Nick looked at the address on his sticky-note then checked the rusted modular in front of him. It sat on the edge of a vacant lot sandwiched between a recycling plant and a junkyard. A sagging chain-link fence bordered the property on one side, weeds twining through it. A brick warehouse with boarded windows occupied the opposite side of the street.
He looked in his rearview mirror, tempted to turn around, but he’d made an appointment.
Stepping onto the oil-sheened street, he was accosted by the stench of burnt plastic. He approached the building—a mobile home-like structure with metal siding and yellowed curtains—and climbed the rickety stairs. He paused on the stoop, inhaled, then knocked. Heavy footsteps approached, followed by a screech as the door eased open.
A man who appeared to be in his midforties with a paunch belly and deep scowl lines appeared. He wore his gray-streaked hair in a loose ponytail.
“You Nick?” The man’s breath smelled like garlic. With his lips bunched, he scrutinized Nick—from his leather loafers to his collared shirt.
Nick swallowed, nodded, and extended his hand.
They shook.
“I’m Mike Fermin, founder and president of Fathers’ Rights United.” He moved aside, the floorboards creaking beneath his heavy boots. “Come in.” He motioned to a metal folding chair positioned in front of a desk covered in paper, Styrofoam coffee cups, and Chinese take-out containers.
Ducking to avoid a strip of flypaper dangling from the ceiling, Nick followed him across the room and took a seat.
“So.” Lowering to his chair with a grunt, Mike leaned back rested his hands on his stomach. “Your ex-wife’s giving you grief and you’re tired of playing the fool.”
“I’m trying to get custody.”
“Full?”
Nick nodded. “It’s been a long go, but I think we’re finally getting somewhere. At least, I hope. They can only drag this thing on so long, right?”
“You’d be surprised. You both undergo a court ordered eval?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get any warm and fuzzies from the psychologist.”
He studied Nick for a long moment, his dark eyes narrowed under bushy brows. “It’s unlikely the judge will rule in your favor. You know that, right? And they’re liable to slam you with her legal fees.”
When Nick didn’t respond, Mike leaned back and crossed his arms. “Sorry, man. Just telling you like it is. Judges don’t like dads. Trust me, I know. Speaking from experience here.”
This wasn’t the pep talk Nick had been hoping for. But he wouldn’t be deterred, no matter what this man said. Jeremy needed a dad. Needed to know his father still loved him—loved him enough to fight for him.
“You got a lawyer, I bet.” The man’s gravelly voice cut into Nick’s thoughts.
Nick nodded.
“Money-sucking leach, am I right? Scheduling then rescheduling court dates, stringing you along on your dime.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk. “That’s what they do, you know. Lawyers don’t want to go to court, don’t want to settle, either. Because then their money stream runs dry. I’ve been fighting this battle for over ten years. Spent near $100,000 in lawyer fees. You know where it got me?”
Nick shook his head.
“Nowhere, that’s where. Nowhere but back in that stupid lawyer’s office listening to Mr. Suit and Tie spouting all his legal mumbo jumbo. In the end, it amounted to nothing but bills sent on fancy paper.”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Like I said, judges almost always rule in favor of the mother unless she’s abusive or emotionally unfit or something. And even that’s hard to prove. You gotta have documentation—a lot of it. And reliable witnesses. Not your momma or nothing. Otherwise it ends up being your word against hers. Still does, half the time.”
“But that’s changing, right? I read an article—”
The man laughed. “That’s why it made the news, man. What’s your ex do? She got a job?”
“No.”
“So she’s a stay-at-home mom.”
“Well, yeah, but she’s living with a guy—her boyfriend.”
“The courts don’t care about that—marriage, partners, friends with benefits—as long as the guy’s not a predator or anything. But even that’s hard to prove.”
Nick tensed and looked to the door. This felt like a waste of time. “How can you help me then?”
A gleam flickered in the man’s eyes. “I can help you take matters into your own hands. Fight fire with fire. Give her and her swanky lawyer a reason to go to court.”
“I’ve already got a court date.”
He waved Nick’s comment aside. “They’ll postpone it. Unless you force their hand.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Gotta hit her where it hurts—her pocketbook. You stop sending checks, I guarantee they’ll get you in court right quick.”
“And in jail. No thanks.”
“For an overnight, maybe. Small price to pay to get an audience. A chance to tell your side.”
“At the expense of my son?”
“I doubt he even knows you’re footing the bills.”
“I don’t do it for recognition.” Nick stood. “I appreciate your time.”
Mike pulled a business card from his desk drawer and handed it over. It looked like it had been printed off his computer. “If you change your mind.”
“Thanks.” Nick tucked the card in his back pocket and moved to the door.
The man followed and stood with his hand on the frame. “I wish you the best. It’s a long climb, but playing nice won’t help anyone.”
“Listen, Mom, can I call you back?” Phone pressed to her ear, Tammy glanced in her rearview mirror. Bags and dark circles shadowed her eyes, thanks to a restless night. The woman from her last OPC call, Penny Mellor, had haunted her dreams. Her hardened face and icy tone, such venom, sitting beside her dying father. But what had bothered Tammy most, wrenching her awake in sweat-dampened clothes, had been when Penny’s face morphed into hers.
Inhaling, Tammy smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. I’m not like that. I’m angry—at Brody. And I have a right to be. But I’m not a hateful, bitter woman.
Yet.
“Bitterness is the worst kind of cancer. It buries its roots deep into one’s heart, until it strangles everything else.”
She shuddered.
“Honey? Are you still there?” Tammy’s mom’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Sorry. What were you saying?” She grabbed a tube of lip gloss from her purse and dabbed it on. She refused to walk into Ellen’s office looking like a haggard has-been. If the woman chose to fire her, so be it. Tammy would take the news with dignity.
“You’re still spending Labor Day weekend with us? I’d love to take the kids school clothes shopping.”
Tammy smiled. “I know you would. And yep, that’s the plan. I’ve got Thursday through Monday off that week.” If not longer, depending on the reason behind Ellen’s meeting.
“Sounds great.”
Tammy hung up, turned her phone on silent, and tucked it into the side pocket of her purse. She stared across the lot at the Heartland Donation Services building.
When she reached Ellen’s office, door ajar, Tammy found her boss on the phone.
Ellen glanced up, her glasses falling to the end of her nose. “I’ve got to let you go. Thank you, Douglas.” She motioned Tammy in. “Have a seat.”
Tammy crossed the room and perched on the edge of her chair. Her stomach rolled. Despite her desire to the contrary, she forced herself to look her boss in the eye.
Ellen removed her glasses and placed them on her desk. “You’ve been with Heartland for some time.”
Tammy nodded.
“And up until recently, you’ve done a satisfactory job.”
Satisfactory? Tammy had been with Heartland ten years—longer than any other OPC on the team. No complaining, picking up slack when others fell short, dealing with Ellen’s emotional outbursts. And the only word Ellen could use was satisfactory?
“I know things have been . . . challenging, since your divorce.”
Again, Tammy nodded.
“My sister is going through a very . . . unpleasant divorce right now, so . . . I appreciate how you’ve managed all your challenges over the past few years.”
Tammy’s eyes about bugged out of her head. Was that an apology? “Thank you, ma’am.”
“I also appreciate your level of compassion and sensitivity to our donor families. And, for the most part, your ability to work well with hospital staff.”
Wow, another completely unexpected accolade. What had changed Ellen’s perceptions? Tammy had been certain the woman hated her.
Ellen cleared her throat. “We’ve received a grant for increased community awareness. I want someone familiar with our needs, area hospital staff, and the common concerns voiced by the public, to facilitate this endeavor.” Ellen studied Tammy for a moment. “And I don’t feel Yvonne is qualified or experienced enough to take on the additional responsibility alone, at least, not yet. I would like her to report directly to you. I’d also like you to help update our training materials and the information packets we distribute to various organizations.”
Tammy’s jaw went slack. “Are you offering me the position?”
“Temporarily, yes. It will be less pay, but the hours should be . . . more conducive to your current situation.”
“How long do you see this new position lasting?”
Ellen tapped a finger on her chin. “A year.” She paused. “I’ll need an answer by the first.” Ellen grabbed the phone receiver and swiveled her chair so that her shoulder faced Tammy.
Was this a gift from God? An answer to prayers? Finding childcare for a nine-to-five would be easy, and with this being a temporary position, she she’d have plenty of time to find someone to watch her kids on an on-call basis, once she resumed her normal duties. Though her direct involvement with donor families would be limited, maybe even nonexistent, this would only be temporary. She wouldn’t have to give up her ministry to donor families forever.
And there’d be no need to move to Dover, no need to leave Nick.
But could she afford it?
The following Sunday, she arrived to church early, needing time to pray. To think. The kids were at Brody’s for the weekend. As usual, he’d been late picking them up. And this time, Tammy had lost it, initiating a screaming match in front of the kids, hurting them in the process. The words spoken by Regina some time previously played through Tammy’s mind, as they had often since their encounter:
“Bitterness is the worst kind of cancer. It buries its roots deep into one’s heart, growing like a parasitic vine, until it strangles everything else.”
Am I bitter, Lord? Is that why I’m so easily irritated? Why Brody gets me so angry, I could spit? Or scream, as she had Friday evening. This isn’t who I want to be, Lord.
Slipping into an empty pew, she opened her Bible onto her lap, flipping to the passage she’d read that morning. It was from Luke 6:45. “A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she read the verse a second time, the ending phrase standing out to her. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. She knew she was a child of God. She’d been saved by grace and given everything she needed to live a life that honored Christ. To show the fruits of the Spirit listed in Galatians: love, joy, forbearance. So why didn’t she? Help me to be more patient, Lord. More loving and joy-filled. Not only for me, but for my kids’ sakes.
Closing her Bible, she breathed deeply and straightened against the back of the pew. She startled to find Jenson standing in the aisle beside her, watching with a furrowed brow.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
She smoothed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and nodded. “I’m good. Just doing a little soul searching this morning.” She gave a nervous laugh.
“Oh? Nothing too serious, I hope.”
“Don’t worry.” She waved a hand. “I hid the bodies where no one will find them.”
“Good. I was worried about that.” He glanced at sliver of seat between Tammy and the armrest. “Mind if I sit here?”
“I . . . uh . . .” Would conceding give him the wrong impression? Make him think she was interested? But then, how could she say no? “Not at all.” Tucking her skirt beneath her legs, she scooted over. Well enough over to allow for plenty of room between them.
Jenson sat, closer to her than she liked, and laid his Bible on the other side of him. She scooted again, increasing the distance between them. “So, how’s the realty business going?”
“Good. Great actually.” He went on to tell her of his latest properties, one under contract and an additional one he expected an offer on sometime this week. Then they transitioned to baseball, little league, and Tammy’s kids.
“Tylan’s doing great,” she said. “His swing has really improved.”
“That’s fantastic. You know, I’d love to take him to the batting cages sometime.”
Tammy bristled. “I appreciate the offer . . .” Surely Jenson wasn’t using her kids to get to her? She gave a mental shake of her head, chiding herself for being so distrustful, another negative quality she really needed to work on. Lord, I’m a mess. Regardless, this conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
She looked around. People had begun to meander in, filling in the back rows. The Wyatt family walked by, smiled and waved. The pastor and worship leader stood on the far corner of the stage, talking. Finding no reasonable reason to leave, she opted for the one known to women nationwide.
She stood. “I better use the restroom before service starts.” Which was true enough, considering all the coffee she drank that morning.
“Of course.” Jenson rose, unfortunately, blocking her way. “Before you go, I was wondering if . . . I mean . . . Would you like to go to dinner? Or lunch? Or maybe coffee?”
Tammy suppressed a sigh. She couldn’t dodge this any longer. To do so would be unkind. She sat back down and waited until he’d done the same, then, she swiveled in her seat, facing him. “Listen, Jenson, you’re a great guy.” The moment she said that, his entire body wilted, as if in anticipation of what was to come. “And I’m flattered by your invitation.” How could she say this in a nice way? “I’m not . . . I’m in love with someone else.”
“The man I saw you and your kids with at the restaurant?”
She wasn’t ready to admit such aloud. “I’m so sorry.” She laid her hand over his and offered what she hoped to be a gentle smile. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stood, stepped around him into the aisle, and walked out of the sanctuary, knowing she’d done the right thing but feeling terrible for doing it.