Page 101 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
What a lucky baby. He or she would have devoted parents and adoring grandparents. I was glad that Beau and Sabrina would never be put through the mess that Everett’s mother was dragging me through.
“Coby, you ready?” Michael asked as he popped one last bite into his mouth.
Coby nearly came off his chair. “Is it time to go to the park?”
Michael nodded and stood. “Let’s do it.”
“Have fun.” I kissed Coby’s hair before he climbed off his chair and rushed to the door to put on his shoes.
Mom and I cleared a few plates while Michael secured Pickle to his leash, but the moment the door clicked shut, we sat back down and wasted no time cutting to the chase.
“Okay. What did Stuart say?” Dad asked.
Hunter clasped my hand as I started the recap of my attorney’s message.
“To start, we all need to be at the courthouse before eight thirty on Monday morning. Stuart wants us in our seats and ready so that when the judge starts the proceedings at nine, we’re not rushing in or out.”
Dad nodded. “We’ll be there before eight.”
The doors wouldn’t even be open until eight, but since I’d be there early too, they could keep me company on the sidewalk.
“What else?” Beau asked.
“You’ve all had your preliminary meetings with Stuart. He wanted me to remind you to stick to honesty. Don’t try and memorize a speech, just speak from the heart. Tell them what kind of a mother I am and your honest opinion of how Coby would react if he was placed with Eleanor.”
“He’d be miserable,” Mom said, shaking her head. “His home is here. He has no business living in Michigan.”
And he had no business living with Eleanor Carlson.
Eleanor had made quite an impression during our court-mandated interactions this past month. Basically, she’d proven she was a nasty bitch without a loving, nurturing, playful or grandmotherly bone in her body.
The week after I’d received the custody petition, Eleanor and I had appeared before the district judge so he could explain how our case would be handled. Given the small-town nature of Prescott’s court system, it had been a fairly informal meeting. The judge had explained that because this custody petition wasn’t due to parents divorcing, but instead a grandparent requesting custody—not just visitation—the process would be unique.
He’d ordered Coby to be evaluated by a child psychologist in Bozeman. He’d ordered Eleanor to present any evidence deeming me an “unfit” parent. And he’d ordered both of us into mediation to determine if we could come to an agreement outside the courtroom.
Eleanor had barely looked at me during that first court appearance. And the few times we had made eye contact, I had been met with an angry glare. Stuart had done all of the talking on my behalf and I’d just sat there for the thirty-minute meeting, trying my best not to cry.
The mediation had gone even worse.
Eleanor had refused to budge an inch on her petition. She was asking for Coby to live with her in Michigan for six months. Six months. She’d sat in silence as the mediator had tried to convince her to compromise on something more reasonable. But every time, Eleanor had just said no, then shot me her evil snarl.
Finally, after three hours, the mediator had given up.
“Did Stuart have the psychologist’s final report?” Dad asked.
I nodded. “Yes, and it all came back fine. She called Coby a ‘delightful and happy little boy.’ Stuart thought that with the psychologist’s report, plus t
he fact that Eleanor doesn’t have any evidence proving I’m an unfit parent, she won’t get the custody she’s after. But . . .”
“Uh-oh,” Mom muttered.
This was the part of the recap I didn’t want to give. “Stuart was very honest with us today. There’s a good chance the judge will grant her some time. Maybe a weekend a month. Maybe a month around the holidays. Judge Tubor is going to be fair, but at the end of the day, Eleanor is Coby’s grandparent. If it’s in his best interest to see her, then the judge will allow it.”
“But it’s not in his best interest!” Mom flew off her chair. “How can bringing in anyone related to that monster be in his best interest? I don’t care if Eleanor is Coby’s grandmother. She is Everett’s mother. Period. The last thing my grandson needs is to be confused about his biological father. Coby knows nothing of Everett and it should stay that way until he’s older. This is . . . this is fucking ridiculous!”
Mouths around the table fell open. I could count on three fingers the times Mom had ever said the f word in my presence and the curse didn’t sound right in her sweet voice.
“Mom, really?” Beau said, stifling a laugh. “Please don’t ever say that again.”
