Chapter 5: Eleven Pages and a Phone Call at Nine
Diane's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, with a window that looked out over the Rio Grande bosque.
I had sat across from her desk once before, during the divorce, and I remembered thinking then that she was the kind of person who never raised her voice because she never needed to.
She slid a single sheet of paper across the desk toward me.
"Read that."
It was a cease-and-desist letter.
Penelope's name was at the top.
It outlined, in precise legal language, a pattern of harassment: the false welfare report, the unauthorized visit to my home, the deliberate campaign of defamation conducted among family members and community contacts, and the psychological manipulation of a minor child.
It stated that any further contact with my daughter, my home, my employer, or any member of my personal or professional network would result in immediate legal action.
"She'll be furious," I said.
"Yes," Diane said.
"That's partly the point.
Furious people make mistakes."
"What if she ignores it?"
"Then we file.
But I don't think she will, not immediately.
I think she'll try one more thing first." Diane folded her hands on the desk.
"She's going to come to you directly.
She's going to try to negotiate."
"She has nothing to negotiate with."
"She thinks she does." Diane paused.
"Miriam told you Penelope has been talking to people for weeks.
Has she talked to Bella's father?"
I went still.
Bella's father was Marcus.
We had divorced on reasonable terms — he traveled for work, paid his support without complaint, called Bella every Sunday, and sent her gifts for every birthday and holiday.
The doll Chloe had tried to take was from him.
"I don't think so," I said slowly.
"Marcus and my mother never got along."
"That may not matter if she decides he's a useful tool." Diane looked at me directly.
"I want you to call Marcus today.
Before she does.
Tell him what's been happening.
Don't let her version reach him first."
I called Marcus from the parking garage.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Hey.
Everything okay with Bella?"
"Bella's fine.
But I need to tell you some things, and I need you to hear all of it before you react."
I told him everything.
The police call.
The welfare report.
Miriam's phone call.
The eleven pages.
He didn't interrupt once.
When I finished, there was a long silence.
"She called the police on my daughter," he said.
"Over a doll."
"Yes."
"And then she showed up at the house and told Bella she'd be in trouble if she didn't open the door."
"Yes."
Another silence.
Then: "What do you need from me?"
"Right now, just a written statement.
What you know about Bella's home life.
Her wellbeing.
What she's like when you see her."
"I'll have it to you by tonight," he said.
"And if Penelope contacts me, I'll let you know immediately."
"Thank you."
"She's my daughter too," Marcus said.
"Nobody gets to use her like that."
I drove back to the office.
Diane's letter went out by courier that afternoon.
By six o'clock, Penelope had received it.
By six-fifteen, she had called Genevieve.
I know this because Genevieve called me at six-twenty, her voice shaking with a kind of anger that sounded more like fear.
"What did you do?" Genevieve said.
"Mom is — she's not okay.
You sent her a legal letter?
Over a family argument?"
"Over a false welfare report and a harassment campaign," I said.
"Yes."
"You're destroying this family."
"I didn't destroy anything," I said.
"I just stopped paying for it."
Genevieve hung up.
I made dinner.
Bella helped me tear the lettuce for the salad, very seriously, piece by piece.
"Mommy," she said, "are you still sad?"
I looked at her.
"No, baby.
I'm okay."
She handed me a piece of lettuce.
"Good," she said.
"Because I made it extra small so it would be perfect."
I put it in the bowl.
May you like
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"It is perfect," I said.
