Custody (17 page)

In a changing room of the girls’ locker room of Camp Moxie, Tessa huddled in perfect misery, slipping out of her tennis clothes and into her bathing suit.

The thing Tessa liked the most about camp was the boys, and the thing Tessa hated the worst about camp was the boys.

They had tennis first. Sharing two courts, all morning they marched up to the net, one after the other, to practice forehand, backhand, serve, lob, volley, blah blah blah; then they were free to swim for an hour before lunch.

Until this year Tessa had loved swimming. She’d created an elaborate, terribly private fantasy about being a mermaid. One of her very best fantasies, gorgeously detailed, it was also impromptu enough to incorporate the shrieking interruptions of her girlfriends as they dived into the water next to her and even the serene, rather whale-like (although she’d die before she’d let him know she thought that) figure of her father as he floated majestically on his back past her or churned, blowing and spewing, through the water doing laps.

Her mother did not swim. She enjoyed swimming, she told Tessa, because it provided excellent exercise, burning off calories and slimming the torso. She was just always so busy, or if they were on vacation, she had so much she needed to read.

Really, Tessa knew, having overheard her mother confide this to her father two years ago, the thought of putting her body into water polluted with the sweat, urine, mucus, and general oils of other human bodies was repellent to her. She had taken Tessa to Water Baby classes at their private club three years in a row, she was willing to sit watching her daughter swim, if necessary she would dive in to save Tessa’s life, but unless that was called for, she was not entering any pool, lake, or ocean again in her life.

Tessa didn’t mind other people’s stuff. She had no sense of it around her as she slid through the fluid turquoise or lay on her back, kicking the liquid aquamarine into spatters of diamonds. She liked the weightlessness of her body, the way things blurred underwater, the way
noises became mysterious and indistinct, like signals from outer space.

Or rather, she had liked all that, and she had
loved
her mermaid fantasy. When she was a kid she would swim for hours, lost in a make-believe world. She’d been so
free
then, splashing and gliding around in happiness, oblivious of her appearance, so lost in pleasure and dreams she scarcely thought of her body as a body at all. She’d played pool Frisbee with her friends and raced them the length of the pool in a passionate churning frenzy that made her chest heave as she gasped for air.

This year, suddenly, everything changed. The locker room was full of giggling and whispering girls, painfully, nearly paralytically, conscious of their bodies. Clarissa Donovan, not even the oldest, had left to go home in the middle of tennis because her period started. Thinking of this, a thrill of terror shot down Tessa’s tummy from her belly button to her thighs.

“Come on!” Tracy yelled now.

Reluctantly, Tessa left the safety of the dressing room and joined the humiliating cluster of girls who, bumping elbows, hiding brace-bracketed mouths with their hands, stumbled out into the fierce, unforgiving sunlight.

The boys were already in the pool or diving off the board, or shoving each other, laughing donkey laughs, into the water.

Tessa and her friends dawdled over to the shallow end to sit dabbling their toes in the cool water, talking about television shows, pretending not to notice the boys. It was as if an evil sci-fi scientist had zapped their brains so that they had, as a group, forgotten what a swimming pool was for.

Of Tessa’s clique, Tessa was the tallest, but only Tracy and Kristen had developed bosoms and hips.
They
didn’t join the pathetic huddle but with breathtaking self-possession sauntered over the burning cement to spread out their towels on pool lounges, where they reclined, slathering themselves with sunblock.

Chad wasn’t anywhere—then his sleek dark head surfaced in the deep end. He saw her looking at him, and Tessa’s whole body went hot.

Cynthia, Beryl, and Shiobian giggled like a pack of brainless morons, and suddenly Tessa couldn’t stand it any longer. She dived right into the water. Everyone else was tan, but she was white as a fish belly; her mother didn’t want her to get skin cancer when she was forty.

She thought maybe Chad liked her. He smiled at her a lot, and once he said hi. Tessa had never had anybody like her at the same time she liked them. But, then, mostly her crushes were on guys like Leonardo DiCaprio or Ricky Martin, so she’d felt safe getting all moony; they
couldn’t see her back.

She knew she was retarded about sex. Part of it was her mother’s fault—Anne strictly censored all television, so the only time Tessa could see
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
or
Sabrina
was at her friends’ houses, and sometimes even chubby, bug-face Beryl, who was always so thrilled to have Tessa hang out with her that Tessa got to dictate what they did, got fed up with Tessa’s hunger for TV.

Girls grew up too quickly these days, Tessa’s mom insisted. They looked trashy so young, wearing makeup and fingernail polish, getting their ears pierced. Tessa’s mom wouldn’t even let her buy a two-piece bathing suit, but for once Tessa didn’t mind her mother’s rules, because her belly was a soft, pale, wobbly embarrassment Tessa wanted to keep hidden. No way would Tessa ever wear a belly button ring! Except for Tracy and Kristen, who wore bikinis, Tessa’s clique and a lot of the others wore Speedo tanks. Tessa’s was dark blue with red stripes up the side. The top rose high enough to cover the pathetic swellings, like hard-boiled eggs, that passed for breasts on her body.

The water was cool and dreamy. Surfacing, Tessa lay on her back and just floated, letting the sun bake her face and the tips of her feet as she fluttered them gently. Her mermaid fantasy drifted out of her brain in a blue haze, surrounding her in a blue-green dream. Tessa could almost feel glittering scales, like sequins, sprout on her legs.

“Yaaaah!”

With a yell like an ax murderer, someone grabbed her ankle, jerking her sideways and under. Unprepared, Tessa swallowed water and choked. Kicking, flailing, she fought her way to the top. A bunch of her hair came free from its braid, plastering her face, blinding her. Her feet couldn’t touch bottom and she couldn’t see which way the deep end was, so she just treaded water as she swiped her hair out of her eyes. Snorting, she blew water out her nose.
So attractive
.

Her vision cleared enough for her to see Cynthia, Beryl, and Shiobian at the shallow end of the pool, all of them latched to the side with their elbows, kicking their legs out lazily. Tessa swam over to them.

“Did you see who pulled me under?”

Shiobian said, “Chad.” Then they burst into laughter like a trio of idiots.

“Did he, or are you guys teasing?” Tessa demanded.

“Did he, or are you guys teasing?” Beryl echoed.

“Retards,” Tessa muttered, pulling herself up onto the pool side. When she sat, her thighs spread out forever, like a couple of pale pink baby pigs, and from the leg of her suit blond pubic
hair, new this summer, curled like bean sprouts. She adjusted her suit, trying surreptitiously to shove them back in.

Tracy came strolling toward her. She was so cool, so sexy. A thin gold chain glittered around her narrow waist. Tessa and Tracy had been in the same private schools since first grade, but Tessa couldn’t believe Tracy would spend any time with her now.

“Hey.” Tracy lowered her beautiful body next to Tessa’s. Every move she made seemed fluid, enticing. “I saw Chad pull you under.”

Tessa shrugged. Beneath her suit her heart thumped.

“I think he likes you.”

“I’m so sure.”

Tracy dabbled her toes, flicking little pearls of pool water into the air. “Tessa. He does.”

“Yeah, me and Beryl are his dream dates.”

“You’re sick.” Tracy placed her hands behind her and leaned back, lifting her face to the sun.

“I’m fat.”

“Jesus, Tessa! How many times do I have to tell you? You’re thin. You’re too thin.” Ruthlessly she added, “You’ll never have breasts if you don’t gain some weight.”

“I don’t
want
breasts,” Tessa said in a fierce whisper. She knew Tracy was trying to be nice, but this whole conversation made her angry. Breasts, pubic hair, sex, the way Chad made her feel, babies … all that slimed her mind, making her think things she shouldn’t think and feel things she shouldn’t feel. If her mother knew what went on in Tessa’s head, she’d be horrified, she’d wish she’d never adopted her.

“Your birth mother was a lovely, intelligent young woman,” her parents had told her, but Tessa knew better. Where else would she get such indecent thoughts, such images flashing through her mind, if not from her birth mother’s genes?

Sometimes when Tessa looked at Chad, such a rush of prickly heat flashed through her that she was surprised not to see a rash, red and bumpy, spread over her skin. Sometimes she felt absolutely demented, a real sicko. She wished she could talk to someone about this, but who? Not her father—this was way too yucky to discuss with a
man
. Not with her mother, so perfect, so pristine—she wouldn’t have a clue.

“He’s looking at you right now.” Tracy’s voice was half whisper, half squeal.

“Cut it out!” Tessa snapped, and dived deep into the cool obscuring water, wishing she could come up five years old, or not come up at all.

Late Wednesday afternoon, after a grueling day in court, Judge Spriggs took Kelly out to dinner. They walked from the courthouse over to the Galleria Mall, breathing in the fresh summer air and talking idly of summer plans, but once they settled into a booth at the Cheesecake Factory, Judge Spriggs said, “Good. It’s noisy here. No one will be able to overhear us.” Then she ordered a Scotch for herself, insisted that Kelly have something alcoholic—she chose a margarita—planted her elbows on the table, and got down to business.

“So. Two days behind the bench. Whadda ya think?”

Kelly ran her finger around the rim of her glass and licked the salt as she considered her words. “When I was a lawyer, I always felt triumph when I won, disappointment when I lost. Now, seeing divorces from the bench, I can tell how little triumph there is in any of it.”

Judge Spriggs nodded. “Good point. I always tell my parties that if they both walk away dissatisfied, then I’ve done a good job.” She knocked back her drink and signaled the waitress for another. “You’re coming from private practice. You’re used to thinking that the amount of money you’ve gotten awarded for your client or the amount you’ve saved him or her translates into success or failure. Forget that. Here’s what you think about now: What are the best interests of the child? Here we think of the child first.”

“The couple we just saw. You said you’d take the case under advisement and send them your findings.”

“Right. Sometimes it’s best to do that, even if you already know your decision. Gives them time to separate, cool off. Court’s stressful enough. Emotions are high. Let them have a day or so to get over it. Send your decision to their lawyer. They know their lawyer is their advocate; he breaks the news to them privately. Keeps them from wanting to kill each other in the courtroom.”

The waitress set their food before them: a filet mignon for Judge Spriggs, pasta primavera for Kelly. She nearly inhaled her food.

“Gives you an appetite, doesn’t it?” Judge Spriggs noted, chewing. “You’ve gotta have fuel for this job.”

When she’d finished the greater portion of her meal, Judge Spriggs took a pen from her purse and grabbed the paper napkin from beneath her drink. “Okay. You asked about the last case. Here’s one trick I have that helps.”

She folded the paper four times, lengthwise, then drew a line down the middle, making four columns. On one side of the paper she wrote
FATHER
, on the other half,
MOTHER
; beneath those words she wrote
STRENGTH
and
WEAKNESS
.

“For the couple we just saw, Father’s strengths are obvious. He’s a hard worker, a good provider, well respected in the community, devoted to his kids. But he’s a salesman, often traveling for weeks at a time. Also, he’s been involved with a series of women, which has got to be confusing for his kids. At first glance, Mother looks great, but she’s so hung up on revenge she’s hurting her kids. For example, Father planned a big birthday picnic for one of the kids last month; just before he came to pick them up, Mother treated them to enormous ice cream sundaes so they weren’t interested in the hot dogs he’d grilled or the cake he’d bought. Mother undermined Father’s success at her children’s expense. If Father’s two minutes late picking the kids up for his time with them, Mother whisks them into her car, drives them somewhere he can’t find them. She’s depriving them of access to their father and blaming it on the father. Not a good habit. If you add all this up, you get a pattern.”