“Thank you very much for your time,” I say politely, and hand the woman my card. “If you happen to hear from her, please give me a call. Have a good evening.”
I don’t expect them to do any such thing, of course.
Neither of Jess’s parents say anything in response. The woman peers at my card, but she doesn’t give it back to me. She moves back from the threshold, and then the door closes in our faces.
22
Ember
“Well, they’re awful people,” I murmur as we walk back toward my car.
Striker agrees. “I think I’m starting to see how Jess got to be the way she did.”
“One thing’s for sure, though.” I say fiercely. I fling open my car door before Striker can do it for me. “We have to make sure that whatever happens, those two never, ever get guardianship of Wren.”
He blinks. “Shit. You think that could happen?”
“In a perfect world, no. But I’ve seen some pretty wild things happen in custody cases. And the courts have a preference for placing with relatives whenever possible.” I lock eyes with Striker. “We have to make sure Wren stays with Tank and Cady. She has a loving family, and we have to protect that. No matter what.”
Striker stares hard at me for a second. I see something going on behind those dark, brooding eyes of his, but I’m not sure what it is. Wordlessly, he waits for me to get in the passenger side, then closes the door for me and goes over to get behind the wheel. Something is telling me to wait for him to speak first, so I settle in and make myself try not to fill the silence.
“You know,” he eventually says, “when I first met you, I thought you were a stuck-up rich bitch who was gonna take Tank’s money and let his kid get taken from him.”
“Whoa.” I let out a startled laugh, trying not to feel hurt. “Um, okay. Tell me how you really feel.”
“It’s true.” He pauses. “I don’t think that anymore, though.”
“Well, that’s nice of you.”
“Look, it didn’t really have anything to do with you as a person.”
“No,” I say sarcastically. “Just with your assumptions about my profession and who you thought I was as a person.”
“Well, yeah,” he agrees. “But I had my reasons for that.”
“What? You’ve had a bad experience with a lawyer?” I guess. “Well, you could choose any number of the thousands of lawyer jokes out there, and most of them would have a grain of truth to them. But we’re not all bad, Striker.”
He doesn’t reply for a minute or so. Then:
“Remember you asked about my family?”
“Yes.” My mind flashes to that day, and how angry he seemed at the question. “You said you don’t have any.”
“Yeah, well. Technically, that’s not true.” He hesitates. “I have a younger brother.”
The raw edge to Striker’s words makes me worry that the brother is dead. But then, Striker just said have, not had, so maybe that’s not it.
“Where is he?” I ask, half-fearing the answer.
“Fuck if I know. Chicago, maybe. That’s where he was the last time I talked to him.”
I wait for more. Striker starts the car and pulls away.
“Richie’s eight years younger than me.” He exhales tiredly, suddenly sounding a hundred years old. “Our parents got killed in a car crash driving home one night. It was their anniversary — the first night out they’d had out in who knows how long. They both worked hard, but we didn’t have a lot of money, so they didn’t do shit they saw as frivolous very often.
“I was sixteen at the time, almost seventeen. Shit, I still remember how much I bitched and moaned when they told me I had to babysit Richie that night. I remember it was a Saturday, and I was pissed because I had to take care of my brother, instead of going out and raising hell with my buddies.
“From what they say, my mom was killed instantly in the crash. My dad held on for a couple days, but he died in the hospital. It was a goddamn nightmare. Like I said, they didn’t have much money. Not enough to do much more than pay for the funeral, and for a lawyer to deal with wrapping the legal shit up. We didn’t have any other family to speak of, either, which meant we didn’t have anywhere to go. I thought I could keep Richie with me,” he goes on. “I was almost seventeen, after all, right? Practically an adult. But with no money, and some juvenile offenses on my record…”
Striker trails off, leaving me to imagine how hopeless his case was. A few seconds later, he keeps going.
“They took Richie and put him in foster care. I barely saw him for months.” Striker’s jaw is tight. “Then, he hit the jackpot: a wealthy family decided they wanted to adopt him. That shit hardly ever happens with kids as old as Richie, but he was a cute as hell kid, so I guess he beat the odds. It wasn’t what Richie wanted. That kid yelled bloody murder, and said he wanted to go back to living with me. But they placed him with the family anyway. And his new parents didn’t want him to associate with jail bait like me, of course, so I saw him even less than before after that.
“I guess bein’ with the rich folks for a while changed his mind.” His voice turns to gravel. “Because after a while, Richie stopped wanting to see me at all. I remember once, about a year after he got officially adopted — by now he was twelve — I went to his school one afternoon, right at the end of the day. I was just hoping to see him, you know? I was gonna tell him to ask his parents to let me take him out one day that weekend.” He gives his head a quick shake. “He looked embarrassed as hell to see me. I gave him my number, but he never called. I took the hint.”
My stomach has started to churn. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose his only brother like that.
“You said he’s in Chicago now?”
“Richie graduated from college last year. DePaul. He’s goin’ on to get his MBA, I think. He doesn’t want to know me now.” Striker grips the steering wheel, hard. “I can’t blame him, though. What the hell do I have to offer a kid like that, except bad memories and embarrassment?”
“You have a lot to offer, Striker,” I insist.
“Nah. I don’t.” He exhales. “Ah hell, I can’t pretend his life ain’t better without me. But Richie was the only family I had left. And the system fuckin’ stole him from me, Ember. I know I ain’t worth much, but I loved that kid. I did everything I could for him.”
My heart is breaking for him. My God, of course Striker would look at me as part of the same system that took his last remaining family away from him. After what he’s experienced, how can I blame him for not trusting me not to do the same with Tank and Wren?
On impulse, I reach over and put a hand on Striker’s forearm. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away.
“I would never be party to helping anyone take Wren away from Tank,” I whisper. “I hope you know that.”
“I know it now.” Striker turns his head, looks at me, hard. His dark eyes smolder like coal. “I believe it now.”