My respect for Sonia battles against my curiosity. As someone who hates personal questions, I don’t want to pry. On the other hand, I’m sure Sonia will have no problem shutting me down if she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Where’s his father now?”
Sonia perches on the edge of my table, her long legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. She looks down into her tea, swirling the mug slowly in both hands.
“It was an ugly divorce,” she says. “Will was eight, just starting third grade. His father wouldn’t agree on split custody. He worked long hours, weekends too, but he couldn’t stand the thought of me having Will even half the time. He hired a men’s rights attorney, a fucking snake, and they threw everything they could at me. Month after month, drowning me in paperwork and court hearings. Trying to intimidate me. Trying to drain our bank account to the point where I’d hand over my son just to make it stop.”
I stop painting, turning to look at her.
Her face falls into deep lines of exhaustion, remembering the ordeal.
“It was relentless. Vindictive. Irrational. He’d pretend to be willing to come to an agreement if I’d meet him for mediation, but then he’d yank the football away again. I started to worry that even if I could force him to come to terms, he’d never abide by them. He was already flouting the temporary custody agreement, refusing to bring Will back to my house, shutting off Will’s cellphone so I couldn’t call or text. He had family in Saudi Arabia and plenty of job opportunities overseas … I lived in terror that one day he’d take my son and never return.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “That’s awful.”
Sonia nods, anger still burning in her eyes. “It was.”
“Did the judge sort it out?”
Sonia snorts. “Not fucking likely. The system is a stick in the hand of the biggest bully. The lawyers get rich and everyone else gets fucked.”
“What happened, then?”
“A miracle,” Sonia says. “I had Will at home for the weekend. For once his father wasn’t calling and texting, trying to interrupt us, blowing up my phone. I remember thinking that he must be slammed at work. I certainly didn’t believe he was turning over a new leaf—I wasn’t that stupid.”
Sonia’s voice goes low and dreamy as she gazes into her tea.
“Monday morning, I drove Will back to my ex’s house. He was renting a place in Oakland, a little modern bungalow with an attached garage. I parked out front, noticing that all the lights were off in the house, even though I was right on time and he should have been expecting us. I told Will, ‘Wait in the car.’ I must have known something was off. I walked up to the front door, rang the bell, knocked. No answer.”
I swallow, my throat tight with anticipation, even though this all happened years ago.
“I heard this sound. Sort of a low rumble, coming from the garage. I couldn’t have told you what it was, and yet, deep down inside, I already knew. I felt myself walking over, wrenching up the door. Standing still while exhaust billowed out all around me.”
“He was … in the car?”
“That’s right. He had driven home late from some bar. Fell asleep in the garage. Never turned off the engine.”
I let out my breath in a long sigh.
“It was a ‘67 Camaro—his baby. I told him that car would be the death of him if he ever got in an accident on the freeway. I guess I was half right.”
“And that was the end of the custody battle.”
“That’s right.” Sonia nods. “Will came to live with me full-time. Cole even gave me a raise to pay off what I owed my lawyer.”
“He’s generous like that,” I say, my voice coming out faint and slightly strained.
“Oh yes,” Sonia says quietly, her pale blue eyes fixed on mine. “He can be very generous when it suits him.”
Sonia stands up, still holding the tea that has now gone cold in her mug. She only drank half of it.
“I’ll always be grateful to Cole for everything he did for me during that time,” she says. “It was the darkest point in my life.”
She’s walking toward the door, leaving so I can get back to work.
“That’s interesting,” I say.
Sonia pauses in the doorway, looking back at me.
“What’s interesting?”
I swirl my brush through the silvery gray, loading the horsehair with pigment. “I also met Cole on my darkest day.”