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I nod quickly.
She adds, “My lawyers have drafted up papers and I was hoping we could discuss it today—come up with some kind of agreement.”
“What kind of agreement?”
Natalie clears her throat and steps closer again. “Two hours a week, two times a week. It can be supervised if that’s what you want. And once a month overnight just like you used to do with my parents. I’ll make sure that they’re home when we set dates.”
“That’s it?”
She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing more mascara all over her face. “There’s one more thing.”
“Okay?”
“I want you to go to therapy,” she rushes out, like I’m going to disagree. “It’s just…” Her gaze flicks to her lawyers quickly before returning. “I know that you’re under a lot of stress and you’ve had a lot going on lately and that’s why you lost it the way you did—”
“Nat—”
“No, Josh,” she says, cutting me off and raising her hand. “You’re completely entitled to feel like that. I don’t know if I would’ve handled it any different. It’s just that I know Becca’s gone and your dad’s not well and I just want to make sure that it all doesn’t get on top of you again because I don’t want Tommy to have to witness what I did… he loves you so much and he looks up to you and he should never have reason to fear you and I’m just worried—”
“Okay,” I interrupt. “I’ll do the therapy. I’ll do anything as long as I get to keep him.”
Mr. Newman clears his throat and I face him, but he’s looking down at the papers on the table in front of him. “You just took a job offer, Miss Christian?” he asks her.
“Yes sir,” she says, taking a seat next to her lawyers.
My legs carry me, as if on their own, and I slump down in the nearest chair.
“I start in a month,” Natalie continues. “For the past couple of years I’ve been working on a cruise liner, so I’m going back to work. It’s all written there, it’s three months on and one month off and so I’d like the opportunity to set up Skype calls with Tommy at times that suit Joshua.”
“Is that okay with you?” Mr. Newman asks.
Air.
That’s all I can feel, filling my lungs, free and easy for the first time since my mother knocked on my door. “That’s fine.” I say, but I’m still in a daze. “Natalie, is this some kind of joke because I feel like—”
“No, Josh,” she says. “I love Tommy, and I want what’s best for him and that’s you. He’s such a beautiful, bright and happy kid and that’s because of you.” She looks over at my lawyer and points down to the papers. “It also states that I’m willing to change his last name to Warden.”
“Why?” I ask, ignoring the numbing ache in my chest. “Why are you giving up like this?”
“I’m not giving up, Josh, I’m giving in, because it’s the right thing to do. And your dad and Becca—they showed me that.”
My heart stops, my eyes lock on hers. “What do you mean? How did they—”
“They came to see me, Josh. Last week. Both of them at the same time.”
“How did—”
“They didn’t want me to tell you,” she interrupts. “Even though they may not show you directly, you have the right to know. The two of them—they love you something fierce.”
36
-Becca-
Fight
fÊ?ɪt/
verb
engage in a war or battle.
Both Nurse Linda and I jump when my phone buzzes on the nightstand of my six by eight foot room. Which, ironically, is the same size as prison cells.
“So?” Linda asks.
I hold up one hand, the other reaching for the phone.
Henry Warden: Win.
I smile—which feels strange. Like my mind knows the emotion but my body forgot the sensation.
“So it worked?” she asks, her eyes wide and her smile matching mine.
I shrug, because I really don’t know if it was our doing or not. When Josh had dropped me off at Grams’ house after SK8F8, Grams came downstairs, tightening her nightgown as she greeted me. “How was it?” she asked. I held up two fingers and she smiled instantly. “So he’s good?”
I nodded.
“Where is he now?”
I shrugged.
“Maybe he’s gone to see his dad,” she mumbled, and my eyes narrowed. “They’ve gotten closer since the whole custody thing.”
“What?” I would’ve yelled if I could’ve but she knew what I meant anyway.
“I didn’t tell you?”
I shook my head frantically.
She proceeded to tell me everything that’d been going on with Josh and Natalie, and I spent the night at her house, tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning. And when the anger had passed and was replaced with worry, I got out of bed, dressed, marched down the hall and pushed opened Grams’ bedroom door so forcefully it hit the dresser behind it. She sat up quickly, her hand to her heart.
“Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” she said. “You could’ve given—”
I didn’t hear much else because I was too busy typing out the message on the text to speech app on my phone.
“Do you know where his parents live?” The mechanical voice sounded.
