The drive home was long, the car was packed down and cramped
and I could hardly move my arms, pinned against the window in the back seat
next to the baby in his car seat. But he slept peacefully and obliviously.
What I wouldn’t give for innocence like that. To just lie
back in my seat, knowing nothing of the turmoil surrounding me, trusting that
it would be taken care of and I would be unconditionally loved and blameless. A
million miles from reality. I was in for the fight of my life and there would
be no tag team. You know how in tag-team wrestling, how the guy can tap his
partner and then the other dude comes in the ring and fights for him, before
switching off again? The battle I was in for would have no such reprieve. (I am
not a fan, by the way. My grandmother used to sit in front of the TV with a
beer watching wrestling for hours).
BD’s first call didn’t come
through until early that evening. As he’d taken to checking with the daycare
each morning to confirm that I’d dropped off the baby, this morning I actually
had. I’d left our son at daycare long enough to load the car up and give BD a
chance to make sure he was there before picking him back up again and heading
out.
His greatest fear hadn’t been realized until about 4 p.m. when my phone rang.
His greatest fear hadn’t been realized until about 4 p.m. when my phone rang.
I seriously considered not picking up at all. But I had to
answer the phone. Though he may want to involve the police and he’d certainly
seek the court’s assistance, what was most important was the way in which I
would handle myself from here on out. I’d already left the state without
permission, the least I could do was own up to that and let my child’s father
know his son hadn’t, God forbid, been hit by a car or something.
Sidebar: I think my
continued communication with BD, while leaving and after I’d gotten home, is
what kept the judge from throwing the book at me, by the way. It illustrated my
intent, which was not to hurt the child’s father, but to seek a better
existence for myself and my son. Now whether she’d agree that I, across the
country, was the one to give our son a better life was another story).
“Where are you with my son?” He
asked in a panic.
“I went back home,” I said in
my best impersonation of a calm woman. “I told you
I was moving, and I have.”
I did tell him I was moving. He’d asked me one day while we
were living apart. I’d sidestepped the question before finally saying yes, I
did want to go back home, I just did not know when.
Actually, at that time, I
did know when. This would also later come up in court.
My lawyer would also later tell me it’s too bad I confirmed
that I had actually “moved” on the
phone that day. Otherwise it could have easily been a vacation or a trip to
visit family, a misunderstanding to help me escape catching a charge. (Of
course this would also mean I’d have to return at the close of that vacay).
Thank God I didn’t need that defense though, because after my clear admission,
I certainly had none.
“You can’t do that!” BD screamed
into the phone. “I knew it! I knew you took him!”
“I’m sorry, BD. I had to. I couldn’t stay there with you.” Still calm.
“With me!? You told me to leave and I left! I did everything
you asked me to do!”
Yeah, he'd left for an apartment 20 feet away.
“Do you have my mother’s address?” I
asked? “That’s
where we’ll be. It’s
65 Shore Drive, and the zip code, is --“
“I know where your mother lives,” he
interjected. “I can’t
get out there.”
I hadn’t been inviting him.
“I just want you to know where our son is. And I don’t want
to take him out of your life, I just can’t continue to live there anymore.”
“You don’t want to take him out of my life? Whadyou think
stealing him and running 13 hours away is? This is kidnapping!” He yelled as if receiving a revelation. “I’ll have you arrested.”
The threat didn’t rattle me nearly as badly as it had the
last time. The friendly lawyer that gave me the free advice already told me
that it was very unlikely that cops from my state would come to the door and
take my child from me on papers from out-of-state authorities, or that they’d
act on family court matters from across state lines.
BD hung up on me, I assumed to call the police.
About an hour later though, I was getting more calls. Not
from BD but from the same area code. I didn’t pick up. There was no sense in us
arguing about it. I was gone and I wasn’t turning around. He would do in
rebuttal, whatever he was gonna do.
Later that night I checked my messages and had two from a Judge
Lauren Hope.
“Hi, this message is for Melyssa
Ganache. Ms. Ganache this is Judge Hope, I’m calling you from
my chambers because there’s a Mr. BD here who is filing a complaint against you
for kidnapping. He says you have left the state with the child you two share.
Please give me a call back so I can speak with you about this matter. If I don’t
hear from you, I’ll be forced to accept his application for a hearing.”
It was too late to return the phone call.
Three days later the summons arrived at my mother’s front
door. I ripped the envelope open anxiously. I’d been expecting this. I was
being ordered to appear at an emergent hearing. It stated that the matter was
urgent and “detrimental harm” could be
caused to the child if custody was not “immediately
remanded to the father.”
The court date was only a week out. It didn’t even make
sense to finish unpacking.
Originally posted on
March 24, 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment