Page 69 of Keeping Score

Brody had been walking on eggshells around me lately, which I felt bad about, so I just sort of stopped going home. At least until I knew he was asleep.

It was better that way. I couldn’t burden him with all these ugly emotions fighting for the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t unload even more family trauma on him than he’d already seen. He just wouldn’t understand.

Besides, if I became the girl who went to him crying all the time, how long would it be before he got sick of it and left me?

No. I needed to get a handle on myself before I could self-sabotage the last good thing I had in my life. And for his sake, it was better that I was keeping my distance. At least until I could get back into a clear headspace.

“Are you nervous?” Mr. Reilly’s voice asked me, his eyes trailing down to my knee.

I placed a hand to steady it, plastering a smile as I looked over to him.

“Not at all,” I lied. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”

He gave an uneasy, half-hearted smile.

Some great lawyer I was. If the client could sense my nerves from a mile away, what would the judge think of me?

I stared off down the corridor, fixing my gaze on something in the distance to calm myself.

“You know,” Mr. Reilly cleared his throat. “This is where me and Pattie got married.”

“The courthouse?” I asked, slightly surprised. “You eloped?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, eyes glazing over in memory. “We hadn’t been together that long, but we just knew.” Then, as if forcibly pulled from his reverie, his eyes refocused to the present surroundings. “Seems funny to be here now, all things considered.”

His hands reached to tug for his Red Sox cap, and when they found it missing from its usual home atop his head, he wrung them relentlessly instead.

I fought the urge to sigh. So many stories just like his. People who thought they were going to be together forever, rushing into marriage without a second thought for what might be down the road.

I knew I couldn’t make that mistake. It’s why Brody and I were taking our time. People change. Things happen. I wasn’t going to risk ruining both our lives by doing something too hastily.

I had the strangest urge to bite my nails. It was something I hadn’t done since I was a kid, but now I felt an overwhelming desire to nip at the white-lined French tip on my index finger.

But before I could break the air of professionalism I was maintaining by resorting to a childhood habit, the court officer strode into the hallway, looking to us with disinterest.

“Reilly vs. Reilly?” he asked with an air of indifference that came from seeing a string of broken families all day long.

Mr. Reilly nodded, while I was already getting to my feet.

“We’re ready for you.”

I brushed my hands against my slacks, grateful that the clamminess from my palms wouldn’t show against the black fabric.

I wasn’t sure why I felt so nervous. I’d been in court hundreds of times. But this case felt different. Personal. And I was all too aware of how this might go down.

Courts didn’t often side with the fathers. Not in the way Mr. Reilly was hoping.

Here he’d been, in therapy programs and respecting his ex’s unreasonable requests of distance—and all he wanted in exchange was the chance to be in his kids’ lives the way he was before.

I knew he wasn’t going to get that. But if we were lucky, he might get more time than the sparse visits here and there he was getting on his ex’s whims.

It wouldn’t appease him. I knew that. How could it? How could a judge expect any father to go from spending every day with their children, tucking them into bed every night, bringing them to school each morning—to only getting to see them every other weekend?

It was cruel. It was unfair.

And if I had any say in it, it wouldn’t be the case for Mr. Reilly.

He wanted split custody. And if Mrs. Reilly was hellbent on kicking him to the curb forever, then the least she could do is give him equal rights to time with their children.