Chapter Forty-Two
Maggie
Brody was haunting me.
Literally and figuratively.
Not only did I see life-sized images of him every corner I turned in Boston—thank you, Harbor Wolves marketing team—but I woke up with the feeling of being in his arms again.
It was a dream, of course. It couldn’t be anything else but my subconscious trying to transport me back to the time when I’d been happy, so I clenched my eyes tighter, urging sleep to keep me subdued so I could hold onto the feeling for a little longer.
When I awoke on the couch exactly where I’d been the night before, I’d been alone. But even still, it had allowed me to sleep more restfully than I had in weeks.
Fine by me. I had a busy day, and I would take the newfound spring in my step awarded to me thanks to phantom Brody of my dreams.
I went back into the office with a fresh perspective and newfound motivation driving me forward.
First thing was first: documenting a paper trail of Mr. Reilly’s stability. I had letters attesting to his character by his employer and co-workers. I had consistent pay stubs documenting his proof of employment.
Mr. Reilly had been on the ball with providing it all, further proof of his competency. If that wasn’t enough, I knew he’d been out day and night viewing apartments.
There’d been a few that were suitable, he said. But he didn’t want suitable. He wanted perfection. He said it wouldn’t look good to get the first available apartment only to move in a few months when he found something bigger and better fitting the needs of his family.
No, he wanted to do this the right way. He wanted to go all in.
And honestly, I admired him all the more for it.
How many fathers had I worked with who had tried to take the easiest possible route?
How many fathers had fought for custody, not because of any real desire to have equal time with their children, but as a way to get revenge against their ex-partner?
Sometimes, that was the hardest part of the job. Watching kids get stuck in a game of monkey-in-the-middle while their parents used them as weapons to get back at each other.
Mr. Reilly was different, and it showed. And because of that, I was going above and beyond to secure the best outcome for this case for him and those kids.
I met him in my office that morning, after a week of communicating via emails and calls. I didn’t know what type of meeting I’d be walking into—if I’d have to reconvince him of my faith in his case or bring hope back to him that I would do everything I could—but it turned out, I didn’t need to.
“I got an apartment!” Mr. Reilly exclaimed the second he opened the door to my office.
“Wow,” I said, eyes widening.
“And it’s perfect! Two bedrooms. Nice neighborhood. Close to the kids’ school. And he said I could move in immediately!”
I arched a brow. “Are you sure? You don’t have to rush into anything.”
“No, this place is perfect. I mean, the lease said it wouldn’t be available till April 1st, but that’s still weeks away. I told him the situation, and it was vacant anyway. He just needs a few days to do a professional clean, but I can be in at the end of the week!”
“That’s great—” I told him, but he was too excited to register it, continuing on in a frenzy of passion.
“And, I didn’t even tell you the best part.” He finally slid into the chair across from my desk, face red with glee as he braced both his hands on top of his cap, as if he were the only thing keeping it on his head.
I stared at him with a smile, waiting for the news he was nearly bursting at the seams with.
“Pattie told me as soon as the place is set up, I can have the kids for a weekend!”
“She did?” I forced my jaw to remain firmly in place, despite the shock of his words. “That’s amazing. I’m so glad to hear that.”
And really, I was. But it was in my nature to be skeptical. People’s minds change like the weather, and that’s why it was better to get everything in writing and legalized so the other party couldn’t take anything back later.
People did that. Tried to rewrite the story. Change the facts. And if no one was around to witness it, his ex-wife could just as easily claim she never promised such a thing.
“I still can’t believe everything is working out.” He sighed contentedly.
“What changed?”
“I guess the initial shock of everything died down,” he said in a daze. “She said the kids have been missing me, and she apologized for how she’d been acting. She said she wanted to make this situation work. Learn how to co-parent, for their sake.”
I forced a smile that didn’t meet my eyes, but thankfully Mr. Reilly was too overjoyed to pay me much notice. I couldn’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach. I wanted to say, don’t get excited yet. The other shoe might still drop. It always does.
After all, hadn’t my own father told my mother they could work things out right before he left?
My mind instantly came up with a million scenarios.
Mrs. Reilly might take it back. It might be a passing moment of selflessness.
Or maybe it was a bold-faced lie as she continued to build a case against him.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know this woman’s character, so I had to suspect the worst. I had to be prepared for anything.
But, for now, I let him have his moment. He was doing everything right on his end. He secured housing. He had been consistent in working.
The rest was on my end. I had to finish drafting the parenting agreement—something stating, in permanent terms, the days and times he would have his children. I wouldn’t breathe easy until we took it to court and had it declared fair and legal by a judge, so no one could take it away from him.
Because in my experience, every time you felt something was just in your reach… that’s when it usually got ripped violently away.