Page 17

LONDON

Sitting in court, watching Judge Hoffman’s face turn red, fills me with giddiness.

I have to keep that shit under wraps, though.

I keep my expression neutral. I can’t say the same for the opposing counsel sitting to my left.

I’ll admit, I don’t feel bad for Marsha Drexler.

I don’t feel bad for any woman who would go against the girl code and stand beside a piece of shit, man.

Marsha’s client, Adam Kiefer, has been subjecting his ex-wife to a long and drawn-out custody battle involving their two-year-old son.

The former Mrs. Kiefer, now Ms. Baxter, had been diagnosed with breast cancer while pregnant with their son.

Mr. Kiefer wanted her to end the pregnancy, seeing as it wasn’t planned, and he didn’t want children.

Ms. Baxter, however, chose to keep her baby and forgo any treatment for her cancer until the baby was born.

Her prognosis hadn’t been good. Not to mention, Mr. Kiefer filed for divorce when she was seven months pregnant.

I represented Ms. Baxter in her divorce, where she received a hefty settlement along with the judge's order for her estranged husband to continue paying all her medical bills, including her cancer treatment, after their son had been born. Ms. Baxter has remained steadfast through it all. She gave birth to a beautiful, healthy boy alone. Underwent treatment for her breast cancer alone. Endured a grueling divorce alone. For the past eight months, she has been fighting for her son, a son her husband never wanted, but has decided to fight for just to hurt my client even further. But today, Mr. Kiefer slipped and showed his true colors by not bothering to show up to court, a true testament that he didn’t care about his son.

“Your Honor.” Marsha stands. “I’d like to call?—”

Judge Hoffman holds up his hand, effectively cutting Marsha off.

Now, Marsha’s face turns red from embarrassment.

“Save it, counselor. You and your client have wasted enough of my time, which was demonstrated in my courtroom today. I’m granting full custody of two-year-old Lucas Baxter to his mother, Mary Baxter, along with the requested child support.

Mr. Kiefer will also be required to pay all back child support.

” The judge finishes by slamming the gavel.

“Thank you, Your Honor.” I stand.

Judge Hoffman offers a warm smile. “Best of luck to you and your son, Ms. Baxter.”

Beside me, Ms. Baxter holds her hands clasped together in front of her chest with silent tears running down her cheeks.

I can’t help but feel a sense of pride mixed with admiration as I look at this incredibly strong woman in front of me.

I’m proud to be standing on the side of what’s right.

Unfortunately, we live in a world where the bad guys win more often than not.

But on days like today, when justice prevails and victory is sweet, it makes taking on all the asshole Adam Kiefer’s of the world worth it.

Watching scum attorneys like Marsha lose is an added bonus.

After court, I stop by Maggie’s to pick up the to-go order I phoned in fifteen minutes prior, then head to see my mom. When I arrive at Golden Hills, I’m greeted by her nurse. “Hey, London. I see you brought lunch today.”

“Hey, Mary. Court ended early, so I thought I’d bring Mom her favorite from Maggie’s.” I hold up the bag. “How is she today?”

Mary's face softens. “She’s a little lost today, but other than that, she’s good. I can take you to her if you like. She’s enjoying the sun out on the lawn.”

“That would be great. Thanks, Mary." I follow Mary outside and spot Mom sitting in an Adirondack chair facing the lake.

“She likes to watch the ducks,” Mary tells me. “Faye, you have a visitor.”

As we approach, Mom's head turns toward us. My chest tightens when she peers up at me without a hint of recognition.

“Hello,” she greets me in a way you’d greet a stranger. “Do I know you?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and smile. “No. But I saw you sitting out here by the lake and was hoping you’d like to share some lunch with me.”

“That sounds lovely.” Mom’s eyes light up.

Mary smiles warmly before taking her leave.

Sitting in the chair beside Mom, I dig the Styrofoam container out of the bag.

“Whatever that is, it sure smells good,” Mom says.

I open the container and show her what’s inside, and that’s when her eyes light up like a little girl. “Mac and cheese is my favorite. How did you know?”

The ache in my chest returns. “Lucky guess,” I croak, setting the plate in her lap and settling her with a plastic fork and napkin.

Macaroni and cheese was a staple in the Monroe household growing up.

Mom said mac and cheese was a cure-all, and it truly was.

Nothing in the world would cure a bad day at school, a scraped knee, or a broken heart like mac and cheese.

One day, when I was seven, I came home from school in a mood after Bobby Markle pushed me down on the playground at recess and stole the sticker Mrs. Nelson had given me for finishing all my homework.

Mom sat me down and gave me a bowl of mac and cheese, then explained that Bobby was just jealous because I was an A student.

And she gave me permission to kick him in the balls if he ever put his hands on me again.

Then there was the time when I was fourteen.

My boyfriend broke up with me the day before the winter dance and asked Beth Arnold to go with him instead.

Again, Mom sat me down with a bowl of mac and cheese and taught me that if a boy treated me the way Connor had, he wasn’t good enough for me.

It was better to find out early if a boy was worthy of my time rather than finding out later.

Mom was right.

She was always right.

And the mac and cheese ritual didn’t stop as I grew older.

When I was in college, if I was having a crap day, I could come home to my mom, and she’d have a plate prepared for me by the time I walked in the door, along with her words of wisdom.

God, I miss those days. I want to be back in my childhood home with my mom after a bad day and have her tell me everything will be all right. My life is a mess, and I struggle to stay above water every damn day.

Mom is sick, my friend is missing, and I’m looking my best friend in the eyes every day and lying to her because I’m ashamed of the things I have to do in order to take care of the woman who means the most to me in this entire world.

I feel like a fraud, a failure, and a shit friend.

I just want to eat mac and cheese and have my mom take all my troubles away.

But that’s not going to happen. And the reality of that is hitting me like a ton of bricks.

When I look over at Mom, she’s greedily eating on her food in silence while watching the ducks swim around in the lake.

I can’t help but stare at the woman sitting next to me and think how unfair life is.

How can the woman sitting here look like my mom but at the same time not look like her?

You would think the days when she’s angry and doesn’t understand who she is or where she is are the hardest. They're not. It’s days like today where her eyes are void of the light she used to exude.

Days like today are when she’s the shell of the person she once was.

She looks lost. But that’s what the disease does.

It takes and takes until you have nothing left to give.

I’m taking a bite of my food when Mom’s hand pauses halfway to her mouth. She looks at the fork and then down at her plate. She’s silent for a beat before she turns and looks at me. And just like that, I see a familiar light shining in her eyes.

“London.”

“Hi, Momma,” I whisper.

Mom blinks. “I was lost again, wasn’t I?”

“That’s okay, Momma. You found your way back.” I sit my plate on the grass beside the chair and then drop to my knees in front of my mother. My eyes close when her shaky hand cups my cheek. “I’ll always find my way back to you, Doodlebug,” she says, using my nickname.

“I know you will, Mom,” I reply when the first tear falls. “I know you will.”

The last thing I want to do after visiting Mom is be around people.

I have a shift at the club tonight, and all I want is to go home, take a long bubble bath, and maybe take a nap.

But when Promise calls and asks if I want to stop by Twisted Throttle for a beer, guilt creeps in, and there is no way I can refuse.

By the time I stroll into the bar, it’s already five o’clock.

I smile and wave at Nova behind the bar, cleaning glasses as he prepares for the six o’clock rush of people who stop by after a long day at work.

I scan the room and spy Promise sitting at a high-top table in the back, along with Luna and Riggs.

Over the past couple of years, I have committed myself to learning ASL on Luna’s behalf, so when I approach the table, I sign, “Sorry, I’m late.

I was visiting Mom, and the traffic was a bitch.

” I lean in, kiss Promise on the cheek, and do the same with Luna before greeting her man. “Hiya, Riggs.”

Riggs does that macho man chin-jerk thing. “London.”

Before I’m fully in my seat, Nova sets a beer down in front of me. “Here ya go, darlin’.”

I let out a sigh. “I need this. Thanks, Nova.”

“Bad day?” Luna signs.

I take a pull of my beer. “Work is good.”

“How’s your mom?” Promise asks. I shrug and start picking at the label on the bottle. I don’t want to tell them it fucking sucks to watch someone you love slowly drifting away because then I’ll start crying, so I remain silent. Silence sometimes speaks louder than words, though.

“Fuckin’ sucks about your ma, sweetheart.” Riggs breaks the silence.

I give him a wobbly smile. “Thanks.”