Three Weeks to Say Goodbye Page 4

  I heard Melissa come down the stairs.

  “It’s them,” she said. “I saw them from upstairs.”

  I nodded.

  “They’re good-looking men,” she said. “I can see why she went out with Garrett.”

  I looked at her, tried to remember the last time she’d made a comment like that.

  “My heart sank when I saw them get out,” she muttered under her breath. “I so wanted to hate them on sight.”

  “You don’t?”

  She shook her head quickly while she patted down her clothes and put on her game face. “I hate why they’re here,” she said. She took my face in her hands. “Remember what we talked about. Stay cool—control your temper. The last thing we want to do right now is to anger them—especially Garrett. We need him to sign the papers. Don’t give him a reason to withhold his signature one second longer than necessary.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  John Moreland smiled broadly when we opened the door. He had a disarming, sloppy smile, but he seemed nervous behind it. He carried a bulging white paper sack in one hand that he seemed to have forgotten he had. It hadn’t occurred to me they would be nervous, too. The fact made me feel better.

  We stepped aside and asked them to come in. Boy, we were gracious. Melissa asked if they wanted coffee. Moreland said he would like a cup. Garrett shook his head sullenly. I couldn’t read him at first. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and his movements and attitude seemed designed to put distance between him and everyone else in the room.

  “Please sit down,” I said, gesturing toward the couch with the coffee table in front of it. I had moved two of our big chairs to the other side for Melissa and me. The chairs were slightly taller than the couch, and I wanted a scenario where Moreland and Garrett would need to sit closely together and look up at us. I’d learned this from business meetings. It gave us a psychological advantage.

  Unfortunately, Moreland didn’t bite on my seating arrangement, and acted as if he hadn’t seen me point to the couch. He sat in one of the chairs. Garrett shambled over to the couch and sat down heavily with undisguised contempt for his father. Or me. Or something.

  Melissa saw the situation the minute she came back from the kitchen. She could either sit in the chair in the dominant position or settle in next to Garrett. Her hesitation was obvious, and I filled it by taking the couch. She had cups on a tray I’d never seen before, which slightly annoyed me. Moreland took his coffee.

  “I brought this for you, a little gift,” he said, handing the bag to me. I looked inside and saw sticky pastries of some kind. I handed the bag to Melissa, and she looked inside, said “Thank you” to Moreland, and went back into the kitchen to put them on a plate, which she brought back out.

  I broke the awkward silence by turning to Garrett, saying, “It’s nice to meet you. You’re a senior this year, right?” Showing I knew a little about him.

  Garrett said, “Yeah, a senior,” with a slight curl of his lip.

  In social situations, Melissa always led the way. I turned to her and saw that despite the smile, her face had drained of blood. She was terrified to speak, to get to the matter at hand. I did my best to carry on, to maintain the slight edge I thought I’d gained by addressing Garrett.

  There was some small talk about the weather (cooling), the traffic on the way to our subdivision (light since it was the weekend). Moreland had a deep sonorous voice with a homey Southern accent. I tried to place it and guessed either Tennessee or North Carolina. He had a way of looking directly at us when he talked that had the effect of putting me at ease. Garrett said nothing. Melissa either.

  “The roads should be fine until the game to night,” I said. “Then it’ll be bumper-to-bumper on I-25 for a while.”

  Moreland smiled knowingly and nodded. “We’ve got season tickets. I haven’t missed the Broncos playing the Raiders in fifteen years. As far as I’m concerned, the Broncos can’t beat them by enough.” He looked at me empathetically, “Tell me you’re not a Raiders fan and I’ve just insulted you.”

  “I’m not a Raiders fan,” I said, wishing for a moment I was.

  “Well,” Moreland said, smiling, “we’ve certainly got that in common. I’ve learned since I came out here to go to school at CU in Boulder how special the Broncos are to those of us who live here. The Broncos are our touchstone, our way of establishing a common bond and interest. Even people who don’t like football follow the Broncos, since a win means everyone will be in a fine mood to start the week and a loss means snarling drivers and grumpy ser vice in the stores.”

  With that, control of the situation ebbed away from me and flowed to John Moreland.

  I tried to take my cues from Melissa, but she wasn’t helping me. Instead, she observed both Moreland and Garrett closely. Mostly Garrett. No doubt she was seeing similarities in his features to Angelina, or perhaps she was trying to imagine him as father material. I noticed Garrett stealing looks at her as well when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. Long, predatory looks that took her in from her feet in sandals, up her bare legs, quickly over her hands in her lap to her breasts under the sleeveless white top and sweater. I tried hard not to let it bother me.

  “I think we should get to it,” I said, probably too abruptly. Enough with the small talk. Enough with the staring at my wife.

  “Yes,” Moreland said, almost sadly.

  Even though no one really moved, it felt as if everyone’s gears shifted, and the room suddenly became sterile. Melissa sat up straighter, as did Moreland. Only Garrett, who continued to lounge on the couch with his arm thrown over the backrest, continued observing something on the ceiling when he wasn’t examining Melissa.

  “We understand,” I said, “you’ve contacted the adoption agency in regard to our daughter Angelina.”

  Moreland nodded.

  “According to Mrs. Perala at the agency, Garrett doesn’t want to sign the papers giving us full custody of Angelina. This came as an unbelievable shock to us. The agency said this was the first time this has ever happened to them. Of course, you can imagine this is something we never even thought possible, that someone could wait eighteen months, then step forward.”

  Garrett wouldn’t meet my eyes. He alternated between studying the ceiling light fixtures and flicking glances at my wife. Moreland was still, but I could tell by a rapid pulsing in his temple he was becoming agitated.

  “Mr. Moreland,” I said, “we love Angelina, and she loves us. We are the only parents she’s ever known. The birth mother selected us from several very deserving couples, and we’ve done everything we can to provide a loving house and family. Look around you. Melissa resigned from her job so she could stay home with the baby and provide full-time care. Melissa is Angelina’s mother.” I didn’t say what should have come next, that I was her father. No reason at this point to alienate Garrett when I had the inkling he was on our side.

  “We hope now that you and Garrett have met us and seen our home that you will consider signing the papers,” I said.

  I liked the way Moreland seemed to listen to me as I spoke, and noted that his eyes swept around the room when I mentioned our home.

  I was encouraged when he said, “You have a very nice home, and I don’t doubt your sincerity.”

  Then it came.

  “But …”

  In my peripheral vision, I could see Melissa squirm. Her hands tightened on the arms of her chair.

  “… we have a different view.”

  Moreland gestured toward Garrett. “My son made a very terrible mistake. I am ashamed of him. His mother, Kellie, is ashamed of him. He is ashamed of himself. This is a black mark on our family, this behavior. He had some bad friends at the time, and they encouraged this kind of thing. They are no longer his friends. That’s why we sent him away for a while. We wanted him to get his head on straight, grow up into a man. But Garrett, and our family, can’t avoid our responsibilities or th
e consequences of his stupid actions while he was younger. It is a situation we must deal with ourselves, within our family. We want to raise our child in our family.”

  I couldn’t find words to speak. Our child.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McGuane,” Moreland said, leaning forward in the chair and looking from Melissa to me and back to Melissa, “I’m a federal judge, as I think you know. I’m known as a fair judge, and a tough one. I believe in accountability and being responsible for one’s behavior. If there’s one thing I want to pass along to my son, it’s that there are consequences in life. It’s vitally important that we bear responsibility. Garrett is responsible for the conception and birth of this baby.

  “Please don’t misunderstand what I’m saying,” Moreland said in a conciliatory tone. “I have nothing against you or your wife. It is obvious you love the baby, and you’ve provided a wonderful home in a wonderful neighborhood. I am sorry this has to happen. I am truly, truly sorry. We didn’t know about our granddaughter until I found the letters from the adoption agency in Garrett’s room. He hadn’t even opened them,” he said, shooting a withering look at his son, who rolled his eyes. Then back to us: “Surely there are other babies?”

  He sounded almost reasonable in his words if not his intent.

  Come on, Melissa, I wanted to plead. Say something here.Instead, she studied Moreland with cold but curious intensity.

  “Mr. Moreland,” I said as softly as I could, “what you’re asking is not possible. Angelina has been our daughter for nine months, and that doesn’t include the seven months prior to that we were with the birth mother awaiting delivery. We’ve bonded as a family. I don’t need to point out that during all of that time we never even knew Garrett, or you. If you had concerns, we would have reached out to you. To come here now is just unreasonable.”

  Moreland nodded in sympathy. He said, “I know this is going to be hard for you. I also know the financial outlay you’ve made.”

  I felt myself begin to squirm.

  “I’ve done some research, Mr. and Mrs. McGuane. I know that it likely cost you over $25,000 to transact the adoption. I know Mrs. McGuane is no longer working outside the home, which is admirable. And Mr. McGuane, I know that a salary of $57,500 is not very much to maintain a house like this and a family. I’m sympathetic to both of you, but we know how deeply you are in debt, and that is not a pleasant place to be. I’m prepared to cover all of your costs, plus what it would take to adopt another child.”

  I felt violated by his knowledge. Our careful staging for the meeting was gone just like that. Poof. I shot a look at Melissa. Her face was an alabaster mask. Her eyes were pinched and hard, a look I’d never seen. A look that emboldened me and terrified me at the same time. I was amazed she had remained silent. I’m amazed I didn’t leap across the table at him.

  “It’s not about money,” I said. “It’s much, much too late for that. Maybe if you’d come to us before Angelina was born…”

  “I didn’t know,” Moreland said, his voice rising with anger, but not at us. He looked at his son with pure contempt. “Garrett was out of the country with his mother for several months. He never told us anything about it. If he had, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  Melissa said to Garrett, “Where were you?” Her voice was leaden.

  Garrett didn’t seem to realize she was talking to him.

  “He was in the Netherlands and England visiting relatives,” Moreland answered for him. “Kellie’s extended family and just being tourists. We learned of this,” he gestured to us, “only two months ago.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Garrett roll his eyes.

  “Did you know she was pregnant?” Melissa asked Garrett.

  Garrett looked at Melissa with a half smile and shrugged in a way that said, “What ever.”

  I leaned forward in my chair until I had Moreland’s attention, and said, “This is not about you. It’s not about your son. It’s not about us. This is about Angelina and what’s best for her.” Trying to drive a wedge between father and son.

  Moreland paused a long time before saying, “It is about the baby, I agree. But the baby is part of my family, our family, despite my son’s behavior. The baby is our blood and our responsibility, not yours. We must right this wrong.”

  It was later when I realized Moreland, the entire time he was in our home, never once said “Angelina.” Always the baby.

  I looked at Garrett. He was ignoring us, his eyes fixed on Melissa, who had caught him this time and stared back. The intensity of their gaze seemed to sizzle through the air. I couldn’t stand it another second.

  “Garrett,” I said.

  Nothing.

  “Garrett.”

  Slowly, he turned his head toward me. Contemptuous.

  “I have to ask you a question.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Do you really want to be a father? Do you really want to change your life right now? Do you realize how much work it is to be a father, to care for and support a baby?”

  Moreland spoke for him once again. “Kellie and I will raise the baby. She will be our granddaughter and our daughter. Garrett will go to college to become a lawyer or a doctor, and when he’s married and has a home, he will take the child in with him.”

  “I asked Garrett,” I said.

  “He has nothing to say about it,” Moreland said, heat in his voice. “We have discussed this in our family, and that is the way it will be.”

  Garrett watched me as his father spoke to read my reaction.

  “So where is your wife in this?” Melissa asked Judge Moreland. “Why didn’t she come with you?”

  “She was too uncomfortable,” Moreland said, tight-lipped.

  “She doesn’t want to meet us?” Melissa asked, bitterness in her voice.

  Moreland flushed and looked at his shoes. “She’s embarrassed.”

  It sounded like a lie.

  He changed the subject, saying, “I’d like to see the baby.”

  Melissa said, “She’s asleep.”

  “I won’t wake her.”

  Melissa looked to me with horrified desperation.

  “Maybe it would be best not to see her now,” I said.

  “I want to see her. I want to see what she looks like,” he said firmly.

  Standoff. And no one spoke for a full minute. My insides churned, and I realized the palms of my hands were icy cold and dry. The confidence I’d had when the meeting began was gone. It seemed as though the room we sat in had tilted slightly and become unfamiliar.

  Melissa sighed. “I’ll take you up there.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. Were we conceding anything? I wasn’t sure. Maybe Melissa thought if Moreland saw Angelina asleep in her crib, in her room, in our house, he would soften to our position. After all, the discussion so far had been abstract. Seeing the baby might help us.

  “Sure,” she said.

  I turned to Garrett. “Do you want to go?”

  Garrett shook his head. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’d like a Coke or something, though. Do you have a Coke?”

  He didn’t want to see her. That buoyed me. While Melissa led Moreland up the stairs, I went into the kitchen for the drink. Melissa kept a stash of Diet Coke in the back of the refrigerator. I filled an empty glass with ice from the icemaker and took the can and glass back into the living room. Garrett was standing at the mantel, looking at photos of our wedding, my parents on the ranch, Melissa’s family at their reunion last summer at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs, Angelina as an infant in Melissa’s arms.

  Over the baby monitor, I could hear the door to Angelina’s room open.

  I handed the can and the glass to Garrett. He took the can without a word. That he’d stayed downstairs gave me an opening.

  “You don’t really want to be a father, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “So it’s your father?”

  “He has ideas of his own.”

  “Can you talk him out
of it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Will you try?”

  Garrett looked at me blankly. Something in his eyes disturbed me. It was as if he saw me as someone who couldn’t possibly understand him, and I was not worth an explanation.

  “Just sign the papers,” I said. “There’s nothing your parents can do if you sign them.”

  He smiled that half smile.

  “I’ll do what I can for you if you sign them,” I said, having no idea what I could possibly do for him.

  “My father is very rich,” he said. “I don’t need you.”

  “You might if you sign the papers,” I said, trying to engage him man-to-man again. “Look, we’ve all made mistakes. None of us is perfect. Being a father changes your life, believe me. It’s a good thing, but you need to be ready for it. There’s a lot you need to give up. Your life is no longer your own. You lose your freedom. Plus, it’s the right thing to do, and I think you know that.”

  He nodded while I spoke, and his eyes glistened. He was hearing me, and it seemed like he wanted to hear more. I got the strange feeling, though, that he wasn’t offering me encouragement as much as egging me on.

  Over the monitor, I heard Melissa say, “Don’t touch her.” Her tone startled me.

  “I just want to turn her over and look at her face,” Moreland said.

  “I’ll do it,” Melissa said.

  I could hear Angelina’s covers rustle, and heard a murmur.

  “There,” Melissa said.