Page 29 of Keeping Score

Mr. Reilly had given up the pretense of formality and now showed up at our appointments in his tattered Red Sox hat and worn-out jeans that I would bet money he’d had since the early 2000s. Maybe longer.

With bags under his eyes and a fidgety energy in his step, it was clear he was worse for the wear.

“I showed up at the house and she wouldn’t let me in,” his voice was agonized as he wrung his hands over and over again.

“You what?” I asked, frowning at his words. “We already talked about that. You cannot show up before the emergency visitation comes through.”

“I can’t wait any longer!” he bellowed. “They’re my kids! They need their father.”

“I understand, I do—”

“I’m sure you do.” He nodded. “And I understand your legality standpoints, but them? They don’t understand why their dad wasn’t at their birthday last week. Or why I’m not tucking them into bed every night anymore. My little one, he starts t-ball next week. Am I supposed to miss that? His first practice? First game? I can’t. I won’t.”

“She could use it against you,” I said quietly, not knowing how to advise this man against the very thing his instincts were screaming at him to do.

“I don’t care if she sues me for everything I have,” he said in a burst of exasperation. “She can take it all. As long as I get to see them.”

I watched him, letting him have a moment with his thoughts. I couldn’t say anything to make it better for him. I could only do. And I swore to him—and to myself—that I was going to do everything in my power to help this man put his family back together.

One way or the other.

“I haven’t done anything to deserve this,” he muttered into his hands after a minute.

“I know you haven’t,” I told him. “And I want you to know I am doing everything I possibly can, because I’m fighting on your side. Children deserve to grow up with their father.”

He looked up at me wearily, but underneath the exhaustion and the despair, there was a flicker of something else. A speck of something that would serve to propel me forward. To work this case until it came to the conclusion I needed it to.

Hope.

Sometimes, it was hard to stop working.

Controversial statement, I know. Most people couldn’t wait to clock out at the end of the day and go home to spend a leisurely night binge-watching some obscure reality TV show that probably rotted their brains.

But me? I physically had to be dragged away from my desk at times. It was hard to stop when the work never seemed to end. There was always a task to do, something I could be working on.

And what made it worse was that the longer I put something off, the longer a custody battle could go on for. It forced me to put time into perspective.

Mine was worth so little in the grand scheme of things. What did I really have to do that was more important than reuniting families?

Hang out with my own? It hurt to do that when I was thinking about the cases I was working on. Go on a date with my boyfriend? I would see him when I went to bed at the end of the day.

My clients needed me, and I wasn’t going to be the one to delay an already excruciatingly long process.

But—a promise is a promise, and that meant a great deal to a toddler.

Which is why, as I solemnly swore, I picked Lily up promptly at ten a.m. on Saturday morning and brought her to her favorite

playground.

It wasn’t so bad, really. Lily was an easy kid. Especially when she was with her Aunt Maggie.

Maybe it was because I gave her all the stuff I knew Cassie and Liam were depriving her of, because honestly, how else would I live up to my reputation as the cool, laid-back aunt I strove to be?

I grinned down at her chocolate-streaked face, proud to be the enabler of such joy.

Liam and Cassie thought they were treating her when they gave her whatever organic, clean-ingredient, fruit-based dessert they’d picked up from God knows where, but I knew that the real joy came in the form of Dunkin Donuts chocolate-sprinkled donuts.

Hey, it’s what we were raised on, and we turned out just fine.