Chapter 8: No Moves Left
My mother was charged on a Thursday.
Patricia called me while I was sitting in the nursery, assembling the last piece of the crib.
My husband was at work.
The house was quiet enough that I could hear the birds outside the window.
"They executed the warrant this morning," Patricia said.
"She's been formally charged with criminal @ssault by proxy, @dministering a harmful substance, obstruction of justice, and attempted trust fraud."
I set down the screwdriver.
"Her attorney?"
"Already filed for bail.
It was granted.
She's home." A pause.
"She's also been removed as interim trustee, effective this morning.
The court appointed a neutral administrator pending your daughter's birth."
"So the trust is safe."
"The trust is safe."
I looked at the crib.
One side still needed the final bolt.
"What about my father?" I said.
"He hasn't been charged.
There's no evidence he knew about the substance.
The texts don't include him." Patricia's voice was careful.
"That may change as the case develops.
But right now, no."
"And Renee?"
"Her cooperation has been noted.
The DA is considering a reduced charge for the @ssault — possibly a plea to reckless endangerment with no incarceration, given the full statement she provided and the evidence she turned over." A pause.
"That's not guaranteed.
But it's where it's trending."
"Okay," I said.
"Okay," Patricia repeated.
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired," I said.
"Good.
Both."
"Get some rest." She paused.
"It's almost over."
After I hung up, I sat in the nursery for a long time.
My mother called that evening.
I watched the phone ring.
She left no message.
My father called an hour later.
I answered that one.
He didn't say anything for a moment after I picked up.
Then: "I didn't know."
"I believe you," I said.
"I should have — " He stopped.
"I should have seen it."
"Yes."
Another silence.
It wasn't comfortable.
It wasn't supposed to be.
"Can I come?" he said.
"When the baby comes.
Can I be there?"
I thought about it.
I thought about him running past me on the lawn.
I thought about Roy, who had also waited too long, who had also made the wrong choice, who had still shown up with copies in his pocket.
"I don't know yet," I said.
"Ask me again when it's time."
He said, "Okay."
He didn't argue.
He didn't push.
That was the most honest thing he had done in months.
I went back to the nursery and put in the final bolt.
The crib was finished.
It was white, simple, exactly what I had wanted.
I stood in the doorway and looked at it in the evening light.
My daughter kicked twice.
I put my hand on my stomach.
May you like
"Almost," I said.
"Almost."
