Page 23 of Trusting You
8
Locke
Well, that car ride sucked.
What should’ve been the beginning to a new life chapter, a drive off into the sunset with a daughter I’ve been gifted, turned into a miserable, silent, chamber of doom, the entire way back to the ‘burg.
And I can’t even be mad about it. After not seeing hide nor hair of Carter Jameson for a month, it was easy to reduce her to paper. A mere blockade as I went through the motions of finding a lawyer, gaining parental rights, and being proven the father of Lily James Tobias.
Of becoming her dad. Officially.
I pretty much forgot about Carter, my vision tunneling only to this little girl, a kid that—the more I thought of and further steps I took to have her—felt right and true.
She’s meant for me, this tiny thing sleeping in the back seat of the car, her lashes so dark compared to her hair, and wow, that hair. Curls everywhere. Like Einstein, except girlier. Have to figure out a brush for that.
And yet, despite all the happiness and excitement, it’s impossible to ignore the black cloud hovering beside my daughter. As we drove, it was easy to dismiss Carter as a sore loser, someone who couldn’t game the court system even though she wanted to. Too bad for her. But I caught her expression in my rearview more than a few times.
The girl was devastated. No, she was broken in two.
And there wasn’t much I could do about it except give her the time to come to terms with the moment she was going to have to say good-bye.
After picking them up from the airport, it was arranged with the social worker on my end for us all to go to lunch. An easier, less traumatizing way to hand Lily off. Miss Munch and Carter would unobtrusively leave the table without Lily noticing too much, and then I was to begin my life with her.
Holy shit. I’m gonna be left with a baby.
Deep breaths, man. That’s the mantra I assume when I step out of the car and get Lily out of her brand-new car seat. It’s a phrase that’s worked well for me over the years—on the field, and when committing to the decision to take full custody of Lily.
Yeah, I was up on the legal terms now, as much as Carter wishes I wasn’t.
Here we are, pretending to eat at a breakfast spot I’d scoped out thoroughly, ensuring it was suitable for Lily. Cursing and cussing are to a minimum, and it’s as clean and sanitary as a Brooklyn restaurant can be.
My improvised health inspection was all much to Ben’s chagrin yesterday morning as he tried to eat his pancakes while I inspected his fork for water stains.
But hey, can’t be too careful with an innocent baby.
“How was the flight?” I attempt to ask and crunch down on a piece of bacon.
“Uneventful,” Eden responds politely.
Fuck, it’s like talking about the weather. You know a conversation is going south when clouds or travel comfort is involved.
Carter doesn’t bother with a response. She’s too busy staring at Lily, whose arms and legs are everywhere as a wooden high chair somehow contains her.
“Don’t like your coffee?” I ask Carter. The chick has to acknowledge me at some point.
Slowly, as if strings are attached to her eyeballs, and a puppeteer is forcing her to look, she focuses on me. “It’s fine.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Eden says as she stands. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room. Haven’t since the plane.”
No doubt, I think as she leaves. Now that Carter is with me and Lily’s firmly ensconced in this high chair contraption, there’s little chance of Carter making a run for it.
And does she ever wish that. I don’t need to be an expert of women to understand that every joint she possesses wants to be in action right now.
“I know this is hard,” I say. Commiserate, buddy. Make her feel all right.
“You don’t have a fucking clue,” she snaps.
Hard fail.