Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

Swallowing my rage, I started up the steps so I could finish tucking London in.

In bed, her eyes were red and swollen, and she barely looked at me.

Later that night, for the first time in years, she wet the bed.

In the days following our discussion with London, she was noticeably subdued and spent even more time in her bedroom than usual. The bed-wetting continued; not every night, but two more times, and she no longer wanted to read Two by Two before going to sleep. While she let me kiss her goodnight, she no longer reached up to put her arms around my neck for a hug.

On Marge’s recommendation, I spoke to her teacher at school about what was going on between Vivian and me. The teacher assured me she hadn’t noticed anything amiss, other than a recent incident at the drinking fountain. London had somehow spilled water on her blouse one morning, and immediately burst into tears. She was inconsolable, and resisted both the teacher’s and her classmates’ attempts to comfort her.

My daughter, in other words, was struggling. After her piano lesson on Thursday, I spontaneously suggested we go out for ice cream, but her reaction was tepid. I finally persuaded her to go, but she barely touched her ice cream on the drive home, oblivious to the mess the melting cone made in the car. Later that evening, as she was playing with her Barbies, I overheard her talking to herself as she leaned young Barbie toward Ken.

“I don’t want to live with Mommy in Atlanta,” Barbie said to Ken. “I want to live here with Daddy. Daddy is fun and we go on date nights and he lets me cook, too. And I want to play with Bodhi every day and see Nana and Papa and Auntie Marge and Auntie Liz.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep, replaying the scene that London had enacted over and over in my head. Marge was right, I thought. Emboldened, I called Taglieri the following morning, making it clear to him that I was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that London lived with me.

That same day, my Realtor called to let me know that I’d received an offer on the house.

“Well, you’ve certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Taglieri said. It was Wednesday, five days since I’d conveyed my instructions to Taglieri, and he had called me into his office to discuss the response. I fidgeted in my seat as he went on. “I got a letter from Vivian’s attorney yesterday.”

“And?”

“If you choose to fight her on the custody issue, it’s going to get very ugly. Basically, the attorney warned me that they’re going to aggressively pursue a claim that you’re an unfit father.”

I blanched. “What does that mean?”

“For starters, they want to bring in a psychologist to evaluate London, and do an assessment of her needs and preferences. I mentioned that as a possibility to you early on, if you remember. London’s so young, I’m generally of the opinion that it’s of limited use, but depending on the psychologist they use, they’re hoping to submit a report that bolsters their claims. Some of the allegations are frivolous. They’re claiming that you don’t feed London a healthy diet-that you sometimes feed her sugary junk food for dinner, for instance, or that your failure to get her to dance class resulted in her getting kicked out. But there are other claims that the psychologist might explore on a deeper level.”

“Like what?” I felt slightly nauseous as Taglieri went through the possibilities.

“That you’re forcing London into a relationship with your new girlfriend, Emily, before she’s ready.”

“Emily’s son Bodhi is London’s best friend!”

“I hear you. And hopefully, the psychologist will confirm that. But you never know until they file their report with the court.” He paused. “There are also more serious allegations in the letter-that you purposely endangered London by pressuring her to ride her bike down a hill, knowing she was still inexperienced and couldn’t handle the challenge. Also that you failed to contact Vivian right away and that you purposely minimized London’s injuries when talking to Vivian to cover up for your ineptitude.”

“That’s… that’s not the way it happened!” I stammered, feeling myself flush. “Vivian knows it was an accident. She knows I’d never purposely endanger my daughter!”

Taglieri held up his hand. “I’m just letting you know the substance of the letter. But there’s one more thing, and you’re going to have to stay calm, all right?”

I squeezed my hands into fists, feeling the veins at my temples throb.

“In the letter,” Taglieri went on, “the lawyer mentions that you have ‘date nights’ with your daughter. That she gets dressed up in an adultlike fashion and that the two of you go out to romantic destinations.”

“So?”

“Russ…” Taglieri gave me a pained look. “It’s disgusting, but the lawyer is suggesting that your relationship with London might be unhealthy, if not outright inappropriate…”

It took me a second to grasp the implication. When it hit, it took my breath away.

Oh, God… Vivian wouldn’t do this… not in a million years would she do something like this…

I actually felt light-headed, black spots swimming at the edge of my vision. I was mortified, repulsed, and furious-but even those terms weren’t strong enough to describe the way I was feeling.

“It was only innuendo,” Taglieri cautioned, “but the fact that it was mentioned in the letter at all troubles me. At the very least, it signals that they’re prepared to paint a very negative, if not downright sickening, picture of you.”

I barely processed Taglieri’s words. Vivian wouldn’t do this… How could she even hint at something like this…?

“I’m going to get on the phone with the attorney later, because we can’t just ignore these kinds of implied threats. It’s an attempt to intimidate you, and it’s also incredibly unprofessional. At the same time, it gives us a sense of just how far Vivian might go to get custody. And if it goes to court, I want to emphasize that you never know what a judge is going to decide.”

“What do I do? I know London wants to live with me…”

“Like I said, let me talk to the attorney. But what would be best, as I told you early on, is for you and Vivian to work it out. Because, as your attorney, I can’t say I feel optimistic about your chances when it comes to winning this thing.”

For the rest of the day, I staggered around as if I’d received a massive body blow.

I didn’t go to work. I didn’t go home. I didn’t visit Marge or Liz, or drop by my parents’ place.

In my speechless fury, in my horror, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Instead, I texted Emily and asked if she could pick London up from school and watch her until I got back into town. She asked me where I was and what was wrong, but I couldn’t answer. I need a few hours alone, I texted back. Thank you.

Then, getting into my car, I started to drive.

Three and a half hours later, I was in Wrightsville Beach, where I parked my car.

The sky was overcast and the wind was bitter. I walked the beach longer than it took me to make the drive, and as I walked, my mind circled from London to Marge to Vivian before starting anew. With it came uncertainty and fear and relentless waves of emotion. I alternated between rage and confusion, heartbreak and terror, and by the time I returned to the car, my cheeks were wind-burned and my soul was numb. I hadn’t eaten all day, yet I wasn’t hungry in the slightest.