Page 16 of Keeping Score

And if I had it my way, I was going to make damned sure I’d always be the one filling that role.

One conversation with Maggie Brynn and I was a goner. And a part of me knew, even then, that something had clicked into place irrevocably.

Chapter Five

Maggie

Ihad always had a switch in me that I could flick on and off at will.

At home, my life could be falling apart—my emotions a wreck, my heart shattered—but the second I stepped into the office? I had a goal. A purpose. I didn’t have time to lose focus, so I learned to just… turn the rest off.

Besides, what my clients had going on in their lives was usually enough to put things into perspective for me.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mr. Reilly said, appearing in my office more disheveled than the time before. “It’s been a month and she won’t answer my calls or texts. I’m going out of my mind here.”

“I understand,” I told him, “but you’ve been doing everything right. You signed up for therapy, right?”

He nodded in confirmation.

“And I filed a petition for emergency visitation rights—”

“You did?” He leaned forward eagerly. “What does that mean? Can I see my kids?”

“We still have to wait for court approval, but it could come through within the next few days given your clean record.”

He nodded, following along.

“And what if they deny me?”

“Then we’ll at least get a hearing scheduled, and Mrs. Reilly will be required to show up and explain herself. And trust me, it’ll look worse for her that she’s denying you visitation without a solid reason.”

“But…” He chewed his lip. “What happens when she tells them what I did? Will that affect things because I—because I cheated?”

“It depends on the judge,” I said, trying to be as honest as possible, “but most of them try to do what’s in the best interest of the children. And I think any reasonable person would agree that having their father around is in their best interest.”

He dropped his head in his hands, fingers working to rub out the crease in his forehead.

“They’re not going to understand why I haven’t been there,” he said, voice raspy as he tugged off his Red Sox cap. “They’re going to hate me.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for a kid to hate their parent. They just want to be loved.” I offered him a smile. “And it sounds like you do pretty good in that category.”

He gave me a half-hearted, weary smile.

“When you have kids,” he said, “loving them is the easiest thing in the world.”

I didn’t understand why his words sent a pang through my chest.

Driving through Chestnut Hill always made me nostalgic. It wasn’t just the backdrop to where I studied and graduated college, but it was the place I figured out who I was. What I wanted to do with my life.

I went into Boston College as a party girl with an undeclared major, not taking any of it very seriously. But somewhere along drinking at parties and staying up till four a.m. for most of freshman year, I grew up.

It happened gradually.

Something in a class spiked my interest, or a character’s coming-of-age arc in a movie stuck with me, and suddenly I was forming all these opinions about the world—uncovering different layers of myself I’d never had the space to think about before.

I thought about my dad a lot that first year of college. Especially when it was mostly fathers helping their kids move into their dorms. It was hard not to be jealous. It hurt more knowing that mine was alive out there.

At least if he were dead, I wouldn’t have to carry the weight of him actively choosing not to be part of my life.