Patrick is waiting in my yard when I pull back into my driveway. He’s talking before I even get out of the truck.
“What does she want?” he asks. “Grace is a mess. Do you think she’s going to try to fight the termination? The lawyer said it would be impossible.” He’s still spitting questions at me as he follows me into the kitchen.
I toss my keys on the table. “I don’t know, Patrick.”
“Should we get a restraining order?”
“I don’t think you have grounds to do that. She hasn’t threatened anyone.”
He paces the kitchen, and I watch as he seems to grow smaller and smaller. I pour him a glass of water and hand it to him. He downs the whole thing and then takes a seat on one of the barstools. He drops his head into his hands. “The last thing Diem needs is for that woman to be in and out of her life. After what she did to Scotty . . . we can’t . . .”
“She won’t show up here again,” I say. “She’s too afraid of having the cops called on her.”
My comment only heightens his worry. “Why? Is she trying to keep her record clean in case she can take us to court?”
“She lives in a shithole. I doubt she has money to hire an attorney.”
He stands up. “She’s living here?”
I nod. “Paradise Apartments. I don’t know how long she plans to stay.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “This is going to destroy Grace. I don’t know what to do.”
I don’t have any advice for him. As involved as I am in her life, I’m not Diem’s father. I haven’t been the one raising her since she was born. This isn’t my fight, even though I’ve somehow immersed myself in the middle of it.
I may not have legal say, but I have opinions. Strong ones. As much as the entire situation doesn’t have one single positive outcome for all parties involved, the simple truth is that being a part of Diem’s life is a privilege, and Kenna lost that privilege the night she decided her freedom was worth more than Scotty’s life.
Grace isn’t strong enough to face Kenna. Patrick may not be strong enough, either, but Patrick has always made sure to at least pretend to be as strong as Grace needs him to be.
He’d never act this distraught in front of Grace. He saves this side of himself for the moments Scotty’s death gets to be too much. The moments he needs to escape and cry alone in my backyard.
Sometimes I can see them both start to unravel. It always happens in February, the month of Scotty’s birthday. But then Diem’s birthday comes around in May, and it breathes new life back into them.
That’s what Kenna needs to understand. Grace and Patrick are only alive because of Diem. She’s the thread that keeps them from unraveling.
There’s no room for Kenna in this picture. Some things can be forgiven, but sometimes an action is so painful the memory of it can still crush a person ten years down the road. Patrick and Grace get by because Diem and I help them forget about what happened to Scotty long enough for them to get through each day. But if Kenna is around, his death will slap them in the face over and over and over again.
Patrick’s eyes are closed, and his hands are in a point against his chin. It looks like he’s saying a silent prayer.
I lean forward over the bar and try to keep my voice reassuring. “Diem is safe for now. Kenna is too scared to have the cops called on her and too broke to start a custody battle. You’ve got the advantage. I’m sure after tonight she’ll cut her losses and head back to Denver.”
Patrick stares at the floor for about ten seconds. I can see the weight of everything he’s been through settled squarely on his shoulders.
“I hope so,” he says. He heads for the front door, and once he’s gone, I close my eyes and exhale.
Every reassuring thing I just said to him was a lie. Based on what I know of Kenna now—however little knowledge that may be—I get the feeling this is far from over.
“You seem distracted,” Roman says. He takes a glass from me and starts pouring a beer a customer has had to order from me three times already. “Maybe you should take a break. You’re slowing us down.”
“I’m fine.”
Roman knows I’m not fine. Every time I look at him, he’s watching me. Trying to figure out what’s going on with me.
I try to work for another hour, but it’s Saturday night and it’s loud, and even though we have a third bartender on Saturday nights, Roman is right, I’m slowing us down and making it worse, so I eventually go take the damn break.