizabeth—” The remainder of the words stuck in Charlie’s throat. He hesitated for a moment then continued, “—has a brain tumor that’s terminal.”

“Elizabeth?” Dudley gasped. “What? How?”

“They discovered a malignant growth last summer.”

“But surely they can do something to—”

“No, they can’t,” Charles said. “The tumor is located on the hypothalamus, so it’s inoperable.” 

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Dudley stammered a string of sympathies. “I’ll help you in every way I can,” he said, “but family law is not my specialty.”

“I’m aware of that,” Charlie answered. “But you’ve known Liz for most of her life, and I can’t think of anyone I’d sooner trust to look out for her best interest.” 

“That much, I can guarantee you.” Dudley scheduled a meeting for Monday morning. “I’ll move on this immediately and petition the judge for accelerated action. Can you give me some idea of how long Elizabeth’s got?”

The question came at Charles like a thunderclap. For more than a year he’d struggled through the days, crowding his hours with lengthy business meetings and conferences, never daring to consider the future, never facing that there could be a last and final day of Liz’s life. Elizabeth was seriously ill—okay, terminal. But terminal was not definite. It was vague, a shadow loitering on the far edge of the future, not something that forced a father to predict the remaining number of days in his daughter’s life.

“Why would you ask such a question?” he stammered.

“I’m sorry,” Dudley apologized. “I only ask because it would help if I could show the court our need for expediency.”

“Oh.” Charles again hesitated. It was impossible to guess, so he simply parroted Doctor Sorenson’s words. “It could be a year, two years, maybe more. It depends.”

“Great,” Dudley said. “Great.”

~ ~ ~

T
he following morning Charlie told Elizabeth they’d made an appointment with the lawyer.

“Dudley’s confident we’ll be able to force Jeffrey to let you see the children,” he said.

“Wonderful,” Elizabeth said wearily.

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, but…”

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

For a long while Elizabeth said nothing.

“It breaks my heart to think this is the only way I can get to see my children,” she murmured. “It may not seem so now, but Jeffrey and I were once very much in love. Now he wants no part of me—not my broken body, not even my heart. If we could create these beautiful children together, how is it possible that he can hate me as he does?”

Charles eased his arm around Elizabeth and gently drew her to his chest.

Speaking with a deep sadness Elizabeth said, “It’s hard to accept that Jeffrey’s grown so hard-hearted that a lawyer has to force him to let me see my babies. I never dreamed—”

“It’s the things we think can never happen that hurt the most,” Charlie whispered. He held his daughter close so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

O
n Monday morning Claire’s eyes popped open two hours before dawn, and she immediately began making a mental list of the things she’d tell Dudley Grimm. First of all, Jeffrey Caruthers was mean, selfish, and ill tempered. He was also unemployed and flaunting an underage mistress in front of his children. To Claire’s way of thinking, any one of those things provided sufficient cause for a judge to award custody of the children to Liz. And it was common knowledge that the court almost always awarded custody of children to the mother, in which case she would assist Liz and happily care for all three children.

Kimberly, she reasoned, could go into Liz’s old bedroom, David in the guestroom, and the sewing room could become a nursery for Christian. Naturally they’d need to redo those rooms, buy children’s furniture, night lights, toy boxes, stuffed animals, and such. That wasn’t a problem. To the list of necessities, Claire added a rocking chair and a baby monitor. 

As she lay in bed waiting for daylight to creep across the horizon, Claire began to envision the smile that would brighten Liz’s face when the children bounded into the room to kiss her good morning. Claire had no doubt that asking for full custody of the children was the right thing to do. Children belonged with their mother. They belonged with a family who would teach them to love, not a father who’d use them as a means of fulfilling his own vendetta. By the time they arrived at the law offices of Cooper, Fletcher, and Grimm, Claire felt better than she had in weeks.

“Good morning, Dudley,” she sang out happily.

Dudley Grimm, a small dark-haired man with the expression of an undertaker, answered, “Good morning.”

Charles nodded and followed them into the conference room. 

They settled around the table and Dudley opened his writing tablet. “Let’s start with an overview of everything that’s been going on.”

“The long and short of it,” Charles answered, “is that Liz’s husband refuses to allow the children to visit their mother.”

“For how long?”

“It began shortly after Liz started chemotherapy treatments late last year. She saw the kids once in October, and after that Jeffrey stopped bringing the children to the hospital. In November he broke off all communication, even phone calls. Then last month he told Claire he’d rather burn in hell than allow anyone in our family to see the kids.”

Dudley began writing. “Did he give any explanation for this behavior?”

“Jeffrey told Liz he thought it would be better for the kids if she didn’t spend time with them. He claimed he was trying to wean the children so they wouldn’t be so traumatized when she dies. That was last fall. Liz has probably seen the kids once or twice since then.”

“You realize,” Claire interjected, “that such an idea is ridiculous, especially since Liz is doing extremely well. A terminal diagnosis doesn’t necessarily mean a person is at death’s door. It simply means that whenever the person does die, it will probably be from that illness.”

“Oh. And Elizabeth,” he said, still scribbling notes. “Is she awake, coherent, able to converse with the children?”

“Of course,” Charles said emphatically. “Liz occasionally has short memory lapses, but it’s mostly insignificant, everyday things. When it happens, it only lasts a few minutes. She might not remember the name of a color or what to call a food, but she remembers everything about the kids. Even when she can’t tell you what day of the week it is, she can tell you what Christian weighed when he was born and the name of Kimberly’s favorite doll.”

“Good,” Dudley said without glancing up. “Very good. So am I correct in assuming what we’re looking for here is a court-mandated schedule of parental visitations for Elizabeth?”

“Oh, Liz would like more than just visitation,” Claire said. “What she wants is full custody of all three children.”

For the first time, Dudley stopped writing and looked up. “Wants custody?”

Charlie turned to Claire, astonished. “Custody?” he repeated. “Liz never said—”

“She might not have said it in so many words,” Claire countered. “But I know for certain it’s what she intended.”

“I don’t understand,” Dudley stammered. “If Elizabeth’s condition is terminal, who’s going to—”

“Me,” Claire answered. “Our house has plenty of room, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Liz and the children.”

“Even if that’s true,” Dudley said, “no court will award custody to—”

Harsh words did not come easily to Dudley Grimm so he hesitated, trying to find a tactful way to say what he had to say. When none came to mind, he reluctantly finished the statement. “A mother who’s dying.”

“Liz isn’t dying,” Claire replied sharply. “She’s learning to live with her disability. Surely the court will understand that. If they have a concern about her ability to care for the children, then let them assign custody to us.”

“Us?” Charlie echoed. “Why, we’ve never even discussed—”

“That won’t happen anyway,” Dudley said. “You’re grandparents. Unfortunately, grandparents have no legal standing, except in rare instances where both parents are deceased, and there is no specific—”

“What about if the father is an unfit parent?” Claire asked.

“Unfit how?”

“He’s mean, intolerant, selfish, has no job, has a girlfriend living with him—”

“Does he abuse the children in any way? Neglect their care? Leave them unattended?”

“I can’t say that exactly.”

“Then you have no case,” Dudley said apologetically. “Without specific proof of such actions, the court automatically awards custody to the natural parent.”

“Well, what about if we say—”

“Claire!” Charlie interrupted. “That’s enough! Let’s get on with what we came here to do, which, in case you’ve forgotten, is to get Liz visitation with the kids.”

Dudley Grimm breathed a sigh of relief. “That, I think, is quite doable.”

He asked a number of questions about Jeffrey: his home address, his last place of employment, any known childcare arrangements, and whether he had retained a lawyer to fight this action. Writing furiously again, Dudley asked about the children, the state of their health, and their previous relationship with their mother. Just before the meeting came to an end, he requested the name, address, and telephone number of Elizabeth’s doctor.

Thus it Began

O
n the second Tuesday of May the Caruthers’ doorbell chimed early in the morning, so early that JT was still in bed. Believing it to be Claire, he squeezed his eyes shut and tugged the blanket over his head. A few minutes later he heard the knock—a knock much too heavy for Claire, unless she’d come back with the sledgehammer. He bolted out of bed and flew down the stairs ready for a fight.

“I warned you—” he screamed as he yanked open the door.

“Jeffrey T. Caruthers?” the sheriff’s deputy asked.

“Yes, but if this is about the store—”

The deputy handed him an envelope, politely said, “Have a nice day,” and turned toward his car.

“Wait,” JT cried out. “What’s this?”

The deputy didn’t bother looking back. He climbed into the patrol car, pulled out of the driveway, and disappeared down the street.

“What the—” JT looked at the envelope, addressed to him but with a return address of the Union County Courthouse. Still groggy and bewildered he stumbled back inside, flopped down on the sofa, and tore open the envelope.

At the top of the first page a line of bold black letters shot through him like bullets:

Motion to Compel Parental Visitation

Caruthers v Caruthers

“No way!” he screamed and slammed the paper down. The noise startled Christian who woke crying, which hardly concerned Jeffrey since he’d launched into a full-blown rage.

“This is Liz’s doing!” he ranted. “Her and that crappy family of hers! Troublemakers, that’s what they are, big-time troublemakers! Their life is miserable, so they think they’re gonna make mine miserable too! Well, this time they ain’t getting away with it!”

He angrily kicked over the coffee table and sent a stack of magazines flying. “If they want a fight, I’ll give it to them! I’ll make them wish they never heard of me! I’ll—”

Suddenly JT noticed Kimberly on the stair clutching Ballerina Bear. “Daddy, are you mad at me?” she asked tearfully.

“Oh.” Jeffrey saw the fear in his daughter’s eyes, and shame overcame him. “No, sweetheart, Daddy’s not mad at you. I just bumped into the coffee table and knocked it over.”

“Were you yelling because it hurt?”

“Yes, Kimberly,” he replied. “It hurts a lot.”

He stood there for a few moments, saying nothing. Then he righted the table, picked up the magazines, and headed for Christian’s room. After changing the baby’s diaper, he dressed David and Kimberly and herded them downstairs for breakfast.

“There is no French toast,” he patiently explained as he poured milk over two bowls of Captain Crunch and set them in front of the children. He scattered a handful of Cheerios on the highchair tray and began to spoon strained applesauce into Christian’s mouth.

As Jeffrey performed each task his mind churned with thoughts of how he could get back at Elizabeth and her family. 

~ ~ ~

O
nce the children were settled in front of the television, Jeffrey called Missus Ramirez. When she arrived, he went into the family room and locked the door.

Jeffrey’s first call was to Harry Hornzy, a man who’d been arrested seven times and not once convicted. “I’m gonna need some legal help, so I thought of you.”

Harry gave a raucous guffaw. “Yeah, well—”

“I hear tell your lawyer is pretty good at winning cases, so I figured—”

“He’s good; he ain’t cheap.”

“Good is what I’m looking for. I’ll pay what I gotta pay. I want a bloodthirsty shark—you know the type—somebody who’ll chew my wife to pieces and spit out the remains.”