A Son's Tale

Her right leg started to bounce. Slowly. Methodically. She didn’t speak right away. Cal wasn’t sure she was going to. And then she said, “My father’s attorney filed papers on Daddy’s behalf this morning. He’s suing me for custody of Sammie.”

“He can’t do that.”

“Apparently he can. Doesn’t mean he’ll win, but he can try.”

“On what grounds?”

“He’s planning to prove that I’m an unfit parent.”

“That’s ludicrous!” He wanted to strangle the man.

“Apparently Sammie’s escapade was enough to get the attention of social services.”

“You said they weren’t called.”

“I said the police didn’t call them.” She turned to look at him, her hands still clasped beneath his. “My father did.”

* * *

SHE HAD FRIENDS. Close friends like Julie Warren. Women at work with whom she occasionally shared confidences. Mothers of young boys she knew from Little League and scouting and school and city league basketball practice. A boss who valued her and was always willing to listen.

And the person whose spirit called out to her, the person she needed to talk to, was the college professor she’d secretly fantasized about.

She didn’t understand the calling. And she didn’t question it. Her life was imploding and she had to do what she had to do to keep Sammie safe.

“You know what I think?” Cal asked, looking her straight in the eye as he sat next to her on the couch in his office.

She shook her head.

“I think that social services will take one look at a man who would try to derail his own daughter and show him the door.”

Maybe. If the father were someone other than George Lowen.

“Your son is well fed, clothed, healthy. He’s getting a good education. You said he maintains above average grades. I know for a fact that his home is a place of warmth and love—and it’s clean, too.”

“But I’m not in control there, Sammie is. A ten-year-old needs guidance, not coddling.” She wasn’t playing devil’s advocate so much as releasing the thoughts that were scaring her to death. As though putting them in Cal’s keeping would help. “And I’m overprotective.”

“Parenting style isn’t grounds for a custody battle.”

This was why she was here. Because she needed a fresh perspective, needed views from someone who didn’t have preconceived prejudices.

?

??I made some pretty serious errors in judgment in my past. I was young. It’s behind me now. But my father is dragging it all out. And he’s claiming that I put my son in danger by not being more aware of his state of mind.”

“Have you been served papers? Maybe your father is bluffing.”

She should move across the room, away from Cal Whittier. Her college professor should not be holding her hands. Especially not when the touch made her feel so close to him.

“My mother called as soon as everything was finalized. She wanted to tell me firsthand that the papers were coming. I called social services immediately. I’m not sure they were supposed to talk to me, but the guy who answered knew who I was from the news on Saturday. He told me he’d seen the Amber Alert and had been out looking…”

She swallowed. Another perfect stranger who cared. Who wanted to help.

“Anyway, when I told him why I was calling he did some checking and found out that a file was opened for Sammie this morning. We’ll be assigned a court-appointed counselor for Sammie by the end of the day. I’m to expect a call no later than tomorrow, and then to plan for a series of in-home visits and interviews before our court date, which has been set for two weeks from tomorrow.”

Cal frowned. “When did you get the call from your mother?”

“Right after class.”