The Better Man. Amy Vastine
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groom at a wedding in Paris.
Max had no idea what a guy like Wayne was doing in this dinky office instead of some corner office in a shiny building overlooking Lake Michigan, but he knew the lawyer’s track record with these kinds of custody cases, and that was all that mattered.
“Okay,” Wayne said, opening the file that lay in front of him. “We need to talk about a couple of things before we have our first appearance before the judge. The good news is you’ve consistently paid your child support.”
Max had been willing to pay whatever Katie needed to care for Aidan. The divorce was easy. They’d had little money at the time, so they shared a lawyer. They’d agreed on joint custody, but Katie was the custodial parent. Max was granted visitation, but that hadn’t really happened. As soon as everything was finalized, Katie moved Aidan to Chicago.
Max could have fought her, could have forced her to stay in California, but he hadn’t. Sadly, his only excuse was that it was easier for him to have her gone. He made plans to fly out for visits, but work picked up and he kept pushing the trips back. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years.
Max’s biggest regret was that he had thought his name was on the birth certificate and the money he put in Katie’s bank account made him a better father than his own. There was so much more he could have done and so much time had been wasted.
“I’m fairly certain we can get a judge to consider some form of visitation between appearances even if Mrs. Michaels fights us on it. It would be even better if you two would agree to arbitration or mediation.”
“I’ll do whatever. I don’t think Katie will agree to mediation, though.”
“We’ll ask for that first. I need confirmation from you that her moving was the reason your visitation agreement was not followed. Then we need something to go to the judge with that will cast you in a better light. It also wouldn’t hurt if we had some character witnesses. Friends, family, people who will testify that you’re a good man with every intention of being a good father.”
Character witnesses? His mom was the only family he had, and she was unreliable at best. Friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford. He was always friendly, of course—it was required in his profession. Max made it his job to know his patrons and keep regulars coming back by getting personal. He knew details about their lives only a friend would know, but they knew nothing about him. Did they like him? Everyone liked him. But no one really knew him.
“What if all my character witnesses live too far away?”
Wayne took a breath and held it for a second before exhaling. He held his hands out, palms up. “Then I need you to make some friends. And fast. Because right now, she’s making a fairly strong case that your lack of involvement in your son’s life is because you’re negligent. We need people to tell the judge they know you as someone other than a guy who deserted his kid.”
It felt like a ball of fire exploded in Max’s chest. “I never deserted my son! Katie moved. What was I supposed to do? I had a job and a life in California.”
“Okay, that, right there, you cannot do that in front of the judge or the arbitrator,” Wayne said firmly. “But what I’m hearing you say is, had Mrs. Michaels not left the state, you would have continued visits with your son. Am I right?”
Max wanted to say yes, but the truth wasn’t that simple. Even if she’d stayed, it probably wouldn’t have changed how much time he’d spent—or not spent—with Aidan. He hadn’t deserted his son. He’d let them walk away from him and chosen not to follow.
“I’m sure I would have spent more time with him if he’d lived closer,” Max answered, the heat of his earlier anger slowly fading.
“But was her moving out of state the major obstacle?” Wayne prompted him with a nod of his head.
“Yes?”
“Is that an answer or a question?”
“An answer?”
Wayne sat back in his chair, his lips turned slightly upward. “Don’t do that in court, either. When you answer a question, you need to answer decisively. There can be no doubt. The judge isn’t going to believe someone who sounds like he doesn’t believe himself.”
Max scrubbed his face with his hands. This was going to be tougher than he thought. “I’ll work on that.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Wayne unleashed his full smile. Two rows of perfect, white teeth. “Well, that and make some friends, Max. Quickly.”
* * *
IT WAS A short cab ride back to his condo. The sun had set and the streetlights cast an orange glow on the pavement. It was only a little after seven, but Max was tired. And hungry.
He pulled out his keys and searched for the right one to open the main entrance. Before he figured it out, the door opened and Charlie nearly bowled him over.
“Oh, man, sorry about that!” His hulk of a neighbor stepped back. “Seems like every time our paths cross, I’m running you over. I swear I make my living saving lives, not taking them.”
Max waved off the apology. “Don’t sweat it. It’s my ninja skills. They make it impossible for you to see me coming.”
Charlie’s caterpillar eyebrows scrunched together before lifting along with one side of his mouth. “You’re funny, Floor Three. Ninja skills. That’s a good one.”
Max shrugged and reached for the door.
“Hey, I’m meeting a couple of guys for some dinner and the Hawks game, you wanna tag along?” Charlie offered.
As much as Max wanted to climb those stairs and lock himself inside his condo for the night, Wayne’s voice played in his head. Make friends, Max. Charlie was a nice, upstanding citizen who worked for the city and saved lives daily. Who wouldn’t want someone like that as a character witness?
“Sure. Thanks, man.” Max let the door close and followed a grinning Charlie down the steps.
Make friends, Max. Quickly.
KENDALL POURED TWO glasses of wine with shaky hands as her sister sat at the kitchen table, watching and wondering. Lucy had no idea what kind of bomb Kendall was about to drop. Kendall’s older sister was a realist. She didn’t believe in things like fate or miracles, ghosts or doppelgängers. She was also the rock in Kendall’s life. Strong and sure. It was six-year-old Lucy who told four-year-old Kendall that the tooth fairy wasn’t real, but Lucy was also the first one to drop everything and fly to North Carolina the day the two marines showed up at Kendall’s door to inform her of Trevor’s untimely death.
Lucy plucked the wine glass from her sister’s hand. “Okay, dish. What’s going on with you?”
Kendall stepped out of the kitchen and tiptoed down the narrow hallway, allowing her a clear view of Simon on the couch in the family room, snuggling the snowy white stuffed seal his aunt had given him for making it through the entire school day. The television was a tad too loud, but she didn’t ask him to turn it down since what she had to say wasn’t for his ears, anyway. The little boy giggled at the antics of the cartoon puppies. It made Kendall smile to see him so content. His moments of peace were hers, as well.
That warm fuzzy feeling didn’t last, though. As soon as she sat down across from her older sister, the ball of anxiety inside her chest pushed against her ribs and made it hard to breathe. “So, the guy Simon and I saw last week...” she whispered.
Lucy leaned in. “The one who looked like Trevor?”
Kendall nodded and took a sip of wine. “I saw him today.”
“This is about seeing Trevor’s freaky clone?”
The sound