12. Harmony
CHAPTER 12
Harmony
“H ave a good day.” I kiss his head before he runs off into the schoolyard. His bag is thrown in the pile of other bags as he goes to the field with his friends. I hold on to the fence with one hand as I try to keep everything locked up until I get home. The weight of the papers is heavy in my drawer. Papers I read quickly when I got them and then rushed yesterday to get us out of the house, with fear that Winston would show up. So instead, I drove us to the next town over where we had a picnic. I watched my son kick around his soccer ball and then got up to toss him the ball for over two hours.
I don’t think I slept more than six hours in the past two days, opting to sleep on the couch, waiting for the car to show up. Waiting for Winston to come and cause a fucking scene. Fucking Winston, I think to myself. If he hadn’t given me Wyatt, I would have seen him for the useless excuse of a human he was sooner.
The bell rings and I blink away the burning at my eyes, watching Wyatt’s brown hair bounce as he runs with his friends to the pile of school bags heaped on the ground. Each of them grabs their respective ones when he takes a second to look at me and shouts, “Bye, Mom!” Then he lines up and walks in the door. Only when it’s closed, and all the kids are inside, do I walk away and head to the car.
My head is down as I make my way over to my house, letting myself in and running up the steps, two at a time. Going into my room and right to my drawer, I move my clothes around until my fingers grab the thick white folded papers. My neck gets hot as I walk out of the room and head down to the kitchen. Taking my phone out of my back pocket and sitting down on the chair, I unfold the papers, my hands shaking as I read the top of the pages, Montgavin County Court. My stomach lurches, and I close my eyes, trying to control my breathing.
My eyes open and see Winston Cartwright is the plaintiff, and Harmony Cartwright, defendant, then my eyes go lower, seeing why he’s suing me this time.
Custody of child, Wyatt Wallace Cartwright. My eyes scan the paper, and I see I have seven days to respond to this petition, and then a court case will be assigned. I close my eyes and then take out my phone and open the browser to search for lawyers near me. I click on the first one and wait for it to ring. The receptionist answers. “Hi,” I say nervously. “I’m calling for some information,” I start to say. “I was wondering if there was a lawyer I could speak to in regard to a court case that I have coming up.”
“That would depend,” she answers. “What type of case?”
“It’s a custody case,” I tell her and wait for her answer but quickly add in, “and if you do have a lawyer, can I ask what the rate would be?”
“We have someone who specializes in that and he charges three hundred and fifty dollars an hour,” she states, and if I had anything in my stomach, I would lean over and throw up. “If you want to give me your name and number, I can have his secretary call you back to discuss a couple of things.”
I close my eyes. “Sure,” I reply, even knowing I won’t be able to afford that, especially since I know how the Cartwrights work. They will postpone and postpone, over and over again. We’ll get to court and they’ll come in and ask to file another motion, and I’ll have to pay my lawyer for showing up. “It’s Harmony Cartwright.”
“Actually, he’s not taking any new clients,” she says. “Good luck.” She hangs up on me.
“Well, then,” I mutter, knowing full well why that happened. I go down to the second name on the list. One by one, they all give me the same excuse: they are not taking any new clients. By the end of it, the tears have streamed down my face, and the papers in front of me are wet.
I’m about to call the next lawyer on the list when my phone rings in my hand, and I stupidly think it’ll be from one of the lawyers who took my number before telling me they weren’t taking any new clients, but it’s showing a local number. “Hello.” I put the phone to my ear.
“Harmony,” the woman says my name, “it’s Autumn.”
“Hey,” I reply to her.
“I know you just filled out all the papers for work, but I forgot the most important one,” she admits and laughs. “I went to do payroll, and I didn’t have any of your information.” I look out the window. “I was wondering if it’s not too much trouble, can you pop in quickly and fill it out?”
“Yeah,” I reply, pushing away from the table. “I can come by now.”
“Thank you so much. When you come in, just come to the back. I’m in the office.”
“See you soon,” I tell her, getting up and walking to the bathroom before leaving. Turning on the cold water, I wash my face, but there is not much I can do to mask the redness of my eyes and the tip of my nose.
Grabbing my phone and my purse, I head out into the sunlight and feel the crisp cool air but then also the heat from the sun. I get into the car and open the windows before making my way over to the bar. Parking in the back, I see his red truck is here, and I’m thankful I haven’t seen him since I was served with the papers. It was slowly becoming one of the few nights I wanted to forget. Forget the fact I made out with him in a fucking closet, then I get home to him being there to witness me being served in the middle of the fucking night. The minute I got served, the kiss was the farthest thing from my mind. I put my head up and shoulders back as I walk into the bar and see that it’s empty, and all lights are off. I follow Autumn’s instructions and head to the back, saying a little prayer that I don’t come face-to-face with him.
Walking past the scene of the crime, where the kiss happened, I see the door is closed and a new handle is in its place. I walk toward the door, pushing it open and stepping into the back where they make the whiskey. The lights are all on, and I can hear people on the side as I walk toward the office.
I spot Autumn sitting behind the desk, taking a sip of her water as she chews something. I knock on the doorjamb and she looks up at me, a smile filling her face, making the little jitters I had about seeing her one-on-one go away. Her smile quickly fades. “Are you okay?” she asks me and I nod.
“Yeah,” I lie to her, “I think it’s allergies.” The excuse would make even me laugh if someone said it to me.
“Is that so?” She leans forward on her desk with her hands crossed in front of her. “I thought that was just during the spring.”
I shrug, not willing to put too much more into the lie. “I have to fill out something?” I change the subject and she reaches over and grabs the top manila folder, opening it.
“Yes,” she says, handing it to me. “Sit down.” She motions to the chair and I walk and pull out the chair, sitting on it. “Do you want something to drink?” She moves to the side, pointing at the small fridge in the corner of her office. “I would offer you a piece of cake.” She points at the loaf of cake that looks like she’s eating it with a fork. “But it was the last one Ms. Maddie had, and it’s a strawberry swirl cake with cream cheese frosting, and I’m sorry, but it’s all mine.”
I chuckle at her. “That’s okay, I’m not really hungry,” I tell her. “You should try the blueberry lemon cake with lemon drizzle.” Her eyes go big. “I had it the other day and it was the best one, I think.”
“I wish I knew who the baker was, I’d be ordering them by the case,” she admits. “Ms. Maddie refuses to tell me who it is.” I shrug and make no eye contact with her. “Anyway, here is what you need to fill out.” She hands me the paper. “Sorry about that.” She inhales deeply. “I’m blaming it on pregnancy brain.” She laughs. “Or at least I’m telling myself that.”
“It’s a thing,” I confirm for her, “and even after, it’s as if you instantly forget things.”
“Good to know.” She hands me a pen, and I look down at the paper, filling in the name of my bank. “So how are you doing?”
My eyes shoot up right away, and I should have known Brady would have told her about what happened. “I guess you could say I’m doing as good as I should be doing.” I look back down at the paper and fill out my account number.
“Is it the shifts at the bar that are the problem?” she asks, her voice filled with worry. “I can see if maybe you can get shorter shifts.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I need the shifts.” I sound as if I’m one string away from snapping after the day I’ve had. “I thought you were mentioning me being served the other night.”
She gasps, “I’m sorry.” Her face is filled with confusion. “I have no idea what the hell you are talking about.”
“But,” I start, the pen dropping from my fingers, “I thought for sure that Brady.”
“Brady?” she questions his name.
“Well, he was there, obviously, when I was served.” If I thought my heart was going nuts before, it’s nothing like it is now.
“I’m sorry”—she holds up her hand—“you will need to back up there.”
I’m the one who is confused now. Did he not tell her anything? “Brady is my neighbor,” I say, not sure why, but I do, and she gasps again.
“You’re the neighbor who baked him that apple pie,” she states as if I just told her I had the direct line to the president of the United States. “God, that was good fucking pie.” She looks at the cake, taking another bite of it before turning back. “Okay, so you live next to Brady, and you were served papers for what?”
“Winston is suing me for custody of Wyatt,” I finally let it out, and quickly wipe the tears that have managed to come out, “and I need a lawyer.” I really wish I could shut the fuck up right now, but my mouth is just letting it all go. “But everywhere I called today, they told me no one is taking new clients.” My body literally shakes uncontrollably. “How is that even possible?” I ask, but I’m not really asking her. Her face is now ashen white, and her mouth hangs open. “Like, every single lawyer out there I’ve called is not taking clients.” I don’t even notice the tears are just streaming down my face. I don’t notice the air in the room has shifted. I notice nothing. If I had, I would have noticed him walking into the room. I would have noticed Autumn’s eyes, which were on me during my very public meltdown, shifting over my shoulder, but I was too far gone anyway. “But they are not, and I have seven days to respond to the ridiculous summons.” I close my eyes, hoping the last of the tears just rolled over my lids. “Do you have a lawyer or know of anyone who is taking new clients?” I know asking her is something I shouldn’t do, but I’m literally stuck.
She opens her mouth, but the voice comes is from behind me, and it’s from a very pissed-off man. “He’s fucking suing you?”