Chapter 10: The Reckoning
The protective order was served to Jackson at 4:17 that afternoon.
Patricia's assistant called to tell me.
I was at Ruth's, sitting on the floor of the spare room while Mia showed me how Rosie's button eye worked, pressing it against the doll's face and then letting it fall.
"She needs fixing," Mia said seriously.
"She does," I said.
"We'll fix her."
Jackson called eleven times between four and seven.
I forwarded each one to Patricia and did not listen to the voicemails.
At 7:43, a message came through from a number I recognized as Lorraine's landline.
I forwarded that one too without opening it.
At nine the next morning, Patricia called.
"The signature analysis came back preliminary," she said.
"It's not your signature.
The forensic examiner flagged three distinct inconsistencies in the letter formation.
The district attorney's office has been notified."
I was standing in Ruth's kitchen again.
I seemed to keep ending up in that kitchen.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Jackson's attorney contacted me this morning.
They want to discuss terms."
"Already?"
"The Cassandra communications were more damaging than they anticipated," Patricia said.
"Particularly the voicemail where Lorraine outlines the plan in detail.
That voicemail is very clear, Mrs.
Callahan.
Very specific.
There is no interpretation that helps them."
I sat down.
"What terms are they proposing?"
"Full physical custody to you.
Supervised visitation for Jackson, reviewed after six months.
Lorraine Callahan to have no unsupervised contact with Mia.
Jackson to cover all legal fees." A pause.
"And they want Cassandra's communications kept out of any criminal filing."
"That's not my decision to make," I said.
"That's the DA's."
"Correct.
I told them the same thing." Another pause.
"Jackson also wants to speak with you directly.
Before any agreement is signed."
I looked at the doorway to the spare room.
I could hear Mia singing something to Rosie, a small tuneless song she had invented herself.
"Tell him I'll meet him once," I said.
"With you present.
In your office.
And he says what he needs to say, and then we move forward."
"I'll arrange it."
The meeting was two days later.
Jackson came in without his attorney, which Patricia noted with a brief, neutral look.
He sat across from me at the glass desk and he looked like a man who had not slept in forty-eight hours, which I suspected was true.
He said, "I'm sorry."
I waited.
"I told myself I was keeping the peace," he said.
"That I was managing the situation.
That if I could just keep Mom calm and keep you from fighting, eventually it would settle down." He looked at his hands.
"I told myself that for three years.
And then I started to believe that the problem was you, not her.
And then I stopped being able to tell the difference."
"You forged my name on a legal document, Jackson."
"I know."
"You knew she was planning to use my own fear against me to take my daughter."
"I know." His voice was very quiet.
"I told myself it would never actually happen.
That it was just Mom talking.
That I could stop it before it went anywhere." He looked up.
"I was wrong.
And I know that saying I was wrong doesn't fix what Mia went through."
I looked at him for a long moment.
The man I had married was in there somewhere, underneath the years of choosing his mother's comfort over his daughter's safety.
I could see him.
I just couldn't reach him anymore, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.
"Sign the agreement," I said.
"Be a father to Mia within whatever boundaries the court sets.
And stay away from your mother's plans for the rest of your life."
He nodded.
He didn't argue.
He didn't try to negotiate.
May you like
Patricia slid the preliminary agreement across the desk.
Jackson picked up the pen.
