Page 92 of Cut Off
I put both hands over my face.
The first thing that comes out of me is not a sob. It is a sound I don’t recognize, low and ugly. Then the rest of it arrives, quiet because the walls are thin, my shoulders shaking, my breath catching on the way in.
I sit back in my seat, crying, the way you cry when you have to keep it under a certain volume, which is the worst kind.
I’d told him not to fall for me. I’d made it a rule.
He, it turns out, is a man who follows rules.
26
The Chaos
JONAH
For a custody hearing, you wear a tie.
Not a casual tie. Not a “fun” tie. A boring, navy, I-am-a-responsible-adult tie that says nothing about you except that you’ve been told, by a woman with a law degree, that this is the correct noose to wear in front of a family court judge who’ll decide whether your kid gets to keep living in your house.
I’m tying mine in the mirror by the front door because Eli’s using the upstairs mirror with his own Disaster Tie Situation going on, and my mother’s been tasked to solve it. I can hear her up there, patient, saying things like “over, under, through,” while my father stands behind her offering color commentary. “Tom, you’re not helping,” Mom says. “I’m narrating,” Dad says. “Stop narrating,” Mom says.
I exhale. My tie is crooked. I yank it apart and startover.
Gardner—my lawyer, five feet two inches of pure aggression in a pencil skirt—wants us at the courthouse a full thirty minutes early so she can do what she calls “last looks.” That’s lawyer speak for “make sure none of you boneheads have a stain on your shirt or a story you forgot to memorize.” I’ve been rehearsing my talking points for two weeks. Eli’s been rehearsing his answers for two weeks.
God, I wish I could talk to Zoe right now. She’d know how to calm me. She’d know how to make me feel like it’s all going to work out.
She left two days ago to stay at her parents’ house, and I think about her every damn waking moment. But it’s better this way—at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. She’ll move on and follow her dreams without looking back, so that’s how this has to be. Eli’s been okay, calling her a lot, and he enjoys his time with Maddie. He’s sad, but he’s strong. Maddie’s great.
She’s not Zoe, but she’s great.
Those are worries for another day because none of it will matter if I don’t get to keep my kid.
I get the tie right on the third try. I look at myself in the mirror. The man looking back is shaved, combed, dressed up, and looks, frankly, like he’s not slept in a week, which is accurate. There are two gray hairs at my temple that were not there a three weeks ago. I salute them.
The bang on the door is so loud I almost jump out of my dress shoes.
Three quick raps, hard, the kind of knock that carries weight.
My phone’s on the entry table. I pick it up, swipe to Ring, and the live feed pops up.
Two cops on my porch. Uniforms, hats, full kit. And then, when I scroll the camera angle, two more cops, down by the curb, standing by their cruiser. Hands at their belts.
There arefourcops at my house.
I’ve been hit in the face by a slap shot. I’ve been cross-checked into a board hard enough to see Jesus. I have, in my life, taken some hard knocks, and none of them have felt like this. My stomach drops out of my body, all the way down. For one second, I’m genuinely worried I’m going to puke into the umbrella stand.
“Jonah?” It’s Mom’s voice from upstairs. “Was that the door?”
“Got it,” I call back, and the voice that comes out of me is somehow normal.
I look at the Ring feed one more time. I glance at the second car at the curb. I think, very clearly, they brought back-up, and then I think, for whom, and the answer is so obvious it makes me want to lay down on the floor.
I open the door.
“Mr. Holt.” It’s Officer Stevens, and if I thought his face was hard when he came to tell me about Rosie, that was nothing. Today it’s set in stone. It’s the face of a man who’s been told to come do a thing he doesn’t want to do, and has decided to do it clean and quick.
“Officer.” I keep one hand on the door. “What’s going on?”
