“Somehow I’m not reassured,” I say. “It’s seven o’clock, for God’s sake. When did you leave home? Five in the morning?”
She nods. “Yeah. He stayed over at their house last night.”
“Well?” I say. “Are we going to stand here in the kitchen talking around it, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Some bitterness leaks through, because she’s never been the type to confide, especially not in me.
“Let’s call Maisie on your laptop,” she says, glancing at the coffee pot as if expecting it to be magically filled. And hell, I don’t blame her.
“Call her now?” I repeat. “Jack was sick last night, and I have no idea how much sleep they got. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I…I need to talk to you both. Please.”
I can’t remember the last time Mary asked me for anything, because favors are also something she does not do.
So I find my computer in the living room, my heart seriously racing now, and set it up on the kitchen table to make the call.
By then the coffee is ready, and Mary pours us both big mugs. I cast a glance at her and reach for the whiskey—kept in the cupboard instead of above the refrigerator because Jack is a former bartender and has ideas about such things—and glug some into each cup. She doesn’t stop me, just gets out the maple syrup and half-and-half and adds some to each cup.
Shit just got real.
Both of us take a seat in front of the computer, sitting in the same chairs we used to use as children, because Maisie and Jack did keep some of our old things.
We take a bolstering sip of our coffees in unison, and it’s then Maisie answers our call, her curly hair all askew, her eyes wide with alarm. I wish I could calm that alarm, but it’s obvious it’s warranted. At least I can reassure her on one account, and I do.
“The dogs are fine,” I say. “They both took their morning pees like champs. How’s Jack?”
“He’s better now,” she says, “but he’s still sleeping. Why are you there so early, Mary? What’s going on?”
And then the unimaginable happens—Mary’s eyes fill with tears.
I put a hand on her shoulder, letting her know that I’m here. That I love her. Despite our differences I will move heaven and earth for her, just like I know she’d do for me. The three of us might not have parents anymore, but we have each other.
“I’m sorry to scare you,” she says softly. “But I needed to tell you at the same time. I couldn’t do it twice.”
Maisie and I both stay silent, giving her time to speak, because it’s obvious she’s on the cusp of something.
“Glenn left us,” she says in a rush. “Six months ago. I…I didn’t want to say anything, because I thought he would see reason, but he told me last week that he wants a divorce, and…and…he doesn’t want to share custody. He doesn’t want to be Aidan’s daddy anymore.”
The tears in her eyes stream down her cheeks, and as soon as the shock wears off, I take her into my arms, and she lets me. Even though I’m pissed that she kept this quiet for so long—six months?—I hold her, because she’s my sister, and because what the actual fuck? I want to eviscerate Glenn and feed his entrails to crows. If he were at least a little interesting, I would write an exposé about him and crush his feeble life, but he’s the kind of pen pusher who only gets steamed up about having the wrong color pen. And, imbecile that he is, he thinks blue ink is better than black.
“That fucking fuck,” Maisie rages, “I’m going to murder him. Actually murder him,” which pretty much sums up the way I feel too. Not only did he dare mess with our sister, but he rejected our nephew too. Our nephew who is innocent and sweet and loving to the people in his circle. Our nephew who struggles with being a round shape in a world that is only interested in squares. He poses challenges, Aidan, but he’s worth every single one of them.
I feel another pang of guilt from the knowledge that I’ve stayed away for too long. I should have known there was a problem. Then again, Maisie apparently didn’t know, so maybe Mary is just that good at keeping secrets.
“Glenn’s ignored him. Ever…since…we found out he’s on the spectrum,” Mary says, bursts of words breaking through her tears. “And it only makes Aidan’s meltdowns worse. Glenn’s never once…talked to any of his therapists. Or tried to understand. He called him…I don’t want to say it. He says he’ll pay child support, but he doesn’t even…want…visitation. His parents have tried to talk to him, but he won’t listen. He doesn’t…he doesn’t care. His company is opening an office in northern Virginia, and he wants to move. He says it’ll be best to make a clean break.”
Tears are streaming down her face now, and I don’t know what to do or say. This isn’t the Mary I’ve always sought to impress, the one who makes me feel I come up short. My sister is broken.
Not on my watch.
“You don’t need him, Mary,” I say. “I’ve never liked him.”
She snorts through her tears. “You don’t say.”
“Neither have I,” Maisie says. “He’s always been a controlling bastard. Everything in the house had to be just so. Whenever I visited, he always followed me around, fixing everything I touched.”
“I like things to be neat too,” Mary says in a small voice.
“Yeah, but you’re not a raging asshole.”
“You’re just a bit of a stuck-up prude,” I say, giving her a small nudge, because I don’t want her to think we feel sorry for her. We feel enraged for her, but not sorry. “But you’re our stuck-up prude.”
“What am I going to do?” She sounds lost, and it puts me in a panic. There’s only one other time I’ve seen her lose her cool.
But our Maisie in the Middle is ready. “You’re going to move here.”
“To the Outer Banks?” Mary asks, a furrow forming in her forehead.
Maisie would normally roll her eyes at Mary’s very literal mind, but today she just smiles. “To Asheville, silly.”
“I can’t just up and move,” Mary wails. “I have a job. Aidan goes to school.”
“You up and moved from Virginia a couple of years ago,” Maisie says. “Why not now? Besides, it’s summer. He can start fresh at a new school in the fall. If Glenn doesn’t want to share custody, then maybe his parents will want him to visit every other weekend or something. It’ll give him some normalcy.”
“I don’t know.” Mary bites her lip. “I’d need to find a job.”
I scoff. “Like that’ll be hard. You’re a kickass lawyer. Any firm in Asheville would be overjoyed to have you. They’d be bowing at your feet. All hail Queen Mary, pusher of papers and suer of nonpayers.”
“I’ll ask the lawyer we work with at the shelter if she knows of any firms looking to hire,” Maisie says firmly. “We’re going to figure this out, Mary. Together.” She glances at me, her eyes hopeful. “Maybe we can convince Molly to find a new job here instead of looking somewhere else. The great O’Shea sister diaspora can finally come to an end.”