Chapter 6: Like Adults
"How did you get this number?" I said.
"You're my son.
I've always had your number."
"I mean the cell.
I never gave you this one."
A pause.
"Your mother has it."
I stood up from the table and walked to the back door, out of the kitchen, into the yard.
The morning was cold and gray.
The grass was still wet.
"What do you want?" I said.
"I want to talk.
That's all.
What happened yesterday — things were said in the heat of the moment.
I'd like us to sit down, face to face, and discuss this calmly."
"There's nothing to discuss."
"I think there is." His voice was smooth.
Reasonable.
The voice he used when he'd already positioned himself and was waiting for me to walk into it.
"I've been a part of Ethan's life since he was born.
I love that boy.
Whatever disagreements you and I have about parenting philosophy—"
"Parenting philosophy," I repeated.
"—those disagreements shouldn't cost Ethan his relationship with his grandparents.
That's not fair to him."
"You destroyed his bicycle.
You gave him a written list telling him to hide things from me.
You've been doing it for four months."
"I've been spending time with my grandson.
Teaching him.
Yes, in ways you don't always agree with.
But that doesn't make me a danger to him."
"I didn't say you were a danger."
"No," he said.
"But you're thinking about saying it.
And I'm asking you, as your father, not to go down that road.
Because it won't end well for anyone.
Especially not for Ethan."
There it was.
"Is that a threat?" I asked.
"It's a reality.
Courts don't like it when parents try to cut grandparents out of a child's life without cause.
They look at the relationship that's been established.
They look at what's in the child's best interest." He paused.
"I'm not threatening you.
I'm trying to save us both a great deal of pain."
"You've already spoken to a lawyer."
Silence.
"I know about the meeting," I said.
"I know about the filing."
More silence.
Then: "I haven't filed anything."
"But you've consulted."
"A man can ask questions without—"
"Stop." I turned and looked back through the glass door at the kitchen.
Claire had come back.
She was watching me through the glass, her phone in her hand.
"I'm going to say this once.
You will not see Ethan.
Not this weekend, not next weekend, not until I understand exactly what you've been doing and why.
If you've filed a petition, my attorney will respond to it.
If you haven't, I'd strongly suggest you think carefully before you do."
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe."
"He's going to ask for me.
Children ask for their grandparents.
And when he does, what are you going to tell him?"
"I'll tell him the truth," I said.
"In words a four-year-old can understand."
"You'd turn him against me."
"You already did that yourself.
You just didn't realize he'd tell me."
I heard him breathe.
Once, slow, controlled.
"This isn't over," he said.
"I know," I said.
"I'll be ready."
I ended the call and stood in the cold yard for another minute.
A neighbor's dog barked somewhere down the street.
The oak tree at the fence line moved in the wind.
When I went back inside, Claire looked at my face.
"He called to warn you off," she said.
"He called to find out how much I know."
"What did you tell him?"
"Enough." I set the phone on the counter.
"He hasn't filed yet.
He's deciding whether to."
"My sister says if we document everything now, before any filing, we're in a much stronger position."
"Dennis said the same thing."
Claire nodded.
Then she said, "There's something else.
I talked to Roberta again this morning while you were outside."
I looked at her.
"She kept something," Claire said.
"From eleven years ago, when she and your father stopped speaking.
She kept the note she found.
The one he wrote to you when you were three."
My chest went tight.
"She still has it?"
May you like
"She said she kept it because she thought someday someone would need it." Claire held my gaze.
"She wants to send it to your attorney."
