3. Caleb
Chapter 3
Caleb
Three weeks later
A rehab facility in Malibu, California
W ith sweat beaded on my brow, I bash my toms and kick my bass drum, hard, in time to the song blaring in my headphones—"Bleed” by Meshuggah. It’s my go-to whenever I need to sweat and blow off steam. Or, these days, whenever I’m trying to exorcise the grief, guilt, and shame that constantly ravages me, ever since my mother died without knowing she was a grandmother. Not to mention, without me being there to hold her hand, as I’d promised.
I’m clean and sober now, unfortunately, so I can’t drink myself into oblivion or smoke a bowl to numb the pain. For well over two months now, and thoroughly against my will, I’ve been high on nothing but fucking life, man. I don’t recommend it .
The door to the small, sound-proofed studio opens without warning and a staffer dressed in the facility’s uniform of black scrubs pokes his head into the small space. Breathing hard, I stop banging, slide my headphones down to my sweaty, tattooed neck, and glare at the guy. Everyone knows this hour every day is more important to my well-being than the useless, daily therapy sessions I’m required to attend. Everyone knows not to bother me when I’m here—that this is my version of church.
“Sorry to bother you, Caleb,” the staffer says quickly. “You’ve got a visitor in the lounge.”
My eyebrows ride up. “On a Wednesday?”
Once a patient makes it through detox the first week, they’re allowed to start participating in Visitation Tuesdays. In my case, that’s meant regular visits from my little sister, Miranda, four years my junior, throughout my time here. Also, early on, it meant occasional visits from my longtime attorney, Paula, who had to deal with the fallout of my destructive tantrum at that hotel in New York.
Still breathing hard from my exertion, I ask, “Is my attorney here?” Normally, I’d assume my sister, Miranda, is my visitor, since Paula stopped coming once all legal issues had been resolved. But Miranda flew to Paris with a group of friends yesterday, so it has to be Paula, since she’s the only other person on my approved visitors list.
My sister keeps pushing me to add more names to the list—my three bandmates from Red Card Riot, for example. Some other close friends, too. But like I told my sister, I don’t want to burden anyone else with my bullshit, nor do I want to deal with my bandmates’ rampant anxiety about how my stupid actions have made us temporarily uninsurable for our next tour. If I’m being honest, I’m also not willing to be subjected to my friends’ well-intended pep talks.
No, while I’m forced to be here and go through the motions, I simply want to be left alone to bang on my drums, attend all required, useless therapy sessions, work out, play ping-pong with that cool actor dude who’s staying here under a fake name, and otherwise keep to myself.
“I don’t know who’s here to see you,” the staff member says. “All I know is I was told to come get you for an emergency visitation.”
I walk down the hallway toward the visitor’s lounge, shitting bricks.
Emergency.
That’s the word the staffer used, a day after my sister boarded a flight.
I swear, if my sister has been ripped away from me, less than three months after Mom, I won’t survive it. One way or another, I’ll figure out how to end myself, despite the tight security in this place.
I turn a corner and enter the lounge, and when I see my attorney, Paula, sitting at a table in a corner, the dread I’ve been feeling during my short walk here morphs into downright panic.
“Is my sister okay?” I blurt, as Paula rises and extends her hand.
“I’m not here about Miranda.” Paula takes my hand and then motions to a chair. “Please, sit.”
I exhale an ocean of relief and settle into a seat across from Paula. If she’s here for a legal reason—even one that’s an “emergency” in her book—that’s something I can handle without breaking a sweat. “Did the hotel in New York decide I caused more damage than initially reported?” I ask with a scoff.
“I’m not here about that. I’m here about Claudia Beaumont.” She takes a deep breath. “She’s dead.” When my jaw drops, Paula adds, “She got hit by a drunk driver a few weeks ago while walking to her car after work. And now, her father is trying to get full custody of her child— your child—because, Beaumont thinks, full custody will entitle him to the same thirty grand per month you’ve been paying to his daughter.”
I run a hand over my black, knit cap, feeling sick to my stomach. Of all the scenarios playing in my mind as I walked to the visitor’s lounge, this wasn’t one of them. “Does he have the kid now?”
“No, Claudia’s long-time best friend, Aubrey Capshaw, is with her. She’d been living with Claudia and the child in Seattle for quite some time. I’m told she’s taken the child back to Prairie Springs, to her childhood home, where she’s living with her parents and caring for the child there.”
I stare at Paula in stunned silence for a long moment. I’ve been enraged at Claudia Beaumont for a while now, ever since she replied to my heartfelt, pleading email about my mother with a concise, “Fuck off, C-Bomb. A deal’s a deal. Don’t ever contact me again.” But even so, I’ve never wished the woman dead . My god, poor Claudia couldn’t have been more than twenty-four or -five, and this was how the poor girl went out?
“Is my kid a boy or girl?”
“A girl. Raine Beaumont. That’s Raine with an ‘e’ on the end.” Paula hesitates. Assessing me, apparently. Finally, she says, “I’ve got a photo of Raine, if you’d like to see her. ”
I nod, too overcome to speak, and a moment later, Paula hands me her phone, its screen filled with the stunning, smiling face of an adorable toddler with big, blue eyes and blonde curls. Also, to my intense fascination, she’s got miniature versions of my exact nose and eyebrows.
“ Raine, ” I murmur, staring at the smiling photo. “You poor kid.” My heart aching, I slide Paula’s phone back to her across the table.
Two and a half years ago, when Claudia and I struck our deal through attorneys, Claudia said she had big plans for my money. She was going to rehab before the baby was born to get herself clean and sober and ready for motherhood. She was going to rent a big house in a safe neighborhood in Seattle—a place with a backyard big enough for an elaborate playset. She was going back to school to finish up some remaining credits for a nursing degree and she planned to start a hefty college fund for her child. All of it was well intentioned, but unlikely, I figured. Especially after her terse, cold reply to my heartfelt email, I thought to myself, “This girl is so full of shit.”
I haven’t given Claudia’s lengthy To Do List much thought recently; but now, suddenly, I need to know if Claudia did any of that stuff before her untimely passing, or if, instead, she pissed all my money away on plastic surgery, drugs, and tropical getaways.
“Did Claudia rent a big house in Seattle with a gigantic playset in the backyard?” I ask. “Did she become a nurse, like she said?”
Paula tips her head to the side. “I know Claudia was a nurse. The police report said she was killed right outside the hospital where she worked. I don’t know anything about her living situation, other than the fact that she lived with Aubrey Capshaw. Age twenty-four. A waitress.” She narrows her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I hang my head. Tears are unexpectedly pricking my eyes, and I don’t want Paula to notice. Thinking about Raine losing her mother is making me think about me losing mine. I can’t even imagine how fucked up I’d be right now, if I lost my mother at age two.
Paula touches my forearm and whispers, “We have some time-sensitive things to talk about, Caleb; but if you need a few minutes to collect yourself, I’ll take a walk and come back in fifteen.”
I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, and look up. “No, I’m fine. What’s the emergency, as it pertains to me?”
“We need to stop Ralph Beaumont, Claudia’s father. I’ve received a demand letter from his attorney, demanding you support his claim for custody and start paying him child support, immediately. As next of kin, he’s already swooped in and taken control of all Claudia bank accounts, including the substantial sum she’d set aside for Raine’s college fund. But apparently, that’s not enough for him. In fact, that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what he wants, as Raine’s only living blood relative.” She levels me with dark, intense eyes. “Other than you, of course.”
I sigh. “I signed my parental rights away, remember?”
“Jesus, Caleb, did you not listen to me at all back then? No, you didn’t. Like I told you at the time, a private custody and support agreement isn’t the same thing as a legal relinquishment of parental rights. Luckily, with that positive paternity test on the books, we’ve already got indisputable proof you’re the child’s father, so we’re ready to roll without delay.”
“Ready to roll . . . how ?”
Paula shrugs. “Based on that paternity test alone, you’d almost certainly win custody over Beaumont. Against Aubrey Capshaw, I’m not as sure, given that she’s been in a co-parenting role for most of the child’s life. But at the very least, you’d most certainly be able to win regular visitation rights until?—”
“Wait. Back up. Is Aubrey demanding money from me, like Beaumont?”
“No, I haven’t heard a word from her. I’m only aware of her whereabouts because Beaumont mentioned them in his demand letter. Apparently, he’s got lots of spies in Prairie Springs.” Her jaw tightens. “Caleb, Beaumont wants you to take the child— your child—away from Aubrey—the child’s only lifeline—and hand her over to him ; and then he wants you to support his custody lawsuit against Aubrey and ultimately pay him exactly what you paid his daughter. If we don’t act pre-emptively, Beaumont is going to file a petition for custody next week in Montana, against both you and Aubrey. He says he’ll spend every dime of Claudia’s savings account to get the victory he wants.”
I shift in my seat. “What, exactly, do you want me to do about that, Paula?”
“The right fucking thing!”
“Which is?”
“File a custody petition of your own, here in LA, for full custody, before Ralph Beaumont files his petition in Montana. Work directly with Aubrey, instead of Ralph!”
My stomach somersaults. By now, I’ve thought about my kid more times than I can count, wishing I’d done things differently. But I’ve never once fantasized about becoming the kid’s sole and full-time parent. I mean, Jesus, is that really what Paula’s suggesting here—that I drop everything and become Mr. Mom? If so, she’s conveniently overlooking the fact that I’d make a shitty parent. “You truly think it’s in the kid’s best interest to be with me , full-time?”
Paula leans back, studying me, intensely. “If you’re not willing to seek full custody, then at least meet with Aubrey and throw your money and support behind her getting full custody, with regular visitation rights for you. Otherwise, Ralph is going to steamroll Aubrey, thanks to all the money he’s gotten his hands on, and we simply can’t let that happen.” She glares at me. “Don’t you remember the word Claudia used in relation to her father? Monster . She said not going to Prairie Springs with her baby was fine with her, because she didn’t want her monster of a father?—"
I exhale. “Yes, I remember.”
“I did some digging and found out, over the years, neighbors repeatedly called the police to the Beaumont home in Prairie Springs for domestic disturbances. But no matter her obvious, visible injuries, Mrs. Beaumont would never press charges against her husband. In fact, she always claimed she got those bruises and injuries by some freak accident.”
I close my eyes. It was the same thing with my own mother, until I finally got big enough to beat the shit out of my father, several times, to protect her.
I open my eyes, suddenly feeling resolved. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ll go to Prairie Springs on the next flight out and do whatever’s necessary to keep Raine away from Claudia’s monster of a father.”
Paula’s face lights up. “I’m glad to hear you’re willing to jump in, but you’ll have to wait till your mandatory rehab stint is over to do that. In the meantime, however, I’ll set up a Zoom call with Aubrey to?—”
“No, I’m not going to wait three weeks to meet my child.” I stand. “Now that I know the situation, I’m going to help her, right fucking now.”
Paula rolls her eyes. “I love your enthusiasm, but you know full well this rehab was court ordered, and you’ve still got three weeks left.”
“There’s got to be a loophole for family emergencies. Especially if I handle this quickly.”
“Caleb—”
“No, listen to me. I’ll fly to Montana tonight or tomorrow, whichever we can line up; and then, I’ll bring my kid back here the following day, stow her with a nanny, and then return here to finish my rehab. On that timeline, I’ll be back here on Monday, at the latest.”
Paula snorts. “Court-ordered rehab doesn’t work like that. You’re stuck here, whether you like it or not. So, let’s please get Aubrey on the phone and?—”
“No, Paula. I’m going to Prairie Springs now to do what I should have done two years ago. Do me a favor and find me a really good nanny while I’m gone, okay?” With that, I start walking toward the door of the visitor’s lounge.
“Wait, Caleb!” Paula calls out. “Stop! If you leave without authorization, you’ll need to start rehab all over again, from day one, when you get back.”
I stop and turn around with a scowl. “I’ll be gone for three or four days.” When Paula says nothing, I throw up my arms. “We’re talking about my child, for fuck’s sake. She’s in peril, and I’m the only one who can save her. That’s what you’ve been saying, right? That I’m the kid’s only blood relative, besides a monster of a grandfather who’s never met her and is a known wife beater?”
Paula twists her mouth, apparently conceding my point .
“How much do nannies cost? Less than thirty grand per month?”
Paula snorts. “A lot less than that. Mine costs about a hundred grand per year. So, eight or nine grand per month. But that’s for two kids.”
“That’s it? If I’d known that, maybe I would have done things differently, right out of the gate. Jesus Christ.” I start heading down the hallway again. After two years of guilt, regret, and shame, after two failed attempts at getting Claudia to bring my kid to LA for a visit, I’m finally going to meet my child. My daughter. Raine. Granted, this miracle is happening after my mom’s passing, which is a gut punch. But even so, better late than never. At least, I can take comfort in the idea that Mom might be smiling down on Raine and me, as I finally do what I should have done, all along.
“Caleb, please, listen to me,” Paula calls out. She’s scurrying behind me down the hallway, her heels clacking on the linoleum. “You can’t show up in Montana, unannounced, rip your daughter out of Aubrey’s arms, and fly her off to a whole new life in a brand-new city.”
“You said my paternity is already established.”
“Would you stop, please? Your legs are long and I’m in heels.”
I stop and turn around.
“I’m not talking about legalities,” Paula says breathlessly. “I’m talking about what’s best for the child. Raine doesn’t know you from Adam. You’re going to need to build trust with her before taking her away from Aubrey, or you’re going to traumatize her, even more. Not to mention, you might also give Claudia’s father some hefty ammunition to use against you at the custody hearing.”
I quirk my eyebrow. “Ammunition? ”
“What father with his child’s best interests at heart would solve the present crisis by ripping his child away from the only person she knows and loves? At the custody hearing, we’ll need to prove you’re a fit father, Caleb. And, frankly, a fit father would never do that.”
“Fuck.” I look out a window to where that cool actor dude is playing ping pong with a newbie. “Okay, then,” I say, returning my gaze to Paula’s. “I’ll bring both Raine and Aubrey back to my place in LA. Aubrey will be Raine’s nanny, until Raine has gotten to know and trust me.”
Paula pulls a face that suggests she doesn’t hate the idea. But what she says is, “You’re assuming Aubrey will say yes to that arrangement, and that’s not a given.”
I scoff. “I’ll make her an offer she can’t refuse. You said she’s a twenty-four-year-old waitress, right? Okay, then I’ll offer her more money than she’s ever made in her life to take care of a toddler she’s already taking care of for free. Who would say no to that?” When Paula doesn’t supply an answer to my rhetorical question, I wink and add, “Don’t worry about anything except springing me from this jail—I mean, rehab —for four days, tops, and filing that custody paperwork. Other than that, I promise, I’ll handle everything else like a champ.”