“This is Lucy speaking.” I almost never answer unknown numbers calling my phone, but I’m on edge today since my ex came to pick up Wyatt. Something seemed off with Nick—more than usual, I mean.
It’s bad enough I have to steel my features so Wyatt doesn’t see my fear when he has to go with his father for visitation…when Nick decides to show up, that is. But today, Nick was on edge and his eyes looked scary. So, yeah. I pick up the phone for the weird number.
“Lucy…this might seem strange. I’ve got a little boy here who told me this is your phone number?” The woman on the other end of the line sounds friendly, but concerned. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I see goosebumps rise on my arms despite the heat.
“Wyatt? Where are you? Who is this calling?”
“My name is Patty Haute. I was out for a run and saw your little guy all alone in the back seat of a car.”
“Oh, god! Where are you? I’m on my way.”
It’s almost 90 degrees outside. I can’t imagine why Wyatt would be alone in the car. What is Nick thinking? Usually Nick’s antics are aimed at bothering me and making my life hard. I’m outside before Patty answers me.
“I just want you to know I called the police and they’re on their way here. The doors to the car were all locked with the windows up, so I smashed the passenger window in order to get Wyatt out of the car.”
I start sobbing uncontrollably as she speaks. She’s so calm! How can I remain calm? “Can I talk to Wyatt? Can I hear his voice?”
“Sure, Lucy. Wyatt? Buddy? Your mom is on the phone.” There’s a crinkling sound and I hear my little guy babbling something and my entire body exhales. He’s okay.
“Mom! This lady broke the window! She did it with a brick! Is she a crook?”
“No, sweetie. She’s a hero.” My body is shaking now as the adrenaline pulses through me. I’m not sure whether I should drive.
“A hero! Like She-Ra! Do you know He-Man?”
I sit down on the curb next to my car, trying to think. “Can I talk to Miss Patty again?”
“Hi again, Lucy. I’m right here with Wyatt and I can hear the police coming right now. Still no sign of … well, still no sign of whoever’s car this is where Wyatt was left alone like that.”
“Nick,” I mutter. “Wyatt’s father. It’s his visitation day.”
“Ah,” Patty says. “You don’t need to say any more. Well, hey, we’re on the South Side on 22nd Street, just a little back from East Carson. You know, by the bridge?”
“Are you shitting me?” Patty found my kid locked in a hot car along the strip of bars where college students spend their weekends binge drinking. I’m backing out of my parking spot before she can answer, heading away from my apartment toward the party scene where my kid was apparently left unattended so his dad could tie one on with some hot co-eds.
“Hey, Lucy, I’m going to have to go answer questions with these officers, all right? Are you on your way?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Don’t rush, Lucy. Everything is okay.”
She hangs up and I try to rein in my crying while I drive. I don’t notice the traffic, am not aware of myself navigating through Pittsburgh’s Oakland neighborhood. This is not how I imagined my life would turn out, spending every day wondering what my ex will do to ruin my life. But I can’t dwell on that now. I need to think about my four-year-old, how scared he must be.
Maybe that’s not true. If he thought Patty was She-Ra he mustn’t be too worked up. I drag my palms down my cheeks as I wait to turn onto the Birmingham Bridge. If I’m going to have to talk to cops, I need to have my wits about me. Usually, Nick manages to twist these incidents so that I look insane. Like he’s a stand-up guy and I’m a hysterical, over-protective idiot. The police usually take Nick’s side.
I blow out a breath and remember it wasn’t me calling the cops this time. Patty is a witness to this. An ally. Maybe this is the day I finally rid myself of Nick. I laugh at the folly of that fantasy. It will never be this easy to get rid of him. But I can’t focus on long-term right now.
When I turn onto 22nd Street I see all kinds of flashing lights. A firetruck is there, along with cop cars and an ambulance. I stop my car in the middle of the street and run toward the chaos. When an officer tries to stop me, I can’t help but scream. “That’s my son over there. Wyatt!!!”
At the sound of his name, he turns from where he’s investigating the front of the firetruck and grins at me, waving. “Mom! They gave me a fireman hat! To keep!”
I crumple in the arms of the police officer holding me back, relieved to lay eyes on my unharmed son. I don’t really register their questions as the police try to piece together what happened, and soon there are teams of officers entering each bar nearby to look for Nick.
The police won’t let me over to Wyatt until I show them my license, and explain repeatedly that I am his mother. It’s hard to concentrate as the questions pour in and I laugh maniacally when one of them asks how Nick managed to get partial custody.
One of the firefighters walks Wyatt over toward me and I run over to scoop my son into my arms, covering him with kisses as he squirms to get away from me. “Mom! I was gonna honk the siren!”
The police officer clears his throat and says I have to answer more questions, and Wyatt seems desperate to get back over to the flashing lights on the fire truck. “It’s okay, ma’am,” the firefighter says, reaching for Wyatt. “We’ll hang on to him for now.”
I nod and reluctantly hand him over as I prepare to review my life history with the police officer. Again. How many more times will I have to do this, I wonder, before they stop letting Nick have contact with us? I pull out my phone and search for the email with the current custody order as I explain that Nick actually showed up for his overnight visit for once.
It seems like ages since I left him and used the free lawyer from the women’s center to draft this initial custody agreement. I’ve been scrimping and saving ever since, trying to pay for a new lawyer. I answer the police officer’s questions robotically, give him all the information about my address, the name of our case worker with child protective services, all of it.
“I don’t have to let Wyatt go with him, right?” A surge of panic pounds through me as I look at the custody order and imagine having to hand my child to Nick after this. The officer sighs and I start shaking my head. “No. No, no, no I won’t do it. I’m not going to let him see Wyatt. You can’t make me do this!”
He pats me on the arm and tells me he’s sorry things have to be this way. “Ma’am, why don’t you have a seat? There’s going to be some paperwork. Have you heard about an emergency custody order?”
I wipe my nose and try to pull myself together. If I want Wyatt to keep thinking this is a fun experience climbing in a truck, then he can’t see me looking a mess. “What do I need to do? For the emergency custody?”
The officer gently places a hand on my arm. “How about you sit on the curb here? I’ve got a call in for someone to come talk to you, okay?”
I sink to the curb on shaky legs, trying to focus on the deep breathing I use with my clients. Eventually I notice the short-haired woman sitting next to me on the curb. “I’m Patty. Are you Lucy?” She smiles.
I nod, and she does the most amazing thing. She wraps me into a tight hug. “It’s all right, Lucy. I’m here and it’s going to be all right.”
I don’t mean to cry into this stranger’s shoulder, but I can’t seem to control my central nervous system anymore. “Thank you,” I repeat as she pats my back and tells me not to worry. I shake and I sob and she just rubs my back until I start to feel like a human. Eventually I look up in time to see my ex being dragged kicking and hollering from a dive bar up the block. He’s cuffed and shoved into the back of a patrol car while Wyatt is busy pushing every button on the console of the fire truck. I feel relief knowing he doesn’t have to see his father like that.
Patty stays seated next to me as the police officer hands me a stack of paperwork, explaining that I’ll need to take it all to family court and file for emergency custody of Wyatt. “I can tell you right now that Nick will spend at least tonight in the county lockup,” he says, pointing at the current custody order. “Looks like you have until Wednesday to get that handled before he has visitation again.”
Patty places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Do you have someone to go with you to help file the paperwork?”
I search my mind, mentally calculate the amount I have in my “get a lawyer” fund. I’m nowhere near the four-figure retainer I need for the lawyer I really want, but I tell myself I can beg her to take payments. I nod to Patty. “I have someone.” I take a few shaky breaths and try to extract myself from this kind stranger letting me snot all over her t-shirt. “I’m so sorry,” I start to say again, but Patty holds up a hand.
“Hey, none of this is your fault, right? I’m glad I could be here to help Wyatt.” I nod, glancing over her shoulder to make sure my son is still occupied with the firefighters. I hear those words all the time since leaving Nick, that none of this is my fault. But I’m the one who fell for him, had a baby with him, stayed with him too long. I brought this all on and I have to figure out how to get past it.
Patty pats my arm. “You’ve got my number and I’ve got yours. I’ll call you tomorrow and check in.” I notice the wet stains from my tears on Patty’s t-shirt, which reads Ask me about my soccer team. I snort out a laugh. I haven’t gotten to play soccer in years, not since before Wyatt. God, I love playing soccer. Loved?
I swallow and gesture at her shirt. “What’s up with your soccer team?”
She grins. “Oh! Great question! What do you do on Wednesday nights?”