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  Mike realized he was the one who didn’t fit in. He was the one on the outside. He hardly knew his own daughter, and she hardly knew him. He fought his rising nausea and began to feel miserable, not only symptoms of withdrawal. All of the families filling the auditorium were bound by love, and though he loved Emily, she didn’t love him. Tomorrow he was going to court to get her back, but he’d have to take her from her family, and he couldn’t offer her another one in its place. All he had was himself, and he wasn’t even whole.

  Mike found himself edging out of the auditorium, turning away, and hurrying from the school.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Mike carried the last plastic shopping bag into the apartment, kicked the door closed behind him, and dumped the bag on the rug with the others. He’d bought ibuprofen and he needed it now. He pawed through the purchases until he found it, tore open the box with his teeth, and wedged the lid off with his thumb, then extracted two pills and swallowed them dry. He felt an almost instant relief, which was completely psychological, but it was all he could do not to reach for the Oxys.

  He shed his coat and dropped it on the floor, too. He’d gotten his second wind on the way home and unpacked everything. He filled the linen closet with towels, the cupboards with food, and the refrigerator with milk and soda. He unwrapped the new Fisher-Price toys and set them on the floor, laid the Activity Blanket on the rug, placed the Shrek and Madagascar DVDs on the shelf in the wood-veneer TV cart, and arrayed the Spot the Dog books in front. He took pictures of the living room and emailed them to Stephanie.

  He hurried with the next bag to the bathroom, where he put the baby shampoo, conditioner, and detangler on the rim of the bathtub, and piled the new water toys inside, blue plastic pouring cups, a fake fisherman’s net with plastic starfish, and hypoallergenic soap that squirted out of a tube. He unwrapped the guard for the faucet, using his hand and his teeth, so Emily wouldn’t burn herself on the faucet.

  He affixed the plastic hooks to babyproof the vanity, which took forever with one hand, then hurried back to babyproof every door and closet in the apartment, even in his own bedroom. He made his bed, then went to set up Emily’s room. He unpacked her bumpers, diapers, and new clothes, then started putting everything away, setting the folded clothes on the side of the drawers, so they didn’t topple over.

  He retrieved the new night lamp, with a smiling yellow duck for the base, screwed in an eco-friendly light bulb, and plugged it in, shedding a warm soft light around the bedroom. He fetched the new screwdriver and dragged the big cardboard box with the crib into the bedroom. LIGHT ASSEMBLY REQUIRED, read the box. He took a deep breath and got busy.

  An hour later, Mike was sitting on the bedroom floor, still trying to build the crib. He’d lined up his screws, washers, bolts, and long metal ribs that went under the mattress, but couldn’t get past Step Two. It didn’t help that he’d bought the most complicated crib in the universe, apparently a “3-in-1 Convertible.” He picked up the directions, which read at the top, Converts from crib, to toddler bed, to daybed while maintaining its transitional style!

  Mike scanned the diagrams, but they didn’t look like the pieces he’d laid out, and there were no other directions in words. There were four sides to the crib, all of white wooden lattice, and since the crib was rectangular, he could easily see the difference between the long sides and the shorter ends, but he couldn’t screw the long side to the end, with one arm.

  He got up on his knees and tried again. He put the headboard flat on the floor, then rested the long side on it, holding it steady because it didn’t have any dowels. But he couldn’t hold it and screw it in at the same time, so he tried changing positions. He held the long side in place by resting it alongside his shoulder and tried screwing it in that way, but it kept slipping and the screw popped off. He switched things around, so that the long side was on the ground and the short side was against his shoulder, but it wouldn’t line up with the hole, and the end-lattice fell onto the side-lattice.

  “Damn!” he said aloud. His stump was killing him from all the movement, his stomach felt queasy, and his mind kept going to the Oxys, bobbing to the surface of his consciousness like a tub toy, guaranteed to float. His emotions were hard to control, maybe because they’d been controlled artificially for so long, or maybe because the stakes had never been this high. Or maybe because he was being sued for half a million dollars and had no one but himself to blame. Or maybe because the side effects of Oxycontin were anxiety, headache, mood changes, confusion, and unusual thoughts or behavior. Also constipation, which was a real treat.

  He surveyed the wreckage he’d made of Emily’s room, which looked worse in the soft light. The rug was littered with screws, bolts, the mattress and box spring, and the massive box, plus the endless trail of cellophane. He couldn’t email Stephanie a picture, but the mess was the reality. He was trying to make an instant home, just add water, but it wasn’t working.

  Mike checked his watch. It was almost three in the morning, and the apartment was silent and still. Outside the window, he could see the snow falling, growing deeper on the windowsill, and he could feel the temperature dropping. He could stay up all night, but he couldn’t make this apartment a home. He couldn’t make a bed for his child. And he hadn’t even started to assemble the changing table.

  He threw the screwdriver against the wall, where it stuck like a bayonet.

  “Hoo-ah,” he said bitterly.

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Mike was shown into Stephanie’s office, with a fresh shave and a new attitude. It was game day, so even though he’d barely slept, he was ready to go, in a suit and tie. He hadn’t taken an Oxy since yesterday, so his stump was killing him, his stomach ached, and he had chills, but he sucked it up and managed a smile. “Hey, counselor.”

  Stephanie smiled back, rising. “Well, look at you. Somebody’s loaded for bear.”

  “It shows, huh?” Mike slid a hand in his pocket, pulled out the papers from Pat MacFarland, and handed them across the desk. “Before you get too happy, how’s this for a revolting development?”

  Stephanie scanned the papers, her eyes darting back and forth as she read. She had on a greenish gray suit with an asymmetrical jacket, and a bold perfume that gave Mike the impression she was dressed for court, too.

  “They served me last night, at Sara’s memorial service.”

  “Nice.” Stephanie kept reading. “Remind me to use that one.”

  “Can he really sue me, and for that much?”

  “Welcome to America, where anybody can sue anybody for anything.” Stephanie sat down, closing the papers with a slapping sound. “This, however, is a money grab. They didn’t even take the time to file a full complaint. They know you’re on the ropes after the criminal charges and they want to start negotiations.”

  Mike was losing his smile. “I don’t have that much money and I’m not about to pay him anywhere near that. I know I did wrong, but come on.”

  “Absolutely, and we have more pressing matters to deal with today.” Stephanie met his eyes evenly. “How are you feeling?”

  “The whole truth and nothing but?” Mike didn’t want to joke around. He’d said it only because he was nervous. “Ready to get Emily back.”

  “I know, but it’s not a simple case, by any means.” Stephanie eased into her desk chair. “Tell me how many things you got finished on your to-do list.”

  “Besides the apartment?” Mike hadn’t succeeded in building the crib or the changing table, but nobody had to know that. “I made all the calls I was supposed to.”

  “Really, you called the outpatient clinic for drug rehab?”

  “I did, this morning, and I left a message to call back. I also went online and made an appointment at the VA rehab, but the earliest they can take me is a month. I called the shrink and left a message for him too.”

  “Good job.” Stephanie sipped coffee from a flowery china mug. “By the way, Bob and Danielle hired Jason Franklin to represent
them. Franklin is smart, experienced, and political.”

  “How much does that matter?”

  “We still elect judges in this state, remember?”

  Mike let it go. “So what do you think? How are you feeling about our chances?”

  “The good news is we got assigned to Judge Shield, one of the old guard, very reasonable and fair.” Stephanie leaned over, linking her fingers. “But before I answer you, I want to tell you my trial strategy. It isn’t pretty, but it gives you the best chance you have.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Let’s face it, we have some bad facts to deal with. The other side is going to bring them up in minute detail, but we go first as the movant, and I want to preempt them. In other words, I want to take the sting out of their arguments by raising them first. You understand?”

  “Yes, you want to beat them to the punch. But what does that mean, in effect?”

  “It means that my direct examination of you won’t be comfortable. I will elicit bad information from you, but it’s our best shot.”

  “So you’re amputating to save the patient.” Mike managed another smile. “I’m familiar.”

  “Good.” Stephanie didn’t bat an eye. “All you have to do is answer my questions. Tell the truth. Don’t volunteer information. Keep your temper during cross-examination. If you want the judge to see you as a father, act like one. Even when my friend Jason Franklin rakes you over the coals.”

  “Jason Franklin is your friend?”

  “We’re lawyer friends, which means we hate each other until five o’clock. Don’t let him rattle you.”

  “I won’t,” Mike said, with confidence.

  “Okay.” Stephanie checked her watch. “Let’s get started.”

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Mike looked around the courtroom, mentally preparing himself for the hearing, while Stephanie and Jason Franklin exchanged legal papers and Bob and Danielle talked among themselves. The courtroom was older than he’d expected, with a worn marble floor, brass lamps on each table, and sconces that glowed softly on blue plaster walls, making the high-tech black stem microphones, laptop computers, and surge protectors look out of place. The radiators hissed, unable to heat such a large space. The courtroom was used for major trials, and the fact that it was so empty only emphasized its majesty.

  “All rise for the Honorable Judge Calvin Shield,” boomed a court officer, standing before an American flag and the flag of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. “Oyez, Oyez! God save the Commonwealth and this Honorable Court.”

  Jason and Stephanie took their places as Judge Shield swept into the courtroom, a tall, thin older man with an angular face, whose pure white hair made him look like a church spire in New England.

  “Good morning, folks.” Judge Shield climbed the mahogany dais and waved everyone into their seats, then sat down, consulted some papers on his desk, and looked up at Stephanie with a quick smile. “Let’s get right to business, because we’ll be closing early today if the snow keeps up. Ms. Bergen, why don’t you get us started?”

  Stephanie rose. “May it please the court, I’m representing Dr. Michael Scanlon, who has returned from serving in Afghanistan in the Army Medical Corps, and seeks to modify a court order and obtain permanent physical and legal custody of his minor child, Emily, from nonparents, an aunt and uncle. The child’s mother, Chloe Voulette, is deceased, and the child went to live with her aunt and uncle during her father’s deployment.”

  “I’ve read the papers, so I have the facts.” Judge Shield’s gaze shifted from Mike to Bob and Danielle, his expression reserved, if benevolent. “Continue, please.”

  “Your Honor, Dr. Scanlon is the child’s natural father and is able and willing to maintain a loving, stable, and nurturing home for her, consistent with Chapter 53, Section 5328. In addition, the statute provides expressly that ‘as between a parent and a nonparent, there shall be a presumption that custody shall be awarded to the parent.’ That presumption may be rebutted only by clear and convincing evidence, not present in this case.”

  “I have your argument. Would you call your witness, please?” Judge Shield gestured to the witness box, and Stephanie turned to Mike.

  “Dr. Scanlon? Please take the stand.”

  “Sure.” Mike rose stiffly and walked to the witness stand as the court clerk appeared, but when he put his hand on the Bible, he realized he didn’t have another hand to raise.

  “Uh,” the court clerk started to say. “Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I do,” Mike answered, trying not to look at Bob or Danielle, who sat at the other table in navy blue suits, next to Franklin, who was portly, bald, and had a bulbous nose, with thick, rimless glasses that looked wedged into fleshy cheeks.

  “Please be seated.”

  Stephanie stepped forward. “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?” Judge Shield nodded, and she walked toward Mike. “Dr. Scanlon, please tell us briefly about your service in Afghanistan.”

  “Objection!” Franklin said, rising.

  “Come now, Mr. Franklin.” Judge Shield didn’t hide an amused smile. “Is this going to be one of those days?”

  Franklin cleared his throat. “Your Honor, we’re prepared to stipulate that Dr. Scanlon deserves our thanks for having served his country well and honorably, with personal sacrifice. I believe that Ms. Bergen is attempting to influence this court’s decision by playing on its sympathies and patriotism.”

  Stephanie started to answer, but Judge Shield raised a hand. “Overruled.” He turned to Mike, his soft gray eyes sunk deeply into his gaunt, lined face. “Dr. Scanlon, we appreciate your service to our country, yet we’re here to determine what is in Emily’s best interests. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I do.”

  “Fine.” Judge Shield turned to Stephanie. “Please, proceed.”

  “Dr. Scanlon, how long have you been home?”

  “Approximately a week.”

  “And what occurred that occasioned your honorable discharge and release from active duty?”

  “I was in Helmand Province, traveling in a Humvee that hit a roadside bomb, and when we exited the vehicle, we were engaged in enemy contact. I sustained injuries to my left arm that required its amputation.”

  Stephanie nodded. “Did you receive any award or commendation with regard to this incident and subsequent injury?”

  Mike hadn’t wanted her to ask the question, but she had insisted. Suddenly he flashed on the Humvee explosion, the orange-red blaze. Chatty, unconscious, in the seat. Segundo and the driver trapped inside. Black smoke everywhere. The crack of gunfire. The red muzzle flashes, roadside.

  “Dr. Scanlon, you received a commendation in regard to that incident, didn’t you?”

  Mike came out of his reverie, shaken. “Yes.”

  “Let’s move on, Dr. Scanlon. Where you prescribed any pain medications as a result of your amputation surgery?”

  “Yes, Oxycontin.”

  “Are you taking that prescription, presently?”

  “Yes, for pain.”

  “And does it impair your function in any way?”

  Franklin popped up. “Objection, leading.”

  “Overruled.” Judge Shield rested his chin in his hand, eyeing Mike. “Go on.”

  “Oxycontin causes irritability, some mood changes, and a few other emotional side effects, but it relieves the pain from the swelling.”

  Stephanie rested a hand on the rail of the witness box. “Are you presently taking a prescribed dose?”

  “I am, and I’m in the process of weaning myself off the higher doses required by the acute phase after my revision surgery.”

  “Dr. Scanlon, are you enrolled in any outpatient program in drug rehabilitation or education?”

  “I have called and requested enrollment.”

  “Are you currently in any therapy to ease your reentry after your tours of duty?”

 
“Yes, I have calls into a private therapist and am also scheduled to begin a support group for returning vets at the VA.” Mike felt it was going well, and Stephanie smiled at him in an encouraging way.

  “By the way, Dr. Scanlon, why did you voluntarily renew your contract for a second tour, after serving your first?”

  “I renewed because I was requested to do so and knew that I was needed. No other podiatric surgeons were available, at this late stage of the war. I wanted to come home to my daughter, very much, but felt I had to serve.” Mike thought it went without saying, but Stephanie wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Dr. Scanlon, where are you currently living?”

  “In the TopTrees complex in Clifton, in a two-bedroom apartment, where Emily has her own room, overlooking a playground.”

  “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

  “Yes.”

  Stephanie took a few photos from counsel table, then distributed copies to Franklin, Judge Shield, and Mike. “Dr. Scanlon, are these photos of your apartment, taken by you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Stephanie crossed to the clerk. “Your Honor, I move these into evidence as Movant’s Exhibits A through C.”

  “Granted.” Judge Shield examined the photos as the court clerk attached exhibit stickers to them.

  Stephanie turned back to Mike. “Dr. Scanlon, before your deployment, you were self-employed fulltime as a podiatric surgeon. Are you returning to that position?”

  “No, I intend to work on a part-time basis, marketing a custom-made walking boot to heal sports injuries in children and adolescents. I’m in a position financially where I don’t have to work for a month or two, and I want to stay home with Emily full-time.”