“It would be if I believed her.” Ginny raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s not that I think she’s lying. It’s just that I didn’t see this coming. She and Em have always handled everything so well. Maybe we expect too much of them.”
I remembered Gracie’s poignant sketch of the lives of the miraculous Brodnitz twins. “I’m not minimizing this,” I said, “but at least Chloe has let you know she is in trouble.”
Ginny nodded. “That’s pretty much what Dr. Dolcetti said. He also pointed out that cutting is a fairly common phenomenon for girls her age. Apparently, it offers them some way of coping with the pressures of their lives.”
“But you’re still worried,” Ed said.
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Of course,” Ed said. “Did Dr. Dolcetti suggest anything?”
“He’s getting us a referral to a psychologist who specializes in adolescents. Of course, it’ll be six months before Chloe gets in. Till then, I guess we just have to muddle through.” Her eyes travelled away again. “Today’s the day the court-appointed social worker delivers her ‘Voices of the Children’ report. I guess Chloe was overwhelmed by the prospect of knowing that what she said about her father and me would be read out in court.”
“Does it have to be read publicly?” Ed said.
“It’s a public document,” Ginny said. “In my opinion, it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. Do you know how long the social worker talked to our girls? Three hours. Three hours to ferret out the truth about Jason’s and my lifestyles, assess the stability of the environments we offer the girls, evaluate the emotional ties the girls have to each of us, and form an opinion about whether Jason and I are capable of fostering a healthy relationship between our daughters and the parent who doesn’t get custody.” Ginny’s half-smile was withering. “Three hours to analyze their lives and decide their future – Jason says we shouldn’t be surprised that Chloe panicked. He says she didn’t have enough time to say what she needed to say and the cutting was her way of making us hear her voice loud and clear.”
“So he knows,” I said.
“I told him,” Ginny said. “Against the advice of my lawyer.”
“Sean has to consider all the possibilities,” I said. “Jason could use this against you.”
“He could,” Ginny said. “But he wouldn’t.”
Ed moved closer to her. “You sound very certain.”
Ginny met his gaze. “There are things people who’ve been together for a long time know…”
“And would never tell?” Ed’s question was gentle.
“Marriages fall apart,” Ginny said. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have loyalties.” She glanced towards Jason; he had been watching her, and the look that passed between them when they locked eyes was more eloquent than words.
The name of the court-appointed social worker was Rebecca Sen. She was sixtyish and trim, with a shock of white hair, a brilliant turquoise sari, and a firm and maternal manner. She was a woman who put a premium on clarity, and her report was mercifully devoid of jargon. Much of it was excerpted from the transcript of her interviews with the girls, and as she read their responses to her questions, it was possible truly to hear the voices of the children.
To judge by their words, the Brodnitz twins were thoughtful, articulate, and assured. But within the past twelve hours, Chloe Brodnitz had deliberately and repeatedly cut herself, so I listened to her words with special care. Chloe fielded Rebecca Sen’s questions about the time she and her sister spent alone expertly, explaining that they had both taken babysitting classes and knew how to handle emergency situations. She said she felt both parents would do their best to foster a healthy relationship with the noncustodial parent. When asked which parent she would choose to live with, her reply was revealing. “Both of them, of course,” she said. “That’s what anybody would want.”
After Ms. Sen read Chloe’s answer, she looked up from her notes. “At this point, Chloe broke down. When she regained her composure, she stated that as long as she and her sister were together, she didn’t care where they lived.”
There were murmurs in the courtroom. Madam Justice Gorges didn’t need a gavel to quash the chatter. Her glance was glacial, and when silence was restored, Ms. Sen continued her testimony. “The other answer that I regard as significant came when I asked Chloe her feelings about basketball. She said that the only time she was in control of what happened next was when she was on the basketball court, and that was important to her.”
Ed swallowed hard, but Ginny was stoic. When Rebecca Sen stepped down from the witness box it was eleven-thirty. Madam Justice Gorges recessed the court for lunch and said counsel for the parents could make closing statements when court resumed.
We all rose as Susan Gorges left the courtroom. As the crowd started to disperse, Ginny picked up her bag. “I’m going to the girls’ school to check on Chloe,” Ginny said, getting to her feet. “I thought she should stay home this morning, but Em said the sooner her sister got back to normal the better, so after a night in the emergency ward, Chloe dragged herself off to class.” Ginny’s eyes took us both in. “Will you be here this afternoon?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Good. So I’ll see you then,” Ginny said, and she began pushing her way through the crowd towards the door.
Ed pointed to the courtroom’s side door. “Looks like less action over there,” he said.
“Fine with me,” I said. “We’re in no rush.”
On our way towards the lobby, we passed a men’s room. Ed pointed to the door. “I’m going to make a stop.”
“As our old premier used to say, ‘Never miss a chance.’ ”
As it turned out, Ed wasn’t the only one who didn’t miss a chance that day. Jason Brodnitz and his lawyer, Margot Wright, had followed us out the side door, and Sean Barton was right behind them. When Jason took a detour into the men’s room, Sean was on his heels, and Margot wasn’t far behind. She hit the brakes just as the door swung shut in her face.
It was a cartoon moment, and I had to suppress a smile. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She turned on her heel furiously. “No,” she said. “I am not okay. I don’t want Sean Barton in there with my client.”
“How much trouble can two men get into in a public washroom?”
Margot curled her scarlet lips. “Come on,” she growled. “You’re not that naive.”
I met her gaze. “No,” I said. “I’m not. It was a joke.”
“Thank God,” she said. “I’d hate to think Zack had saddled himself with a dunce. Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. I forgot about Zack’s birthday party. I could make up an excuse, but the truth is I was working on a file and I forgot all about it.”
“The one excuse Zack understands,” I said. “But we missed you. It was a lot of fun.”
“So I heard,” Margot said. “I really do wish I’d been there. Zack’s a lot easier to take these days. You’ve curbed that mammoth ego of his. He’s almost bearable.”
“I’ll pass along your compliment.”
“Don’t. He might have a relapse.” Margot stared at the door to the men’s room, her brow creased with annoyance. “What’s taking them so long?”
“My guess is that apart from the obvious, they’re talking,” I said. “Some of the most intriguing conversations I’ve ever had have been in the powder room.”
Margot narrowed her eyes. “Holy Crudmore. I met you in the bathroom at the Hotel Saskatchewan, didn’t I?”
“You bet. All those mirrors – I had multiple images of you warning me off Zack.”
With her artful cleavage, her closely fitted, expensive black suit, her chunky gold bracelet, and her spike-heeled pumps, Margot was the image of burnished sophistication, but her grin was as open as the main street of her hometown, Wadena, Saskatchewan. “Don’t rub it in,” she said. “I never wanted anything permanent with Zack. He’s way too aware of how good he is. He gets under my skin. Once he made me so mad I threw a box of tacks on the floor of his office, so he’d puncture the tires of his wheelchair.”
It was hard not to smile. “Somehow, I can’t imagine Zack letting that one get away.”
“He didn’t. He enrolled me in a course on anger management and sent me a dozen roses and the bill for the course.”
