A Good Mother by Lara Bazelon (classic books to read .TXT) 📕

His hands grip her shoulders as he speaks. “I need you to listen to me.” His eyes search hers. “Can you do that?”

Abby forces down a sob and nods her head.

“Nic went to court earlier today and convinced a judge he needed a temporary custody order for Cal, effective immediately. These orders are hard to get and they don’t last long. On Wednesday, there will be a hearing in front of the same judge where you can tell your side of the story. That’s three business days from now.”

When Abby gasps, Jonathan holds up his hand. “Until then, you can see Cal, it just has to be supervised.”

“Supervised?” she repeats stupidly.

“It looks like you can spend unlimited time with Cal as long as it is in the presence of a responsible third party.” Jonathan pauses. “The order lists a CPS social worker. And me. You can go with either of us to pick him up and you need to stay with one of us the whole time you’re with him.”

Abby looks at Jonathan. She had expected sympathy but his gaze is clinical. His coldness makes her stomach drop. “You knew,” she says. “Oh, my God, you knew he was going to do this.”

“I didn’t know,” Jonathan says evenly, “but I thought it was a real possibility.”

“You’ve been talking to Nic, you’ve been helping him. You Judas motherfucker—” she struggles away from him but he holds on “—how could you do this—”

Jonathan cuts her off, “I haven’t been helping him. But he told me. About what happened in the bath. He was angry, but mostly he was terrified. Ever since, I have been trying to talk him out of it.” Jonathan’s mouth is set in a tight line. “I warned you, Abby.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Goddammit, you should have seen this coming.”

Abby, forcing herself to keep looking at him, stifles a sob.

“When we go to court, you will have the opportunity to argue that the order is unnecessary. That Cal isn’t at risk when he is alone with you.”

“Of course he isn’t.” Now she is yelling. “I’m his mother. This is insane.”

“Be quiet and listen to me. From now on you are going to practice being the most reasonable person in the room. Because that’s who’s going to win in court. Right now, Nic is coming across as pretty fucking reasonable. You, not so much.”

“What if we get this—this thing reversed,” she asks shakily. “Then what?”

“The court will order some kind of joint custody pending review of Nic’s petition for permanent custody. That could take weeks or months. It’s hard to get sole custody, especially for the father. He would have to prove that you are unfit.”

“Of course I’m not—”

“You, in the meantime, will take the rest of your maternity leave. All of it. And you will allow Child Protective Services to inspect your home. You will submit to a custody evaluation from a psychologist. You will cooperate with them. You will play nice. You will be nice. To everyone. Including Nic. You should assume from now on that everyone is watching everything you do, even when you are alone. You will not drink. We’ve been here before, after Rayshon, but you have a lot more to lose now. You’ve never actually hit rock bottom, but if this isn’t it, then I don’t know what’s below it. So not one sip. Nothing. Don’t give the Child Protective Services people any more ammunition than they have already.”

The doorbell rings and she starts. “Maybe that’s Nic. ” She turns to leave and Jonathan tightens his hold on her. “Stay here.”

He walks out of the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. She hears muffled voices, a man and a woman, then Jonathan’s voice pitched loud enough for her to hear, “Let’s talk outside.” The sound of the front door closing, then silence. She stands there, frozen for a moment, then realizes from the sudden overwhelming ache in her breasts that she needs to let down. Her breast pump, is it in the car? She shuts her eyes, trying to remember. Jonathan had taken her bag along with her briefcase when they left Weilands. She’s almost certain. She opens the door, walks out into the living room, then stops when she looks out the glass door.

Jonathan is standing on the porch, his back to her, talking to two uniformed police officers. The man, middle-aged, paunchy, his sandy hair cut close, is nodding intently. His partner, the woman, her dark hair in a slicked-back bun, is writing something on a notepad. She looks up. For a brief moment they make eye contact, and then Abby turns, walks back into the bedroom, and turns off the lights. She stands in the corner, shaking, her back pressed up against the wall.

A few minutes later she hears the front door open and close. Jonathan reappears in the bedroom. He pushes the heap of bedclothes aside, then gestures for her to sit next to him on the bare mattress.

“They don’t have a warrant,” he says.

“A warrant? For what? There isn’t anything here.” She looks around, then adds bitterly, “Especially now.”

“Not for anything. For you.”

She gapes at him.

“They don’t have enough to arrest you.” Jonathan takes off his glasses, massages the bridge of his nose.

“Arrest me?” She repeats the words hoping they will make sense, but they don’t.

“A report has been made, an allegation of child endangerment.”

“What?” She claps her hand over her mouth, feels the sting of that stupid cut.

“If they had enough evidence they would charge you. But they don’t. They can’t prove intent.”

Her lip is bleeding again. Jonathan reaches across her body to take a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and hands it to her.

“It only took a couple of minutes to figure that out,” he continues. “I told them that I was your lawyer and that you had nothing to say to them. We exchanged business cards. And then, as politely as I could, I suggested that they get the fuck