Chapter 5 - The Custody Papers
By noon, Marlo had read Preston's petition enough times to memorize the insults.
Financial instability.
Insufficient resources.
Questionable judgment.
Unstable living environment.
Each phrase transformed sacrifice into failure.
The bakery wasn't "unstable."
It was the place where Marlo had rebuilt her life after her marriage collapsed.
The apartment wasn't inadequate.
It was where Poppy slept beneath glow-in-the-dark stars Marlo had glued to the ceiling herself.
And Marlo wasn't incapable of providing medical care.
She was drowning because American medical care could cost more money than a small business owner could earn in years.
But legal language didn't care about context.
It liked boxes.
Income.
Assets.
Insurance.
Housing.
Preston looked excellent in boxes.
Marlo looked exhausted.
That afternoon, she met family-law attorney Lena Brooks.
Lena read the petition without expression.
Finally, she removed her glasses.
"He's built a financial argument."
"Can he win?"
"He can make you miserable."
"That wasn't my question."
"No."
Lena folded her hands.
"He doesn't automatically get custody because he's wealthier. Courts don't auction children to the highest bidder."
Marlo exhaled.
"But," Lena continued, "he's tying financial instability to Poppy's medical needs."
There it was.
The but.
"He'll argue that the stakes are unusually high because of her heart condition."
"He missed three appointments."
"Document them."
"He went six months without calling."
"Document it."
"He forgot her birthday."
"Document everything."
Marlo nodded.
"What about Elias Marchetti?"
Lena's pen stopped.
Marlo almost laughed.
"Apparently everyone does that."
"Does what?"
"Stops moving when they hear his name."
Lena leaned back.
"Why is Elias Marchetti involved?"
"He isn't."
"Good."
"Technically."
Lena stared.
Marlo explained.
When she finished, Lena rubbed her forehead.
"You grabbed Elias Marchetti and pretended he was your boyfriend."
"That's becoming less funny every time someone repeats it."
"It wasn't funny the first time."
"Can it hurt me?"
"If Preston alleges you're exposing Poppy to dangerous people, yes."
"Is Elias dangerous?"
"I don't litigate organized crime."
Marlo's stomach dropped.
"So that's what this is?"
"I said I don't litigate it. I didn't say that's what Elias is."
"Everyone talks around him."
"Because rumors aren't evidence."
Marlo almost smiled.
"You're definitely a lawyer."
"Friday morning. Nine o'clock. Don't be late."
When Marlo returned to the bakery, Elias was sitting at the window table.
No tart.
No coffee.
Just waiting.
"You missed Tuesday by two days," she said.
"I'll recover."
She put her bag down.
"Did you find the investigator?"
"Yes."
Marlo waited.
Elias slid a photograph across the table.
It showed the man from the sedan.
"Name is Victor Saye."
"Who hired him?"
"His company won't say."
"Then this tells us nothing."
"It tells us he's real."
Marlo looked at the photograph.
"Did he request Poppy's medical information?"
"I don't know yet."
"Friday is tomorrow."
"I know."
She sat opposite him.
"Elias, why are you helping me?"
His gaze remained on the street.
"You asked."
"People ask for things every day."
"Not you."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
She leaned forward.
"Then answer this. Why did you start coming here?"
His jaw tightened.
"Apricot tarts."
"That's only partly true. You admitted it."
Elias looked at her.
Marlo waited.
Finally, he said, "I knew someone who knew you."
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
"Who, Elias?"
Before he could respond, Poppy came downstairs.
She stopped when she saw him.
"Mr. Apricot."
Marlo's eyes widened.
Elias looked at her.
"You told her?"
"No."
Poppy shrugged.
"You always order apricot tarts."
Elias's mouth twitched.
Poppy climbed onto the chair beside Marlo.
"Are you Mom's boyfriend?"
Marlo nearly choked.
"Poppy."
"What? You held hands."
Elias looked at Marlo.
Marlo wanted to disappear.
"No," Elias said.
Poppy considered him.
"Do you want to be?"
"Poppy!"
The girl grinned.
Then suddenly her face changed.
Her hand went to her chest.
Marlo was instantly beside her.
"Poppy?"
The girl's breathing shortened.
Elias stood.
Marlo checked her pulse with shaking fingers.
"Slow breaths, baby."
Poppy nodded.
Thirty seconds.
Forty.
Then the episode eased.
Poppy leaned against her.
Elias hadn't moved.
His face was unreadable.
But his hands were clenched.
That evening, after Poppy went upstairs, Elias remained.
"How soon is the surgery?" he asked.
"Three weeks."
"Why three?"
"Money."
"I'll pay."
Marlo stared at him.
"No."
"It's not complicated."
"It is to me."
"Your daughter's heart doesn't care about your pride."
Marlo stood.
"My daughter isn't a debt you can buy."
His expression hardened.
"I didn't say she was."
"Then don't throw money at us."
He stood too.
"I'm trying to keep her alive."
"So am I!"
The bakery went silent.
Marlo's eyes burned.
Elias looked away first.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She had not expected those words.
Neither had he, apparently.
He walked toward the door.
"Elias."
He stopped.
"Who knew me?"
His shoulders stiffened.
"The person you mentioned."
He remained silent.
Marlo whispered, "Was it your mother?"
He turned.
And the answer was written across his face.
"No," Marlo said softly. "Who?"
Elias looked at her for a long time.
Then he said:
May you like
"Your father."
And suddenly the mystery of why Elias Marchetti had entered her bakery every Tuesday became far older than Marlo had imagined.
