The Swap - Robyn Harding Page 0,74

renovated heritage home on the edge of town. She had been a customer at my store on occasion, breezing into the shop in her shapeless black Eileen Fisher togs. Despite the slow pace of island life, she exuded an air of frazzled efficiency. She had three sons away at boarding school and a retired landscape architect husband who devoted himself to the care of their home and garden. Perhaps the townspeople of Hawking had more pressing legal issues than I thought?

My cheeks burned as Brian told the fiftyish woman about the night he bedded Freya upstairs while I was in the basement guest room with Max. It was entirely possible that Nancy and her landscaping husband were swingers. They might have moved to the island specifically for its open-minded, sexually adventurous culture. The attorney’s features remained blank, unreadable, but I was mortified, nonetheless. It could have been worse, I told myself. It’s not like we were using whips or chains or animal costumes. But still . . . the conception of Brian’s child sounded tawdry and sleazy.

My husband slid a print-out of the news story about Max’s paternity case across the polished walnut desk. “Maxime Beausoleil said, in court, that he’s sterile.”

We waited as the lawyer’s eyes roamed over the article. She read slowly, thoroughly, taking in every word, as Brian and I fidgeted in our seats, glancing at each other and back at her.

Finally, Brian said, “The baby has to be mine. The dates line up. And Max is infertile.”

“But we need to prove it,” I added. “Can we make them do a paternity test?”

Nancy finally looked up from the page. “You could take this to court. If there’s enough evidence, the judge might compel them to test the baby. But there’s still no guarantee you’d get custody rights or even visitation.”

Brian said, “Even if we prove she’s my daughter?”

I winced inwardly at my husband’s words. He didn’t mean to exclude me, but this was his fight.

“That would be a separate trial. The judge would want to determine the best interests of the child.”

“Freya and Max aren’t meant to be parents,” I interjected. “They never wanted kids. They’re . . . superficial and self-absorbed.” As soon as I said it, I realized how benign it sounded. Superficial and self-absorbed people reproduced all the time.

“Is the child in danger with them? Do they abuse substances? Is there violence in the home?”

We couldn’t mention the magic mushrooms without implicating ourselves. But Brian took another tack.

“Max has a violent history. He broke a man’s neck during a hockey game. The guy later overdosed on opioids.”

“I heard about the case,” Nancy said, sounding unimpressed. It was on the ice and in the past. It had little bearing on Max’s ability to be a dad.

“Freya told me he picks fights in bars,” I added quickly. “He feels like he deserves to be punished, so he instigates things and then he doesn’t fight back. I saw his black eye.”

Nancy nodded slowly. “It sounds like you might have a case.”

My heart leaped. Brian reached over and squeezed my fingers.

Nancy said, “I don’t go to court anymore since I moved here, but I can refer you to a colleague on the mainland.” She reached for a pen and paper, but then paused. “Pursuing this will be expensive. Trial lawyers charge upward of four hundred bucks an hour. You’ll need to travel to hearings, stay in a hotel. It will be a significant financial outlay.”

My eyes flitted to my husband, and despair reflected back at me. We couldn’t afford a lengthy court battle in another city. Brian had handed in his manuscript and received another installment of his advance, but it was just enough to live on until business picked up at the store. We didn’t have the resources to fight for this child.

Nancy clocked our concern. “Alternatively, you could do what they call a curiosity test.”

“What’s that?” Brian asked.

“If you can get access to the baby, you can do a cheek swab. You send it off to a lab with your DNA. The results won’t be admissible in court, but they might give you leverage with the mother.”

“Freya’s not a reasonable person,” Brian said. “She already knows this baby is mine, but she refuses to acknowledge it.”

“Maybe presenting her with scientific evidence will change her mind,” Nancy offered.

“It’s worth a try,” I said hopefully.

“It’s not.” Brian’s contradiction was curt. “And we don’t have access to the baby, anyway.”

Nancy let a breath out of her nose. “Court is