The Weight of Small Things (8 page)

“Okay, I guess. I just finished touring the center. It’s pretty amazing.”

“How was it, seeing Daniel again?”

“Okay,” Corrie said, cradling the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she turned a corner, trying to keep up with the blue VW Bug ahead of her. “It was nice, actually. He’s living with a woman named Capri. She works at the center, too.”

There was a pause. Then Sarah asked cautiously, “Did you meet her?”

“Yes,” Corrie said, proud to hear that her voice was calm. “She’s really interesting . . . Asian, with lots of piercings and a couple tattoos. And she’s got the weirdest color eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Anyway, how are you?” Corrie asked. “I’m sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“I’m fine, just sitting around waiting. The doctor says eight more weeks, and I am
so
ready.” Sarah’s voice sounded tired.

“Well, at least wait till I get home!” Corrie laughed. “I want to be there when my namesake makes her appearance.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Thursday morning,” Corrie said. “I have a nine o’clock flight.”

“Have you talked to Mark?”

“Not yet,” Corrie replied. “I’ll call him later tonight. I’m going to an interview right now.”

“Well, don’t forget to call him. He’s really not happy with this trip, Corrie.”

“I know.” Corrie sighed. “But he’ll be all right. I’ll call him later. I have to go now, Sarah. I’m just getting onto the freeway.”

In reality, she was pulling into a driveway behind Daniel.

“Okay, be careful. And Corrie?”

“Yeah?”

“Be good!”

“I will.” Corrie laughed as she hung up the phone.

The Spanish-style stucco apartment building climbed up the side of a hill, each unit stacked above and slightly behind the one below. Corrie parked her car in the lot at the base of the hill and followed Daniel up a long flight of stairs to the top unit.

“This is nice,” she said as she stepped inside. The building was old, with ceramic tile floors and arched doorways. The south-facing wall was entirely windows, opening onto a patio, built on the roof of the apartment below. The afternoon sun shone bright through the windows, creating a golden glow.

“Yeah, it is,” Daniel agreed, watching Corrie. “I’ve been here for seven years now. Do you want to see the rest of it?”

They walked from the front room to the tiny kitchen, which was filled with electronic gadgets.

“Capri’s,” Daniel explained, grinning. “She loves to buy cooking gadgets, but she never cooks.”

He opened a door to a small bedroom. A single bed graced the corner, strewn with women’s clothes. A vanity was littered with jewelry, makeup, and hair products. A black bra hung from a corner of the mirror.

“She’s a slob,” Daniel said. “But at least she keeps the mess confined to her room.”

After Capri’s room was a short hall with a small bathroom. The counter there was also strewn with makeup and skin-care products. “Mostly confined to her room,” Daniel corrected himself, laughing.

He opened the door at the end of the hallway, and Corrie stepped into the second bedroom. Antique oak furniture filled the room, at the center of which stood a huge, four-poster bed, the covers neatly drawn. Several paintings hung on the walls. Corrie stopped beneath one and touched it with one finger.

“This is really nice,” she said softly, admiring the brushstrokes, the subtle play of colors and texture.

“Isn’t it?” Daniel stood just behind her. Corrie could feel his warmth. “All of these were painted by one of our graduates. His name is Darrel, and he was a foster kid. When he showed up at the center, he was eighteen, just kicked out of his last foster home. He didn’t have his diploma, no job . . . just a whole lot of attitude.

“So we got him into one of the apartments, and he started working on his GED. One day he showed me his drawings, and I was just blown away. They were so good. So I gave him a job at the center, teaching art classes to the younger kids. And after he got his GED, we found him a grant so he could go to art school.

“He’s pretty successful now. Sells his work at a couple galleries in North Hollywood. But he still teaches twice a week at the center.”

“Wow.” Corrie walked toward another painting. “You must be really proud.”

“Of what?” Daniel asked. “I didn’t teach him to paint.”

“No, but you gave him his first job, found him a place to live, helped him get into school.”

She turned to smile at him. “No wonder you’re so passionate about the center. You wanted to make a difference, and you’re doing it.”

“You have to meet Darrel!” Daniel said. “Maybe he can come by the center tomorrow.”

“That would be great.” She smiled at him again, then let her eyes wander around the room, until they finally rested on the bed.

“Um, so . . . can I see the patio?” She walked out of the bedroom abruptly.

Stopping in the kitchen, Daniel poured her a glass of cabernet.

“You still drink it red?” he asked as he handed her the glass.

She nodded, pleased that he’d remembered.

The view from the patio was stunning. They stood gazing at the late afternoon sun, just dipping behind the Southern California hills.

“This is really beautiful,” Corrie said softly.
And it could have been mine
.

She resolutely avoided looking at Daniel, standing beside her.

“Yeah, it’d be perfect if not for the noise. You can’t live anywhere in the L.A. Basin and be far from the freeway.”

The sound of rush-hour traffic hummed in the background.

“Still, it’s a hell of a lot nicer than my first place.”

“Where was that?” Corrie asked, dropping into a lawn chair.

“When I first came out, I rented a place in South Central L.A. It was a dump, but it was cheap. I got a job working at a men’s shelter. God, that was a nightmare . . . right in the middle of gang turf. We had guys get shot at least once a week. Most of them were addicts, the rest were predators. It was hell on earth, even for me. And I only had to work there. I can’t imagine what it was like for the guys who lived there.”

“How did you end up in L.A.? I thought you went to New York.”

“I was there for a year, but man, I just couldn’t handle the city. Too big, too cold, too depressing, even for me. So, I figured people needed help in warm places, too. And I bought a bus ticket and came. Didn’t know anyone out here at first. Just worked and slept.”

He turned to look at Corrie, her auburn hair shining copper in the setting sun.

“That’s why I never called, you know.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at the sky, turning orange now.

“I couldn’t ask you to live like that.”

He sat in silence for a minute and then poured more wine into Corrie’s glass.

“Anyway, I’d been out here for about a year and was working in the shelter when this gangbanger comes in looking for a guy who shot his brother. He found me instead. I tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t in a talking mood.”

Daniel smiled at Corrie’s face, now turned toward him, her eyes wide.

“He shot me,” he said quietly.

“My God, Daniel! I didn’t know. Why didn’t you . . . why didn’t you call me? I never even knew.”

“I thought about it,” Daniel continued. “I wanted to. But what was I going to say? ‘Hey, Corrie, I know I walked out on you two years ago and never called you or even wrote. But now I’m shot and I want you.’ I couldn’t do that.”

“Were you hurt bad?”

“I got hit in the side. I turned away just as he shot. The bullet went straight through without hitting anything major. I got lucky.”

“I wish you’d called. I hate to think about you all by yourself in the hospital.”

“My mom was there.”

“She must have been hysterical.”

“Actually, she was pretty good about it.” Daniel smiled, shifted in his chair, and sipped his wine. “She wanted me to come home, of course. But she knew I wouldn’t. She knows I need to be doing this.”

“I always liked your mom.” Corrie smiled, remembering the red-haired woman so passionately devoted to human rights.

“She liked you, too. She wanted me to call you.”

They sat in silence for a minute.

“Anyway,” Daniel said, “I decided I really didn’t like working with adults. Most of the guys at the shelter were beyond helping. I wanted to get to kids before they were lost. So I hooked up with a guy who was working at a community center in Van Nuys, and we applied for a grant to start the center here.

“Nick had all the right contacts. His family is wealthy . . . he knew how to work the system. So we got a start-up grant and found a building, and that’s how we opened the center.”

“Is Nick still around?” Corrie didn’t remember anyone named Nick at the center.

“He got married a couple years ago and decided he needed to make a real living wage. He’s working for the state now, doing something with computers. But he still comes by. Last year he got us a bunch of computers from some office that was upgrading.”

“And now you’re doing what you always wanted to do.” Corrie smiled at him, leaning back in her chair. “You must be really proud.”

Daniel leaned forward, setting his glass on a small table.

“I’m not proud of the way I treated you,” he said softly.

“It’s okay,” Corrie said, not looking at him. “I got over it.”

“Looks like you did,” he said. “I’m glad you’re happy, Coriander.”

“No one calls me that anymore, Daniel. I changed it to Corrie Ann when I got married.”

“I’m sorry you did that.” Daniel looked away from her.

“Hey!”

A woman’s voice chimed from the door. Corrie turned to see Capri, holding a large shopping bag.

“I got fresh veggies at the park,” she said. “Let’s get cooking. I’m starved!”

14

“H
ow was the meeting with the lawyer?” Bryn was laying dishes on the table when Bob came home.

“He thinks I’ve got a good case for sole custody.”

“So what do you do next?”

“Well, I paid him a retainer and he’s putting together the papers. Where are the boys?”

Bryn smiled. “They’re asleep, actually. I think I wore them out today.”

Bob grinned at her. “See? You can totally do the mom thing.”

Bryn walked to the kitchen to stir spaghetti sauce.

“Thanks for watching them today. I’ll have to work out some kind of day care, I guess.”

“It’s no problem. I had fun.”

Bryn pushed her bangs, sticky from the steam rising from the spaghetti, from her forehead.

“Wendy called three times today. I didn’t pick up the first two, but Micah answered the third time.”

“Oh God,” Bob sighed. “I told her not to call.”

“Well, he talked to her for a minute, and then he said she wanted to talk to you. So I got on the phone and told her you were at work, and if she wants to talk to you in the future, she’ll have to do it through your lawyer. . . . I hope that was okay.”

Bob nodded. “I probably should call her tonight.”

“No, you shouldn’t!” Bryn turned from the stove to face him. “You said everything you needed to yesterday. She made her own bed. Let her lie in it!”

“Daddy?” Cody stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Hey, buddy.” Bob scooped the child into a hug. “How was your day?”

“We had fun.” Cody smiled, relaxing into his father’s arms. “Bryn took us to the zoo, and we had a picnic. And she let us watch
Power Rangers
and made popcorn.”

“Cool.” Bob smiled at Bryn over Cody’s head. “Sounds like a great day.”

“When is Mommy coming?”

Bryn saw Bob’s back stiffen, then relax. “Not for a while, Cody. You and Micah are going to stay here with me. Micah has to start school next week, and then you’ll go back to preschool. Won’t that be fun?”

“But isn’t Mommy coming back?”

Bob sat down on the kitchen floor and pulled Cody into his lap.

“Mommy is going to stay where she is, Cody. She’s going to live with Luke. And you and Micah are going to live here with me. But you’ll still see Mommy on the weekends sometimes, okay?”

“But my Game Boy is at her house.” Cody stared up at Bob, his eyes round and unblinking.

“I’ll get your Game Boy, buddy. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get all your stuff back, so you can have it here.”

“Okay. . . . What’s for dinner?”

“Bryn made spaghetti.” Bob smiled and ruffled his son’s hair.

“With meatballs?”

Cody looked up at Bryn expectantly.

“Absolutely with meatballs!” Bryn smiled. “Do you want to taste the sauce?”

Bob went to wake Micah, while Cody stirred the spaghetti sauce.

As they sat down to supper, Cody grinned at Micah.

“Daddy said we’re going to live here now.”

Micah looked from his brother to Bob, his face blank.

“What do you think about that, Micah?” Bob asked.

The seven-year-old shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever,” he said, twirling spaghetti on his fork.

“And he’s gonna get my Game Boy and all our other stuff, and bring it home,” Cody continued.

Still Micah said nothing.

“Will Bryn live with us, too?” Cody turned to Bob.

“No, Cody,” Bob said. “I told you, Bryn is just staying for a little while. Just until she finds a new apartment.”

“But who will take care of us after Bryn leaves?”

“I’ll work that out.” Bob buttered a roll. “Besides, you guys start school next week.”

“But who will pick me up from preschool?” Cody’s brow furrowed.

“We’ll work it out,” Bob said.

“So I’m going to my old school?” Micah spoke softly.

“Yep, you’ll be back with all your friends at your school.”

“Mommy said I was going to a new school.”

“Well, if you stayed at Mommy’s, you would be at a new school.” Bob spoke slowly, measuring his words carefully. “But I thought you’d rather go to your old school, where your friends are.”

Micah chewed on his roll for a minute. “Okay. I didn’t want to go to a new school.”

Bob smiled as he caught Bryn’s eye.

“Is Mommy coming home?” Micah’s voice was very quiet.

The question hung in the air for a long moment, before Bob finally leaned forward to cup Micah’s chin.

“No, buddy. Mommy isn’t coming home. Mommy is going to live with Luke. And you and me and Cody are going to live here. Just us guys.”

Micah said nothing, returning to his roll.

“Daddy?” he finally asked, staring down at his plate.

“What?”

“I wish things were like before, when Mommy lived here with us.”

“I know. But it’s going to be okay. You’ll see . . . it’ll be okay.”

 

Bob sat with the phone cradled in his hand, staring into space.

“You don’t have to call her.” Bryn sat on the sofa, watching him. “You don’t owe her anything.”

“I have to.” Bob sighed. “I can’t leave things the way they are.”

Bryn leaned forward, watching his face. “You said everything you needed to say yesterday.”

The scene the night before had been ugly. Bryn had taken the boys for ice cream, so they wouldn’t be home when Wendy arrived. Bob had confronted his wife with the photo, telling her that she could not take the boys. Wendy had screamed, then cried, and finally left, slamming the door behind her, the threat of an ugly custody battle hanging in the air.

“Just let your lawyer . . .” Bryn began.

They both jumped at the sudden banging on the door.

“Bob? Open the damned door!” Wendy’s voice was shrill.

“Damn!” Bob rose, slamming the phone down.

“You want me to stay?” Bryn rose.

Bob shook his head as he walked to the door. “I’ll handle it.”

Bryn went to her room, but left the door open.

Bob opened the door and stared down at his wife, the mother of his children. Wendy’s curls were wild, her cheeks flushed, her hands clenched tightly together. She pushed past him into the living room.

“Where are the boys?” she yelled. “I’m taking them home. Micah? Cody?”

“Shut up, Wendy.” Bob grabbed her arm, pulling her back out the door onto the porch.

Bryn walked softly down the hall and stood just out of sight in the dining room.

“I want my kids, damn it!” Wendy was screaming now. “Where are my kids?”

“The boys are in bed . . . they’re asleep. Keep your voice down, or you’ll wake them up.”

“I want to wake them up! I’m taking them home!”

Bryn cautiously peered into the living room, clutching her cell phone. She’d call the police if she had to.

“Listen to me, Wendy. You are
not
taking the boys. They are never going back to that house. Not as long as Luke is there.”

“You can’t keep them away from me, Bob. I’m their mother, for God’s sake.”

“And you put them in a dangerous situation. God, Wendy! What were you thinking?”

“It was fun, Bob. Just fun. Something you don’t know a goddamned thing about.”

“Well, your fun just cost you your kids.” Bob’s voice rose. “You aren’t fit to be their mother. And I’m not going to let you put them in a situation like that again.”

“Oh, and yours is so much better? Hell, you’re living with Bryn. She’s not fit to take care of a dog!”

“Leave Bryn out of this.” Bob’s voice shook with anger. “She has nothing to do with it. And even if she did, she would never put the boys in danger like you did.”

“Damn it, Bob. I want my kids and I want them now!”

Bryn ducked back into the hallway as the front door opened.

“No!” Bob’s voice rang through the house.

Behind her, Bryn heard a bedroom door creak open. She turned to see Micah standing, pale and shaking, in the hall behind her.

“Shhhh,” she whispered, crouching to pull Micah into her arms. “Let’s go back to bed. It’s going to be okay.”

Bryn crooned over and over, “It’s going to be okay,” as she steered the child back to his room, closing the door behind them. The din from the living room continued.

“You are not taking the boys, Wendy. If you try, I’ll call the police.”

“I’m their mother! You can’t keep them away from me.”

“Listen, Wendy.” Bob’s voice was low and steely. “The boys are staying with me. I’ve already got a lawyer. I showed him the picture. And he assured me I will get custody.”

There was a long silence.

“You showed that picture to your lawyer? You bastard!”

“And I’ll take it to Child Protective Services, if I have to. And then you will never see the boys again.”

“You can’t do that!” Wendy’s voice rose to a wail. “You can’t do that to me.”

“I can and I will. And then I’ll send a copy to your parents.”

“You son of a bitch! You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, Wendy, I would. I will . . . unless you give up custody. I want sole custody. You can have visitation . . . but not if Luke is there. I will not allow my sons to be in the same house as him ever again.”

Bryn sat on Micah’s bed, holding his shaking frame, whispering, “It’s going to be okay.” She hoped against hope the yelling wouldn’t wake Cody, too.

“You can’t do that! I’ll get a lawyer. I’ll take you to court.”

“You can try, Wendy. But you won’t win. I promise you, you won’t win.”

Wendy collapsed onto the couch, crying.

“How can you do this to me?”

Bob stared down at her. They’d been married for ten years, shared a bed, made love, fought, had two children. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, tell her he still loved her, give in. Instead, he said quietly, “I’m doing what I have to do to take care of my sons.

“I think you should go.”

Wendy stared up at him, tears coursing down her red cheeks.

“I won’t let you do this.”

“Just go, Wendy.”

A moment later, Bryn heard the front door slam. In an instant, Micah broke free from her embrace and ran down the hallway to the front room.

“Daddy?”

Bob turned slowly to face his son.

“It’s okay, Micah,” he echoed Bryn. “It’s going to be okay.”