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Melanie Garfield was born to be mine.
???
“What do those people want now?” I ask Charles, my lawyer, the next morning.
“The Collings’ lawyer filed a motion for the judge to dismiss your service,” he says. I close my eyes, feeling nauseated. I’m on the church’s roof, as every day since I arrived in Warmer Springs. “They argue it would be easy for you to forge proof because you’re a major donor for the rebuild.”
Those fuckers are trying their best to get their hands on the company. Or better said. The company’s money.
“Considering how much I pay you monthly, I hope you’re doing something about it already.”
Charles laughs hard. “I don’t think this will go anywhere,” he assures me. “But it’s my duty as your representation, I’m informing you.”
“Noted,” I grumble while lifting one hand to dry the sweat from my eyebrow. It’s so fucking hot in this town today.
“Anyway,” he says. “The Supreme Court’s definition of community service says nothing about donations, and they have resolved this before. The judge will act accordingly. Plus, Pastor Garfield’s idea was brilliant. I attached pictures of you with the daily news and working with the construction crew. This is just another attempt to give us trouble.” They are burning the last drops of oil the inheritance bullshit is about to end.
Very well, then. Now it’s my turn to ask. “I hope you talked with the judge about this idea….” I’m making big plans. This will be a huge surprise for Melanie and my son. They will love it.
“I’ll go to his office tomorrow,” he replies diligently. “I’m confident he will give us the green light after explaining the whole situation.”
Good, the plan is in motion. I can’t wait for the big revelation.
“Let me know.”
After another grueling day working under SoCal’s implacable sun, I arrive at Melanie’s house to find my son sitting on the first porch step with a serious face and a very weird outfit. Davi wears green cargo pants, red shoes, a white button-down, and a misplaced clip-on tie.
“Hey, Davi,” I greet him, curious as fuck. He lifts his gaze for a second, his expression a mixture too complicated for me to decipher. Where is the parenting 101 manual when you need it?
What is he doing outside of the house?
Where is Melanie?
“Where is Mommy?” This is a safe little town, but still. He shouldn’t be here unsupervised.
“She’s on the phone,” he informs me. “She told me I should be quiet as a mouse. The call is important.”
I’m sure all the parents think the same about their offspring, but my boy is stinking cute.
“So, what are you doing here?”
“Behaving,” he replies with that solemn voice I found so amusing.
“Behaving?”
“Yes,” he says. “Jason said I need to behave for my daddy to come home and love me.” A wrecking ball hit my chest, right in the middle. Crushing my ribs hard. Stealing my balance. I drop beside him.
Davi doesn’t need to do a fucking thing to be loved. Every child in this world has come here to be loved. Unconditionally.
“Why are you saying that?” My question comes through my parched throat, following the need to know more about this.
A sigh left his body as if he were tired of waiting. How should I put this in words? How to say to my smart, loving, and fun son that his father is here and loves him already? He doesn’t need to dress up or behave in a certain way. I love him deeply. It doesn’t matter that I just learned about his existence. He’s mine. Period.
“Mommy said he was away busy,” he argues. “I want him here. Why he hasn’t come? He loves me?”
A quick glance at the blue sky on this beautiful summer day. I haven’t prayed in a long, long time. Right now, I’m asking the force which rules the universe to give me the wisdom and the strength to deal with this.
I lived my life blindly… when I had no responsibilities. When a bottle of vodka was my partner…
