Chapter 7
The phone rang while Grace was trying to eat spaghetti without getting sauce on Charles's kitchen table.
It was Sunday, five days after the cemetery. Charles had put an old plastic tablecloth down because Lily kept saying she was scared to make a mess. The house smelled like garlic and rain from the open window over the sink. My phone was still in Charles's drawer, turned off like he'd asked, but his landline rang loud against the wall and he wiped his hands on a dish towel before he answered.
I knew it was my dad before Charles said his name.
"Arthur," Charles said. He kept his voice even. "The girls are having dinner."
I could hear Dad's voice coming through, thin and sharp, even from where I sat next to Grace. Lily stopped twirling her noodles.
Charles listened. His mouth tightened.
"Tuesday night," he said. "Dinner with my fiancée's parents. Yes, I understand you want to present as a family." He looked at me. "They're settling in here, Arthur. Is this necessary right now?"
Dad said something longer. I heard the words fresh start and co-parenting and you agreed it was temporary.
Charles didn't answer right away. He held the phone a little away from his ear so I could hear more. Dad's voice was that flat, reasonable one he used when Mom was sick and nurses asked if he would stay overnight.
"I need them there by six," Dad said clearly now. "Just for photos. Her parents are flying in. It'll help everyone see this is amicable. Don't make it complicated, Charles. They are still my daughters. I'm allowing this arrangement."
Lily looked down at her plate. Grace's hands were frozen around her fork.
Charles glanced at the clock above the stove. "Let me talk to Sophie."
He held the phone out to me. His eyes asked if I wanted it. I nodded because I didn't want him to have to speak for us.
I took the phone. It was warm from his hand.
"Dad," I said.
"Sophie," he said. His tone changed, softer, like he was talking to someone younger than me. "I need you girls dressed nicely Tuesday. Your black dresses are fine. I'll pick you up at five-thirty. Smile for the pictures, have dinner, and Charles can have you back by nine. This is what co-parenting looks like."
The spaghetti smell made my stomach turn. Behind me, Grace had started to breathe fast through her nose.
"We want to stay here," I said. My voice came out quieter than I meant it to. "We don't want to go to a dinner for pictures."
There was a pause. Then his voice got hard again.
"That's not your decision to make, Sophie. I'm still your father. I gave Charles temporary permission to help out. I can withdraw that permission just as easily. Do you understand? If you can't be cooperative, then maybe this little stay needs to end sooner than we thought."
I felt my hand tighten on the phone. Lily reached under the table and grabbed the hem of my shirt.
"We're not going," I said. It wasn't loud, but it was clear. "We live with Grandpa now."
"You live where I say you live," he said. "Be ready Tuesday, or I'll come get your things and we will discuss where you live permanently. Don't test me."
The line clicked. He'd hung up.
I stood there holding the dial tone until Charles gently took the phone from my fingers and placed it back on its base. The kitchen was quiet except for the rain.
"He said he'd take us back if we don't go," Lily whispered. She wasn't looking at anyone.
Grace started crying without making noise, sauce on her chin.
Charles didn't argue into the dead phone. He didn't call back. He pulled the small notebook he kept by the refrigerator toward him, the one where he'd been writing grocery lists and the school's phone number, and he wrote down the date and the time in his careful block letters. Sunday, 6:14 p.m. Arthur called re: dinner Tuesday 6 p.m. fiancée's parents, wants girls for photos. Sophie stated girls wish to stay. Arthur threatened to withdraw temporary permission.
He read it back under his breath as he wrote.
"Did I get that right?" he asked me.
I nodded. My throat felt tight.
He closed the notebook and looked at the three of us. "We are not going to fight him on the phone," he said. "That won't help. But I'm not handing you over for a photo and I'm not letting him use a threat to decide where you sleep. So we're going to do this the right way."
He picked up the phone again and before he dialed he said, "I'm calling the county. The kinship worker. Tonight. I should have called Thursday. I'm calling now so there is a record that you are safe here and that he is pressuring you."
I didn't know what kinship meant exactly, but I understood record. Mom had kept records. Now Charles was keeping one too.
May you like
Lily slipped her hand into mine under the table. Charles dialed, waited through the ringing, and when someone answered he said, "This is Charles Meyer. I'm caring for my three granddaughters since my daughter's burial. Their father just threatened to remove them if they don't perform for a dinner. I need to formalize their placement before he revokes his permission."
Grace leaned her head against my arm, still sniffling, and I kept my hand on her back while Charles talked, his voice steady, giving our address and spelling our names.
