At some point, Dela from the front desk dropped coffee outside the door without being asked, which was Dela's way of acknowledging that something serious was happening and she was being supportive about it. At 9:45, Clare's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and something crossed her face. "What?" Malcolm said.
She turned the phone so he could see the screen. It was a text from one of the family services coordinators. Diane Henderson called the main line asking about Malcolm Reed's work schedule and employment status. Didn't give a reason. I told her I couldn't provide that information.
Thought you should know. Malcolm read it twice. The room got very quiet. "She's building a file," he said his voice came out flat. Not angry, just flat.
In the way voices go, when the worst anticipated thing actually arrives, and you realize your preparation for it was theoretical, "It looks that way." Clare's voice was careful. Not alarmed. She was specifically not alarming him, but honest. She's calling the office.
She's asking about my employment stability while there's a funding crisis. He set the phone down on the desk. That's not a coincidence. "No," Clare said. "It's probably not."
She's going to use the funding situation as evidence that my job is unstable. She's going to argue that working for a nonprofit in a budget crisis makes me financially unreliable as a primary parent. He looked at the ceiling for a second. She's not wrong that it's a legitimate argument. She's not wrong that it's an argument, Clare said.
She's wrong that it tells the whole story. He looked at her. "Have you called your lawyer yet?" I called her Friday. She's reviewing the custody agreement.
"Good." Clare leaned forward slightly. Malcolm, listen to me. Diane calling this office is actually useful information for your lawyer because it documents that she is actively building a case, which means she's not approaching this in good faith as a co-parenting conversation. She's preparing litigation.
"Your lawyer needs to know she called." He looked at her and felt something complicated move through him. Not gratitude exactly, though it was adjacent. Something more like the specific feeling of being helped by someone who doesn't make helping you feel like they're doing you a favor. I'll call her this afternoon, he said.