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“I’m not trying to steal her from you. Power of attorney isn’t the same as custody. It just means you’re giving me permission to do shit like enroll her in school, sign her up for health insurance, that kind of thing.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve looked it up.” A dozen times since I was twelve.
“Will we need a lawyer?”
“No, it’s pretty simple if both adults are willing.”
“Both?”
“You and me.”
“Oh.” A shadow crosses her face. “You’re only twenty.”
“I turned twenty-one a couple weeks ago.”
“I missed your birthday.”
“Yeah.”
And for whatever reason, that’s the thing that crumples up her face, sets her off crying for real.
I sit down again, letting out a slow exhale and holding my arms open so she’s got something to fall against. She sobs and tells me how much I look like him.
Just like him, just like him.
It’s breaking her heart.
Three weeks later, Dr. T shows up at my work right when I’m climbing into the truck to get Frankie from school.
Bo told me to keep it. Said he doesn’t need it and implied he knows I do.
Nothing quite like charity to make you feel like a worthless sack of shit.
I pull the door closed and throw Dr. T a wave. The idea is to pretend he’s here to check out the water features in the showroom or buy a new garden gnome.
Hands on the wheel. Eyes on the rearview. Put the truck in gear.
It doesn’t work. His arms are waving in my peripheral vision. He’s jogging over, and then he’s right beside my door making that gesture that means Roll down the window, so I have to.
The window sinks away, and shame crawls over me. It leaves slimy trails up and down my arms, hollows my stomach, snatches at my breath.
It’s always like this with him.
When I first met Dr. Tomlinson, back before I graduated high school, we were friends. Maybe I’m fooling myself to remember it that way, but that was how it felt. Like we had things in common, stuff to talk about, ideas we would kick back and forth as we worked our way through eighteen holes in sync. Fucking simpatico.
Then he introduced me to Rita.
I can’t look at him anymore. It takes a monumental effort just to meet his eyes. Every time, I’m waiting for him to say it.
You fucked my wife.
“I wasn’t sure where else to catch you,” he says. “Your
phone’s disconnected?”
“I changed to a different carrier.”
