Chapter 7
Ryan didn't slam the office door. He pulled it to within an inch of the jamb and left it there, that careful control that was always worse than noise. I stood in the hallway with the envelope in my hand and listened to him on the other side, his chair rolling back, his keyboard waking up.
My phone showed the missed call from the Nashville attorney, 9:14 a.m., voicemail transcribed in a single line: Ms. Carter, received your inquiry, we should talk before the response deadline. I hadn't made an inquiry. Ryan must have forwarded the case number the second I handed him the papers.
I didn't go into the office. I went back to the primary bedroom and shut the closet hall door behind me, not to hide again but to have a wall between me and his typing. Maya was on the rug with a board book, her hands finally paler after three washes, though the cuticles still held a gray crescent. The polish had come from the bottom drawer where I'd slipped the envelope behind my sweaters. She'd found it while I was folding laundry yesterday and decided the black tin was paint.
I dialed the number printed at the bottom of the cover sheet under a Memphis legal aid header. A woman answered on the second ring with the name of the clinic and asked for a case number.
I gave it. My voice was flat and I hated how rehearsed I sounded.
She typed. I heard the click of keys and then a pause.
"Yes, ma'am, that's a filed petition in Shelby County Juvenile Court," she said. "Petitioner is represented. It's not a scam mailing. You have service papers there."
I swallowed. "Can you tell me who filed? The letter only says —"
She read it back, professional, quick. "Petitioner is Lauren Hale. Child is a boy, date of birth listed as last March. Father named is Ryan Carter." Another pause. "Notes show Ms. Hale was listed as a former employee at Meridian Capital, same employer as respondent. That's all I can confirm over the phone, Mrs. Carter. You'll want your own counsel to pull the full filing."
Lauren Hale. I knew the name the way you know a name from a holiday party seating chart. Meridian's analyst class, three years before Ryan made VP. Dark blonde, quiet. She'd brought a store-bought pie to our Friendsgiving in 2019 and left early. I hadn't thought of her in years.
"Thank you," I said. I ended the call before she could offer resources.
I sat there with the phone in my lap. Maya pressed her sticky hand to my knee and looked up at me, and I ran my thumb over those gray cuticles without thinking.
Ryan's phone chimed through the office door. Then again. He opened the door holding it out so I could see, his face tight.
"It's Diane," he said. Diane Prescott, his foundation board chair. He read the texts aloud, monotone. "Confirming gala seating for Saturday. Photographer wants you both for the 7:30 step-and-repeat. And — 'Thrilled to announce the Carters' family initiative from the stage, great optics for the capital campaign.'"
He looked at me. "She copied the press release draft. She wants a quote about family."
The marble hallway outside the office felt suddenly very bright and very exposed. That gala had been on our calendar for six months, table of ten donors, speeches about commitment and legacy. Diane had picked Elise a dress.
I handed him back nothing. The envelope was on the dresser. "Don't answer her yet," I said.
"I'm not going to," he said, too quickly. He shoved the phone in his pocket. "I told her I'd confirm seating by tonight."
Maya made a soft whimper and rubbed her hands together. The skin between her thumb and forefinger was faintly pink where I'd scrubbed.
I stood up. "I'm taking her to the pediatrician," I said. "Just to have them look at her hands. They said wash with soap but I want to hear it from them."
Ryan blinked. "Is it — is she having a reaction?"
"No. I just want someone with a degree to tell me I got it all off." I picked up Maya, grabbed the diaper bag, and kept my voice even. It was true, and it was also the only way I could get out of this house for an hour without it sounding like I was leaving. "You stay and call that Nashville attorney back. I'll be back by lunch."
He didn't argue. He nodded and stepped aside so I could pass with the bag. His hand hovered near Maya's back but didn't touch.
The car was hot inside when I loaded her into the seat. I backed out of the driveway and took the long way down Hillsboro, past the church parking lot where the farmer's market was packing up. Maya kicked her feet against the seat and babbled, her shoes off, her socks still white.
At the clinic off 21st, the nurse practitioner barely glanced at her hands. She turned Maya's palms over, smiled, and wiped them with an alcohol pad that came away barely gray.
"Just shoe polish," she said to me. "Looks like you did all the work. Gentle lotion, no harsh scrubbing. She's fine. Kids get into everything at this age."
I nodded and felt my throat loosen for the first time since Ryan walked into that closet hall. "Thank you. I was worried."
Outside, I didn't start the car right away. I sat in the parking lot with the engine running and the air on and Maya quiet behind me, her little patent shoes tucked in the bag at my feet. The envelope was still on our dresser. The board chair's texts were still unanswered. The Memphis clerk's voice was still in my ear: filed petition, not a scam, former colleague.
May you like
I had verified it without calling Lauren. I had done what the attorney would tell me to do next, which was wait for counsel instead of blowing everything up with a phone call. Ryan was home waiting for me to come back, and Diane was waiting for a family quote for Saturday.
I put the car in reverse and didn't head home right away. I turned toward the park with the empty lot where Maya could run, just to give us both one more hour before we walked back into that marble hall.
