Chapter 5: The Visit I Did Not Invite
I found Judith Cole sitting in my mother's living room at half past two that afternoon.
My mother was in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed and her jaw set in the particular way that meant she had not invited this woman in so much as failed to physically prevent her from entering.
Lily and Owen were upstairs.
I had heard the television go on when I came through the front door.
Judith was wearing a cream blouse and her good pearl earrings.
She had brought a tin of shortbread, which she had placed on the coffee table as if this were a social call.
"Emily." She rose halfway from the sofa.
"I think we should talk."
"I think you should leave."
She settled back down.
"I understand you're upset.
Last night was — it got out of hand.
Vanessa shouldn't have done what she did.
I want you to know that."
I stayed in the doorway.
"Is that an apology from Vanessa, or an observation from you?"
"It's me telling you that the family wants to move past this."
"The family." I said it the way you repeat a word when you want to hear how hollow it sounds.
"Judith, your daughter sl*pped me at my own table.
In front of my six-year-old son.
Your son watched it happen and told me not to make things worse.
That is not something a family moves past in forty-eight hours over a tin of shortbread."
Judith's chin came up slightly.
"You sl*pped her back."
"I did."
"So you're not entirely without blame here."
"No.
I'm entirely without regret."
Her mouth thinned.
She glanced at my mother, who had not moved from the kitchen doorway and showed no intention of doing so.
"Emily." Judith's voice dropped into something softer, more practiced.
"Nathan is devastated.
He loves you.
He loves those children.
Whatever issues there are between you two, they can be worked through.
But if you involve lawyers — if you start making accusations about the house — you will destroy this family.
Do you understand that?"
"I'm going to ask you something," I said.
"And I want you to think carefully before you answer."
She waited.
"Did you know about the property transfer?
The one Nathan had me sign when Owen was four months old?"
Something moved across her face.
It was fast, but it was there.
"I don't know what you're referring to."
"Yes you do."
"Emily—"
"You knew." I walked into the room and stopped in front of the coffee table.
"You knew, and you said nothing, and you sat in my house every holiday for three years eating food I cooked and accepting money I gave your daughter and you said nothing."
Judith stood up.
She was shorter than me by two inches but she drew herself up as if she intended to make up the difference through sheer will.
"You have no idea what Nathan sacrificed to build a life with you.
You and your father's money and your studio and your sense of superiority—"
"Get out of this house."
"—you never once made him feel like an equal—"
"Judith." My mother's voice came from the doorway.
Quiet.
Absolute.
"Get out of my house.
Now."
Judith stopped.
My mother had not raised her voice.
She hadn't needed to.
She walked to the front door and opened it and stood beside it with her hand on the frame.
Judith picked up her handbag.
She left the shortbread.
At the door she paused and looked back at me.
"If you pursue this," she said, "Nathan will take those children from you.
He has spoken to a lawyer already.
He will argue that you are unstable.
That you struck his sister without provocation.
That you took the children without his consent."
My hands were very still at my sides.
"Tell Nathan," I said, "that I have twelve years of bank statements and a paralegal who is willing to testify.
Tell him to choose his next move carefully."
Judith's face went pale.
She left without another word.
My mother closed the door.
She turned around.
She looked at me.
"He's going to try for custody," I said.
"I heard."
"He won't get it.
But he's going to try to scare me into dropping the fraud claim."
My mother walked to the coffee table and picked up the tin of shortbread.
She carried it to the kitchen bin and dropped it in.
"Then don't be scared," she said.
Upstairs, Owen's voice floated down through the ceiling, asking Lily something about a cartoon.
Lily answered.
They both laughed.
I sat down on the sofa and pressed my palms flat against my knees.
My phone buzzed.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered it.
"Ms.
Hayes Cole?" A man's voice, careful and professional.
"My name is Daniel Reeves.
I'm a family law attorney.
I was given your name by Patricia Hale.
She thought you might need someone in your corner on the custody side of things.
I have availability tomorrow morning if you'd like to talk."
I looked at the kitchen doorway where my mother had reappeared, drying her hands on a dish towel.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"Tomorrow morning works."
