Two by Two(96)

We kept the discussion at a level appropriate for a six-year-old,  emphasizing that both of us still loved her and that we would always be  her parents. We told her that she had nothing to do with the fact that  we could no longer stay married.

As she'd done the first time, Vivian led the discussion. Her demeanor  was loving and I felt that she struck the right tone, but London burst  into tears nonetheless. Vivian held her and kissed her as she cried.

"I don't want you to get divorced," London pleaded.

"I know it's hard, sweetheart, and we're so sorry."

"Why can't you just be happy with each other?" London said, still  sobbing. Her naïve incomprehension triggered such a profound wave of  guilt that I despised myself.

"Sometimes it just doesn't work," I tried to explain. The words sounded meaningless, even to me.

"Is that why the house is for sale?"

"I'm afraid so, baby girl."

"Where am I going to live?"

At her question, my eyes flashed toward Vivian, silently warning her not  to say Atlanta. Her expression was defiant, but she held her tongue.
         

     



 
I put a hand on London's back. "We're still working on that. And I  promise that no matter what happens, your mom and I will both be around  to take care of you."

Eventually, London calmed down, though she was clearly still confused  and shaken. Vivian went upstairs with her and started getting her ready  for bed. When she came back down, I intercepted her at the door.

"How is she?" I asked.

"She's upset," Vivian answered, "but according to my counselor, that's  normal. In the long run, she'll be fine as long as you don't make the  divorce more acrimonious than it has to be. That's when kids suffer the  most in these situations, and you don't want to do that to her."

I bit back a retort-I wasn't the one making this acrimonious, after all-knowing it was pointless.

Vivian gathered her things-the limo and the jet were waiting, after  all-but she paused in the doorway. "I know it's a bad time, with Marge  and everything," she said, "but we need to get our agreement squared  away sooner rather than later. You just need to sign it, so we can be  done with all this." And then she was gone.

Swallowing my rage, I started up the steps so I could finish tucking London in.

In bed, her eyes were red and swollen, and she barely looked at me.

Later that night, for the first time in years, she wet the bed.





In the days following our discussion with London, she was noticeably  subdued and spent even more time in her bedroom than usual. The  bed-wetting continued; not every night, but two more times, and she no  longer wanted to read Two by Two before going to sleep. While she let me  kiss her goodnight, she no longer reached up to put her arms around my  neck for a hug.

On Marge's recommendation, I spoke to her teacher at school about what  was going on between Vivian and me. The teacher assured me she hadn't  noticed anything amiss, other than a recent incident at the drinking  fountain. London had somehow spilled water on her blouse one morning,  and immediately burst into tears. She was inconsolable, and resisted  both the teacher's and her classmates' attempts to comfort her.

My daughter, in other words, was struggling. After her piano lesson on  Thursday, I spontaneously suggested we go out for ice cream, but her  reaction was tepid. I finally persuaded her to go, but she barely  touched her ice cream on the drive home, oblivious to the mess the  melting cone made in the car. Later that evening, as she was playing  with her Barbies, I overheard her talking to herself as she leaned young  Barbie toward Ken.

"I don't want to live with Mommy in Atlanta," Barbie said to Ken. "I  want to live here with Daddy. Daddy is fun and we go on date nights and  he lets me cook, too. And I want to play with Bodhi every day and see  Nana and Papa and Auntie Marge and Auntie Liz."

That night, I couldn't sleep, replaying the scene that London had  enacted over and over in my head. Marge was right, I thought.  Emboldened, I called Taglieri the following morning, making it clear to  him that I was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that London  lived with me.

That same day, my Realtor called to let me know that I'd received an offer on the house.





"Well, you've certainly stirred up a hornet's nest," Taglieri said. It  was Wednesday, five days since I'd conveyed my instructions to Taglieri,  and he had called me into his office to discuss the response. I  fidgeted in my seat as he went on. "I got a letter from Vivian's  attorney yesterday."

"And?"

"If you choose to fight her on the custody issue, it's going to get very  ugly. Basically, the attorney warned me that they're going to  aggressively pursue a claim that you're an unfit father."

I blanched. "What does that mean?"

"For starters, they want to bring in a psychologist to evaluate London,  and do an assessment of her needs and preferences. I mentioned that as a  possibility to you early on, if you remember. London's so young, I'm  generally of the opinion that it's of limited use, but depending on the  psychologist they use, they're hoping to submit a report that bolsters  their claims. Some of the allegations are frivolous. They're claiming  that you don't feed London a healthy diet-that you sometimes feed her  sugary junk food for dinner, for instance, or that your failure to get  her to dance class resulted in her getting kicked out. But there are  other claims that the psychologist might explore on a deeper level."

"Like what?" I felt slightly nauseous as Taglieri went through the possibilities.

"That you're forcing London into a relationship with your new girlfriend, Emily, before she's ready."         

     



 

"Emily's son Bodhi is London's best friend!"

"I hear you. And hopefully, the psychologist will confirm that. But you  never know until they file their report with the court." He paused.  "There are also more serious allegations in the letter-that you  purposely endangered London by pressuring her to ride her bike down a  hill, knowing she was still inexperienced and couldn't handle the  challenge. Also that you failed to contact Vivian right away and that  you purposely minimized London's injuries when talking to Vivian to  cover up for your ineptitude."

"That's …  that's not the way it happened!" I stammered, feeling myself  flush. "Vivian knows it was an accident. She knows I'd never purposely  endanger my daughter!"

Taglieri held up his hand. "I'm just letting you know the substance of  the letter. But there's one more thing, and you're going to have to stay  calm, all right?"

I squeezed my hands into fists, feeling the veins at my temples throb.

"In the letter," Taglieri went on, "the lawyer mentions that you have  ‘date nights' with your daughter. That she gets dressed up in an  adultlike fashion and that the two of you go out to romantic  destinations."

"So?"

"Russ … " Taglieri gave me a pained look. "It's disgusting, but the lawyer  is suggesting that your relationship with London might be unhealthy, if  not outright inappropriate … "

It took me a second to grasp the implication. When it hit, it took my breath away.

Oh, God …  Vivian wouldn't do this …  not in a million years would she do something like this …

I actually felt light-headed, black spots swimming at the edge of my  vision. I was mortified, repulsed, and furious-but even those terms  weren't strong enough to describe the way I was feeling.

"It was only innuendo," Taglieri cautioned, "but the fact that it was  mentioned in the letter at all troubles me. At the very least, it  signals that they're prepared to paint a very negative, if not downright  sickening, picture of you."

I barely processed Taglieri's words. Vivian wouldn't do this …  How could she even hint at something like this … ?

"I'm going to get on the phone with the attorney later, because we can't  just ignore these kinds of implied threats. It's an attempt to  intimidate you, and it's also incredibly unprofessional. At the same  time, it gives us a sense of just how far Vivian might go to get  custody. And if it goes to court, I want to emphasize that you never  know what a judge is going to decide."

"What do I do? I know London wants to live with me … "

"Like I said, let me talk to the attorney. But what would be best, as I  told you early on, is for you and Vivian to work it out. Because, as  your attorney, I can't say I feel optimistic about your chances when it  comes to winning this thing."





For the rest of the day, I staggered around as if I'd received a massive body blow.

I didn't go to work. I didn't go home. I didn't visit Marge or Liz, or drop by my parents' place.

In my speechless fury, in my horror, I didn't want to talk to anyone.  Instead, I texted Emily and asked if she could pick London up from  school and watch her until I got back into town. She asked me where I  was and what was wrong, but I couldn't answer. I need a few hours alone,  I texted back. Thank you.