Chapter 48
Reed
There was no one I trusted more than this beautiful woman leading me into my sister’s room.
She squeezed my hand, easing my apprehension, then paused and looked around.
I followed her line of sight, taking in the bed, pillows skewed and blankets still rumpled from the last time I sat in here with Abigail.
I’d slowly become more comfortable here.
Not fully, but I could be at peace in here now.
Despite that, I swallowed the pressure of the day building up from my chest.
“Find something.”
Puzzled, I looked down at her, concern and love radiating from her entire being. “I carry a pink highlighter in my purse because it reminds me of my grandmother. It’s dried out and useless, but it was one she always saved for me when I wanted to color in her office.”
My nose burned with a sensation that made its way up behind my eyes. Letting out a breath, I kissed Cici’s head, taking in the sweet, cupcake smell of her hair.
“Find something to keep with you today. To remind you that she’s with you.”
Well, fuck. It was ridiculous and brilliant and so tender at the same time.
I nodded, willing the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes to stay back as I looked on top of her dresser, on her vanity, the drawers of her bedside stands.
Something silver caught my eye, and a glimmer of memories panged through me.
The charm bracelet. I picked it up and let it lie across my hands, tracing each detail, each little figurine, with my finger.
The year Abi was born, I gave Caroline an emerald heart, Abigail’s birthstone and, coincidentally, the color of her eyes; then, when Abi was a year old, I gave her a coffee cup charm. A single mom’s drink of choice.
At three, I added an umbrella to remind her she wasn’t alone, and I was here to help weather storms with her.
When Abi was four, I added a snowman, because that winter, we took Abi to the snow for the first time and built one together.
And this summer, I gave her a seashell, because I promised I would take her on one of my work trips soon.
Tears pooled in my eyes as Cici came up next to me and leaned her head against my arm.
She closed her hand over the bracelet. “Put this in your pocket. She’ll be right there with you.
With us. We’re in this together.” She kissed my cheek, then walked out of the room, leaving me there, a precious keepsake of my sister in my hand.
I sank onto the bed, dipped my head down, and held the bracelet near my heart.
“I miss you, sis.” I let the words float into the room. “I won’t let you down.”
As we walked into the courthouse lobby, Cici didn’t let me go until we had to go through the security area, and then she latched back on me immediately as we approached the courtroom.
A crowd was gathered outside, waiting for the doors to open, and my eyes immediately found my mother.
Her lips were pursed, head held high, purse clutched as always.
The vision of poise and focus. A few steps away from her, Bruce was turned away on his phone.
His arms were swinging around in a fit, his face turning red, but his voice was quiet enough not to grab attention from those around him. Typical.
When it was time to enter the room, we followed the group in and found seats near the front.
A quick glance to my left showed my mother and Bruce were in the same row on the other side of the aisle.
Bruce glared my way, but I didn’t give him a response.
Instead, I wrapped my arm around Cici and held her into my side.
Having her at my side, touching me, was like building a fortress.
Protecting me from the onslaught of emotions this day, their faces, their fucking presence brought.
I kissed Cici’s temple, her smell coating me in comfort, and then a booming voice in the front of the room announced the judge. All I heard was “All rise,” then adrenaline kicked in, and all I could do was pick out the words that were relevant to my battle. A blur with a honed-in focus.
A few cases were quickly resolved before the case of Marsh vs.
Foster was called. Her fucking last name made me flinch.
It had to mean something that I carried the same last name as this precious girl we were fighting for.
As I approached the front, I patted my pocket, reminding myself that my mother, Mrs. Foster, abandoned my sister, and that, in itself, should forfeit her right to have anything to do with Abigail.
Anger seethed from my chest. My jaw clenched, grinding my molars, then a soft touch on my shoulder reminded me that she was with me. Cici. She was there with me, whispering, “We’ve got this.”
My face softened, and I nodded politely at the judge as we took our seats in front of her.
The judge began calling out the points of our case: Current physical and legal custody. Me. Contesting physical and legal custody. Them. Reports and recommendations were made by a social worker. Nina.
Then the question came darting at me. “Would either party like to make a statement?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Bruce stood, rounding the table to the judge’s line of sight.
“My wife”—he gestured to my mother, sitting expressionless—“and I are seeking custody of our dear granddaughter.” As if he actually spent time with Abigail.
She loved to tell me about her adventures when she visited them, and his name was never brought up.
But it was nothing new that he was speaking for my mother. “During the time we’ve spent with her in the last couple of months,” he began, pacing in front of the judge’s podium, “we’ve enriched her life.”
A scoff escaped my throat, and Cici’s hand jumped to my knee, giving it a little pat.
Bruce continued to put on a performance, listing the swimming lessons, museum trips, and visits to the library.
I rolled my eyes internally, brushing off his insinuation that I didn’t provide enough culture for Abi.
As if being involved in her education, talking her through moments of grief and frustration, finding fucking socks and making crustless sandwiches was nothing compared to learning about the history of cable cars and the skeletal makeup of dinosaurs.
“Beth and I have researched an elite preparatory school that is willing to let Abigail transfer, despite it already being a few months into her education. If that’s what you would call what that progressive, hippie school she currently attends provides.”
Cici’s grip on my knee nearly tore through my pants.
“We believe we can offer Abigail a stable and refined upbringing. I’ll be quite candid, the lifestyle Mr. Marsh lives isn’t conducive to raising a child.”
The judge listened attentively, watching as my stepfather deliberately drew closer to her bench.
Bruce nodded my way and continued, “He constantly travels, lacks a support system, and is fruitful in his female… endeavors.” He locked eyes with Cici, and she sat up straighter.
“None of which is contributory to a child’s upbringing. ”
If the judge had any thoughts on his allegations, she showed no hint of it.
“I will close with one last remark about Mr. Marsh’s judgment.
My dear daughter, Caroline, is no longer with us.
And while Mr. Marsh was close to my daughter…
” If he said daughter one more fucking time.
“…he enabled some very erratic and reckless behavior.”
Cici curled her arm around mine, squeezing in closer, as if she knew I’d launch any moment without an anchor.
“While my granddaughter”—this fucker—“is a precious gift that we’d never consider a mistake.” He wagged his hand in my direction but continued to look the judge’s way. “I would hate to see Abigail turned on the wrong path.”
My eyes flared as if fire consumed me, heating me inside and prickling my skin like flames licking at me. How dare he. My vision went blurry, and my blood pulsed in my ears, blocking out any other sound.
The judge nodded and spoke. Bruce sat down. The judge flipped through her papers, then addressed me. But I couldn’t even hear her words. Cici nudged me, and I turned my head to her shoulder, hoping to hide the rage emanating from me.
She patted my pocket, and the tiny charms embedded there prodded my skin. A speck of clarity raced through me, and then I felt her lips at my ear. “None of that is true, and you know it. Set him straight and finish this.” She squeezed my arm and stood so I could move around her.
On shaking legs, I stood and blinked to clear my sight.
Unlike Bruce, I stood in front of the table allocated to me, needing Cici’s strength near me.
Clasping my hands together in front of me, I lowered my head briefly, in a long, acknowledging nod.
Then I lifted my head, rolled my shoulders, and grazed my hand over my pocket.
“Mr. Foster has made some pretty strong allegations, Your Honor.” My voice quaked slightly, but I continued.
“None of which are an accurate assessment of me.” I turned toward my mother, unwilling to look at Bruce.
“My mother and her husband have been out of the picture for many years and have no basis for their assertion of my character.”
I stood my ground as I spoke; this was not a show I was putting on. It wasn’t an episode of Law and Order. “My profession as a photographer has allowed me the privilege of traveling, however it also grants me the benefit of flexibility in work life.”