Entering Normal (21 page)

The side door opens, and a wiry woman in a pantsuit enters. She begins chatting with the bailiff.

The judge leans forward, removes his glasses. “All the parties involved are aware that this is not a trial,” he says. “It is a hearing. A preliminary hearing. We are here to determine—” He looks down at the papers. “—the matter of paternity and to appoint a guardian ad litem for the child in question.”

“Your honor,” Carla Olsen begins, “Mr. Steele seeks full custody of his son.”

“I am fully aware of what Mr. Steele is seeking,” he says. “Let's not get going so fast here that we put the cart before the horse. The first motion is the matter of paternity. Mr. Steele,” he says directly to Billy, “you maintain you are the father of Zackery, the son of Opal Gates?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Billy says.

“Miss Cummings, does your client deny Mr. Steele claim of paternity?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Everyone agrees?”

Billy
is
Zack's father, but Opal feels she is giving away something important. Until now it has been her and Zack. Now Billy will be a legal part of their life. She glances over at him, but he continues to look straight ahead.

“Paternity is granted,” Judge Bowles says. “The next order of business is to appoint a guardian ad litem. Mrs. Rogers?”

The wiry athletic-looking woman cuts off her conversation with the bailiff and crosses to a table by the recorder.

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“You've agreed to take the case?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Miss Gates, Mr. Steele,” the judge says to her and Billy. “Mrs. Sarah Rogers will be, in effect, the voice of your son in the proceedings. She will be his advocate. She, or someone from her office, will be contacting you. They will conduct an investigation and report their findings back to the court. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I'm going to set a hearing for ninety days from today. At that time Mrs. Rogers will have completed her investigation and will make her recommendations to the court. I will then hear testimony from all concerned parties and deliver my decision. Any questions?”

“About current custody, Your Honor,” Carla Olsen says. “Mr. Steele and Mr. and Mrs. Gates—the child's maternal grandparents— are deeply concerned about the child's welfare in the interim. Until the evidentiary hearing, the father wishes an emergency custody order. We have serious concerns about the boy's well-being while he is in his mother's care.”

“We contest,” Vivian says. Beneath the cover of the table, she squeezes Opal's arm. Stay cool.

“So I'd expect,” the judge says.

Opal is on her feet. “He can't do that. He didn't even want Zack. He wanted me to have an abortion.”

“Miss Cummings, please tell your client to sit down and be quiet.”

Opal sinks back.

“Your Honor, this is outrageous,” Vivian says. “On what basis are they seeking temporary custody?”

“A good question, Miss Cummings. Miss Olsen?”

“It is in the child's best interest, Your Honor.”

He sighs, laces his fingers behind his head. “How does Mr. Steele feel that that will best serve the interests of Zack?”

“He is better suited financially to care for the boy. And he will have the additional support of the boy's grandparents, who will share in the daily care.”

Melva taking care of Zack? It kills Opal to think of him in the tightly controlled world of her mama's house. Kills her. Feet off the furniture, elbows off the table. Rules for everything. Finish your dinner or no dessert. Everything in its place.

“Miss Cummings?”

“We oppose the petition, Your Honor.”

“Your Honor.” Carla Olsen again.

A flash of irritation flits over the judge's face at being interrupted. Opal allows herself to feel hope.

“There is also the question of ensuring that the boy will still be here in Massachusetts in ninety days. Last September, with no advance warning, Miss Gates removed the boy from his home, from his grandparents and his father, and left town, thereby depriving them of their rights.”

“Is that right?” he asks Vivian.

“No, Your Honor. While it is true that Opal relocated from North Carolina, she in no way prevented the boy's father or grandparents from visiting. In the past six months Mr. Steele has seen fit to enter the Commonwealth only once, and the grandparents have never been to visit either their daughter or their grandson.”

“Mr. Steele?”

Billy stares at the table.

“Mr. Steele, is it true that you have only been to see your son once since Miss Gates moved to the Commonwealth?”

“Yes,” Billy mumbles.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gates? You have never visited?”

“Your Honor,” Carla Olsen begins.

“A simple question. Will your clients please answer?”

“It's not that simple,” Melva says. “We asked Raylee—”

“Raylee?”

“That's Miss Gates' birth name,” Carla Olsen says. “Several years ago Miss Gates changed her name.”

The judge makes a note. “I see. Go on, Mrs. Gates.”

“We asked her to come home for the holidays. She refused.”

“And did you then take it upon yourself to visit the child?”

Melva doesn't answer.

“Your Honor.” The male attorney stands. “The point is, my clients think the boy will be better off with his father and grandparents.”

“On what basis?”

“Miss Gates is not stable. Who can say she won't get it into her head to move to California next?”

“Miss Gates, are you planning another move?”

“No, sir.”

“Miss Cummings, can you guarantee your client will remain where she is for the next ninety days?”

“Yes, Judge.”

“I'm going to deny Mr. Steele's request. If Zack has stayed with Miss Gates since last September with no attempt on the part of the other parties involved to either see the boy or guard his welfare, I see no reason to change things now. Are there, at this time, any formal visitation rights in place?”

“No, sir.”

“Miss Cummings, what is the boy's current situation regarding schooling?”

“He attends preschool half a day for five days a week until June.”

“While taking into consideration the law's incapacity to manage family relationships, I am going to grant temporary visitation rights for Mr. Steele. I am ordering a two-week period of visitation for Zackery to visit his father between now and the hearing.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Carla Olsen says. She smiles widely, like this is a big victory.

Opal can't imagine Zack gone for two weeks. Her stomach feels hollow.

“One more thing,” Carla Olsen says. “We are seeking an injunction preventing Mr. Tyrone Miller from having anything to do with the boy.”

Opal's mouth drops wide open. She looks over at Billy.

“Who is Mr. Miller?”

“Miss Gates' current boyfriend.”

Opal's knees turn buttery. What has Ty got to do with anything? She isn't married to Billy. She's a single woman. Why are they bringing this up?

“Relevance, Your Honor?” Vivian asks.

“Miss Olsen?” the judge asks. “On what grounds?”

“We are concerned, Your Honor. In the past, drug charges have been filed against Mr. Miller. Possession and intent to distribute.”

“What? What is she talking about?” Opal turns to Vivian, who is on her feet.

“Your Honor,” Vivian is shouting. “This is outrageous. I am personally acquainted with Mr. Miller. Those charges are ancient history. They have no relevance whatsoever. This is an obvious attempt to discredit my client and to prejudice the court.”

“Approach.”

Opal, sickened, watches while Vivian and the other attorneys cluster at the bench. The judge calls over the guardian.

Melva looks over at Opal, her face smug as a cat full of cream.

OUTSIDE, IN THE CORRIDOR, VIVIAN REACHES FOR HER ARM, but Opal shakes her off.

“Judge Bowles' denial for their injunction is a good sign. He isn't going to be swayed by anything that they can't substantiate by fact.”

As far as Opal is concerned the judge might as well have ruled against Ty. She isn't going to let him
near
Zack. She can't take any chances. “Why the fuck didn't you tell me about Tyrone? Why didn't you warn me? Jesus, he's watching Zack right now.”

Vivian grasps her arm, faces her. “Number one, you didn't tell me you were dating him. Number two, as the judge ruled, it doesn't pertain. As far as the court is concerned, he's clear and clean.”

“Well, I can guarantee that's not what my mama's thinking. ‘Where's there's fumes, there's fire,' in Mama's mind. How did she learn about Ty anyway?”

“Probably hired a detective. It definitely looks like they're ready to play hardball. Obviously they're planning on using anything they can find to prejudice the judge. Here's my advice: For the next ninety days live like a monk. Behave as if everything you do will be reported to the court. And start thinking about who you want us to call as character witnesses. We have to counteract the weight of your parents sitting there at the other table.”

“The judge won't really give Billy custody, will he? He can't do that. I'm his mama.”

“That's what we're hoping for.” She gives Opal a quick hug. “Remember. Like a monk. The perfect mother.”

WHEN SHE PULLS ONTO CHESTNUT STREET, SHE CAN'T BELIEVE her eyes. Ty has Zack out in the street—in the
street
—playing hockey.

“Zack,” she says as she gets out of the car. “In the house.”

He looks up at Ty, his smile fading.

“Don't look at him!” she screams. “I said get in the house.”

“Hey, Opal. Calm down.”

“What the hell were you doing in the street? He could have been hit.”

“Hey, baby. Lighten up. It's a dead end here. We can see a car coming. We were careful.” Out of Zack's earshot he says, “Don't yell at him. It was my fault. If you want to yell at someone, yell at me.”

She turns away and heads toward the house. “I wouldn't waste my breath on you.”

“What's going on here? You're being kind of rough, aren't you?”

“Just go home. Go home and leave me and Zack the hell alone.”

“What's going on, Opal? What happened at the hearing?”

“What happened? I'll tell you what the fuck happened. Billy and my parents sat there looking concerned as their lawyer asked the judge for a restraining order. A restraining order to prevent you from having anything to do with Zack.”

“Me?”

“You. Tyrone Miller. The drug pusher.”

“Jesus. What happened?”

Opal is exhausted now. “Just go.”

“But what did the judge say. What happened?”

“Oh, he denied the request.”

“So there's no problem. Right?”

“Wrong. You're the problem.”

“Damn, Opal, be reasonable. Don't do this. I can help.”

“I don't need anyone's help. Least of all yours.”

“The whole thing with the drugs happened a long time ago. It was a mistake. Okay?”

“I can't afford any mistakes. You hear me?”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I want you to go.”

“Jesus, Opal, I can understand that you're upset, but you're not thinking straight.”

She turns on him, and her question comes out with all the sadness of her tired soul. “Why didn't you tell me about being arrested?”

“I was a kid. It was a mistake. Haven't you ever made a mistake?”

“I can't afford a mistake, Ty. I can't afford your mistakes. I can't afford you.”

“Wait. Listen to me, Opal. Let me explain.”

“Explain nothing. I can lose you. I can't lose Zack.”

SUMMER

CHAPTER 30

NED

JUST AFTER FOUR, NED LOWERS THE LIFT. AT THE SERVICE desk, he notes the time in an appointment book thick with order forms and assorted sheets of paper. The page is greasy with thumbprints. Tyrone's been telling him he should get a computer, but the thought is enough to bring on a headache. Why put any money into something like that? As soon as he can convince Rose to head south, the place is history. This isn't the time to be investing in new equipment.

What is it the time for?

Ned never has given much thought to the patterns at work in his life. He expected his life to be as predictable as his father's had been: School, work, retirement. Time to fish. Maybe take that trip to the Grand Canyon Rose used to talk about. But now his life is off course, and he has no idea how to get it back on track. He has no answers and no one to ask. The only one he sees regularly, besides Rose, is Ty—not that he'd confide in him. The mechanic has been moody lately, mooning around ever since Opal ditched him. Good riddance, is what Ned thinks, but he knows enough to keep his mouth shut.

Officially, there's another hour before closing, but as he has every day for the past three weeks, he crosses to the door, switches the sign from
Open
to
Closed
, and heads over to Trudy's. Without knowing exactly how it came about, he has gotten in the habit of going over and sitting at the counter for a mug of coffee while she closes up. He finds a certain peace in watching her wipe the counters clean, refill the sugar bowls and catsup bottles, scrape clean the grill. The television behind the counter is usually on.
Oprah
turned low, although every now and then Trudy cranks up the dial and enters into the discussion just as if she's part of the studio audience.

Even though she officially closes at four, as soon as he walks through the door, she puts on a fresh pot. He looks forward to this time, but he can't shake the feeling that he's doing something wrong.

Today she sets out a slice of apple pie. “One slice left. You might as well finish it up.” She makes it sound like he's doing her a favor.

Yesterday it was Boston cream. His favorite. He knows he shouldn't be eating this stuff. He's been putting on weight. It spoils his appetite for dinner. Not that Rose notices.

“You want a scoop of vanilla on that?”

What the hell, he's not going to live forever. Might as well enjoy what time he has left. He's fifty-seven. Not getting any younger, that's for sure. Sorrow tightens his chest. He can see all the promise of the future fading right before his eyes. “Sure,” he says.

Trudy pours herself a cup and joins him at the counter. Today Oprah has some guy on talking about how a person can heal his life. Forgiveness is the key, he tells the audience.

Trudy snorts. “Forgiveness,” she says, “is a bunch of crap. There are some things a person can't forgive.” Her daughter Phyllis has just gone back to her husband, making it the couple's third or fourth reconciliation. There's plenty of talk around town that Jeff gets physical when he drinks. Trudy would like Phyllis to get a divorce and be done with it.

“I wouldn't put up with that shit for a minute,” she told Ned last week. He does not doubt this. Trudy is not a woman to put up with anyone's bullshit.

“That's pretty,” he says, pointing to a beaded band on her wrist, and then he feels embarrassed to be paying her a compliment.

“Thanks,” she says, pleased. “Lorraine sent it.”

Four years ago, Trudy began sponsoring a child on a Lakota reservation in South Dakota. On holidays, she puts out a carton for people to make donations to the tribe: clothing, canned goods, toys. Her dream is to make the trip out there to meet the girl in person. Ned wonders what the fishing is like in South Dakota.

“How about people like Hitler?” a woman is asking Oprah's guest. “Should we forgive people like that? Do they deserve our forgiveness?”

“Enough of this,” Trudy says, hitting the mute button. Her favorite shows are when there is a movie star on. Like Julia Roberts or Cher.

“How's Rose?” she asks.

“The same,” Ned says, which is as close as he can come to telling anyone about how bad things are at home.

Rose has reverted to that vague, floaty state he remembers from the year after Todd's death. She doesn't hear half the things he says to her. He might as well be living alone.

The cruel thing is that he thought he was getting her back. That day she said she was going over to Springfield to shop, he really took it as a sign she was returning to her old self. He allowed himself to hope.

That night, when he got home, he planned on surprising her and taking her out for dinner to that Italian place she used to like. But as soon as he walked through the door and saw her sitting and staring into space, he saw all his plans going up the flue.

What the hell is going on? he wanted to say. He wanted to get everything out in the open. When could he expect her to get on with life? How long was she going to keep grieving Todd? Not that he expected her to forget, but Christ, enough is enough. You can't expect a person to climb in the coffin and die too. And while he was at it, he wanted to talk to her about the professor he had seen her with in Pellington. He wants to tell her that he opened the letter Anderson Jeffrey mailed to her. He knows all about the piece she wrote for the writing class last fall. It was hard reading—all that stuff about Todd dying and Rose's guilt about not letting him use the car. Her
anger
at everyone. He had no idea.

He is ashamed he's read her mail. He's hidden the envelope in the back of the desk. He'd like there to be an opportunity to let her know he's read it and to tell her he doesn't blame her for Todd's death and she shouldn't blame herself.
Forgiveness is the key.
He wants to tell her he loves her. He wants to clear the air of secrets.

Well, now he has these afternoons with Trudy. His own secret. And two people who have spent most of their lives sharing everything now drift like dandelion fluff in a field of secrets.

Is that the way it is with secrets? One leads to another.

And another.