God knows I tried to, with alcohol.
My eyes are tearing up; this embarrasses me. I duck my head. "I may not have shown it the way Zoe did," I say, "but it wrecked me. Completely. I knew I couldn't go through that again even though she wanted to." Looking up, I find Zoe staring right at me. "So I said I wanted a divorce."
"What was your life like after that, Max?"
Just like that, my throat seems to turn into cotton, so that I feel like if I don't have a drink I'll die. I force myself to think of Liddy, the other night, sitting on the edge of my bed, praying over me. "I went through a bad time. I missed a lot of work opportunities. And I started drinking again. My brother took me into his home, but I kept digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole. And then one day, I crashed my truck into a tree and wound up in the hospital."
"Did things change after that?"
"Yes," I say, "I found Jesus."
"Objection, Your Honor," Angela Moretti says. "We're in court, not a revival meeting."
"I'll allow it," Judge O'Neill replies.
"So you became religious," Wade prompts.
I nod. "I started going to the Eternal Glory Church, and talking to the pastor--Clive Lincoln. He saved my life. I mean, I was a complete mess. I'd screwed up my home life; I was an alcoholic, and I didn't know anything about religion. I thought at first that, if I went to church, everyone would be judging me. But I was completely blown away. These people didn't care who I was--they saw who I could be. I started going to adult Bible study, and to potluck dinners, and to the fellowship hour after Sunday's services. They all prayed for me--Reid and Liddy and Pastor Clive and everyone else in the congregation. They loved me unconditionally. And one day I sat down on the edge of my bed and asked Jesus to be the Savior of my soul and the Lord of my life. When He did, the seed of the Holy Spirit was planted in my heart."
When I finish, I feel like there's light coming out from inside me. I look over at Zoe, who is staring at me as if she's never seen me before.
"Your Honor," Angela Moretti says. "Apparently Mr. Preston didn't get the memo about the separation of church and state . . ."
"My client has the right to testify about what changed his life," Wade answers. "Religion is what led Mr. Baxter to file this lawsuit."
"In this particular case, I have to agree," Judge O'Neill says. "Mr. Baxter's spiritual transformation is intrinsic to the matter at hand."
"I can't believe this," Angela Moretti mutters. "Literally and figuratively." She sits back down, arms folded.
"Just to clarify," Wade asks me, "do you still drink alcohol?"
I think about the Bible I've sworn on. I think about Liddy, who so badly wants this baby. "Not a drop," I lie.
"How long have you been divorced?"
"It's been final for about three months, now."
"After your divorce, when was the next time you thought about your pre-born children?"
"Objection! If he's going to keep calling these embryos children, Your Honor, I'm going to keep objecting--"
"And I'm going to keep overruling," Judge O'Neill says.
When Wade and I practiced the answer to this question, he suggested I say, Every day. But I am thinking of how I lied about drinking, and how I can feel Jesus just behind me, and how He knows when you aren't being true to yourself or to Him. So when the judge looks at me for a response, I say, "Not until Zoe came to talk to me about them, a month ago."
For a second, I think Wade Preston is going into cardiac arrest. Then his features smooth. "And what did she say?"
"She wanted to use them to have a baby with her . . . with Vanessa."
"How did you react?"
"I was shocked. Especially at the thought of my baby growing up in a house full of sin--"
"Objection, Your Honor!"
"Sustained," the judge says.
Wade doesn't even bat an eyelash. "What did you tell her?"
"That I needed time to think about it."
"And what conclusion did you reach?"
"That it wasn't right. God doesn't want two women to raise a baby. My baby. Every child is supposed to have a mother and a father; that's the natural order of things, according to the Bible." I think about those animal cutouts Liddy and I made for the Sunday School kids. "I mean, you don't see the animals going on the ark in girl-girl pairs."
"Objection," Angela Moretti says. "Relevance?"
"Sustained."
"Max," Wade asks, "when did you find out your ex-wife had embraced a lesbian lifestyle?"
I glance at Zoe. It is hard for me to imagine her touching Vanessa. It makes me feel like this new life of hers is a sham, or else ours was, and I just can't let myself go there. "After we split up."
"How did it make you feel?"
As if I had swallowed tar. As if I had opened my eyes and the world was suddenly only black and white, and no matter how I rubbed my eyes I could not bring the color back. "Like there was something wrong with me," I say tightly. "Like I wasn't good enough for her."
"Did your opinion of Zoe change after you learned that she is living in a homosexual lifestyle?"
"Well, I prayed for her, because it's a sin."
"Do you see yourself as anti-gay, Max?" Wade asks.
"No," I reply. "Never. I'm not doing this to hurt Zoe. I loved her, and I can't erase the nine years we were married. I wouldn't want to. I just need to look out for my children."
"If this court sees fit to give you back your pre-born children, what's your intention?"
"They deserve the best parents any kid could have. But I'm smart enough to realize that means someone other than me. That's why I would want my brother, Reid, to have them. He and Liddy--they've taken care of me, they've loved me, they've believed in me. I've changed so much, for the better, because of them. I know I'd be part of the babies' extended family, and that they would be raised in a Christian, two-parent household. They'd go to Sunday School and to church, and they'd grow up loving God." I glance up, just like Wade told me to, and I say what we've practiced. "Pastor Clive told me that God doesn't make mistakes, that everything happens for a reason. For a long time, I believed my life was a mistake. That I was a mistake. But now I know I'm not. This was God's plan all along--to bring me together with Reid and Liddy at the same time my pre-born children needed a home and a family." I nod, convincing myself. "This is what I was put on this earth to do."
"Nothing further," Wade says, and, with an encouraging nod at me, he sits down.
When Angela Moretti starts walking forward, I realize what she reminds me of: some kind of jungle cat. A panther, I guess, with all that black hair. "Mr. Baxter, through the four years of your marriage when you tried naturally to conceive, and the five years of fertility treatments--did you believe Zoe would make a good mother?"
"Of course."
"What is it today that makes her any less fit to raise a child?"
"She's living a lifestyle that I think is wrong," I say.
"It's different from yours, granted," the lawyer corrects. "Is the fact that she's a lesbian the only detriment you see to Zoe being a parent?"
"It's a pretty big deal. God explains in the Bible that--"
"This is a yes or no question, Mr. Baxter. Is that the only negative thing you have to say about Zoe's ability to be a good mother?"
"Yes," I say quietly.
"Isn't it true, Mr. Baxter, that you still have sperm with which to create more embryos?"
"I don't know. I have male pattern infertility--which means, if I do, it won't be easy."
"Yet you don't want these embryos. You want to give them away."
"I want these children to have the best life possible," I say. "And I know that means having a mother and a father."
"In fact you were raised by a mother and a father, isn't that right, Mr. Baxter?"
"Yes."
"And yet, you still ended up a drunk, divorced loser living in your brother's guest room."
I can't help it, I come halfway out of my witness
chair.
"Objection!" Wade says. "Prejudicial!"
"Withdrawn. If this court gives your brother and sister-in-law the embryos," Angela Moretti asks, "where do you fit in?"
"I . . . I'm going to be an uncle."
"Ah. How are you going to be the uncle if you're the biological father?"
"It's like an adoption," I say, flustered. "I mean, it is an adoption. Reid becomes the father and I'm the uncle."
"So you're going to give up your parental rights to these children at birth?"
Ben Benjamin said that, no matter what you sign, at any point, grown children might come find you. Confused, I look at him, sitting at our table. "I thought you said I couldn't ever really do that?"
"You want these embryos to go to a traditional Christian family?" the lawyer says.
"Yes."
"But instead you're suggesting that the court give them to a biological father who is called the uncle and is living in the basement of the home of the parents who are raising him. Does that sound like a traditional Christian family, Mr. Baxter?"
"No! I mean, yes . . ."
"Which is it?"
Her words are like bullets. I wish she'd talk more slowly. I wish she'd give me time to think. "It's . . . it's a family--"
"When you created these embryos with Zoe, you intended at the time to raise these children with her, correct?"
"Yes."
"Yet Zoe is still ready, willing, and able to take these embryos and raise them as her children. On the other hand, you left."
"I didn't leave--"
"Did she file for divorce, or did you?"
"I did. But I left my marriage, not my children--"
"No, those you're just giving away," Angela says. "You also testified that between the time when you got divorced and when Zoe came to talk to you about using the embryos, you hadn't thought about them?"
"I didn't mean it like that--"
"But that's what you said. What else have you said that you don't really mean, Mr. Baxter?" She takes a step toward me. "That you're fine with giving these embryos to your brother and taking a backseat in their upbringing? That you're a completely changed man? That you aren't instigating this entire lawsuit as a means of getting revenge on your ex-wife, whose new relationship makes you feel like less of a man?"
"Objection!" Wade roars, but by that time I am standing, shaking, my face red and a hundred angry answers caught behind my teeth.
"That's all, Mr. Baxter," Angela Moretti says, with a smile. "That's plenty."
Wade calls for a recess, to let me get control of myself again. As I leave the courtroom, the members of the Westboro church applaud. It makes me feel a little dirty. It's one thing to love Jesus with all your heart; it's another to protest outside temples because you believe Jews killed our Savior. "Can you get rid of them?" I whisper to Wade.
"Not a chance," he murmurs back. "They're fantastic press. You've gotten through the hardest part, Max. Seriously, you know why that lawyer had to get you all riled up? Because she didn't have anything else to work with. Not the law of this land, and certainly not the law of God."
He leads me into a tiny room that has a table, two chairs, a coffee-maker, and a microwave. Wade walks over to the microwave and bends down until his face is level with the glossy black door. He smiles so that he can see his teeth, uses his thumb to pick something out from between two of them, and then grins again. "If you think that cross-examination was ruthless, you just sit back and enjoy what I'm planning to do to Zoe."
I'm not sure why this makes me feel worse.
"Can you do me a favor?" I ask. "Can you get Pastor Clive for me?"
Wade hesitates. "As long as you're talking to him as your spiritual counselor, and not as a sequestered witness . . ."
I nod. The last thing I want to do right now is rehash that last hour in court.
Wade leaves, taking all the air with him. I sink into a plastic chair and put my head down between my knees, sure that I'm going to pass out. A few minutes later, the door opens again and I see Pastor Clive's white linen suit. He drags a chair beside mine. "Let's pray," he says, and he bows his head.
His words run over me, catching on all the rough patches and wearing them down. Prayer is like water--something you can't imagine has the strength or power to do any good, and yet give it time and it can change the lay of the land. "Max, you look like you're struggling," he says.
"I just . . ." Looking away, I shake my head. "I don't know. Maybe I should just give them to Zoe."
"What's making you doubt yourself?" Pastor Clive asks.
"What her lawyer said. That I'm really the father, but I have to be like an uncle. If I'm confused already, how is a kid going to be able to sort it all out?"
He clasps his hands, nodding. "You know, actually, I remember a situation very similar to this one. I can't believe I haven't thought of it before."
"Really?"
"Yes. A biological dad, whose child was raised by another couple. They were handpicked by this man--just like what you're doing--because the father wanted to do what was best for his child. Yet he still managed to have a say in his child's upbringing."
"Did you know them?"
"Very well," Pastor Clive says, smiling. "And so do you. God gave Jesus to Mary to bear, and Joseph to raise. He knew it had to be done. And Jesus--well, clearly, he was able to sort it all out."
But I am not God. I'm just someone who's screwed up time and time again, who is trying hard not to make another mistake.
"It's all going to work out, Max," Pastor Clive promises.
I do what I always do when I'm around him. I believe what he tells me.
When Reid enters the courtroom, I have to admit, my doubts start to fade. He's dressed in one of his fancy Savile Row suits, with hand-sewn Italian loafers. His black hair is trimmed precisely; I know for a fact that he had a real barber do his shave early this morning. He is the sort of man who draws attention when he enters a room, not just because he's good-looking but because he is so sure of himself. As he passes by me to take the witness stand, I smell aftershave and something else. Not cologne--Reid doesn't wear any. It's the scent of money.
"Can you state your name for the record?" Wade asks.
"Reid Baxter."
"And where do you live, Mr. Baxter?"
"Newport. One-forty Ocean Drive."
"What is your relationship to the plaintiff, Max Baxter?"
Reid smiles. "I'm his big brother."
"Are you married, Mr. Baxter?"
"To my lovely bride of eleven years, Liddy."
"Got any children?" Wade asks.
"God hasn't blessed us with children," he says. "Though--I confess--it's not for want of trying."
"Tell me a little about your home," Wade asks.
"It's a forty-five-hundred-square-foot house on the ocean. There are four bedrooms, three and a half baths. We've got a basketball hoop and a huge yard. The only things missing are kids."
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a portfolio manager with Monroe, Flatt & Cohen," Reid says. "I've worked for them for seventeen years, and I'm a senior partner. I manage, invest, and reinvest other people's money in order to preserve and increase their wealth."
"What's your net worth, Mr. Baxter?"
Reid looks modestly into his lap. "A bit over four million dollars."
Holy shit.
I knew my brother was well off, but four million dollars?
At the very best, the most I could offer a kid was a partnership in a crappy landscaping business and all my knowledge about how to grow roses in a difficult climate. Not exactly a trust fund.
"Does your wife, Liddy, work, too?" Wade asks.
"She does volunteer work in various organizations. She's the Sunday School coordinator for our church; she serves meals at a local homeless shelter; she's involved with the Newport Hospital Women's League. She's on the board of the Preservation Society as well. But it's always been our plan for her to be a stay
-at-home mom, so that she could be the one raising our children."
"Do you consider yourself a religious man?" Wade asks.
"I do," Reid says.
"What church do you attend, Mr. Baxter?"
"The Eternal Glory Church. I've been a member for fifteen years."
"Do you hold any offices or positions within the church's hierarchy?"
"I'm the treasurer," Reid replies.
"Do you and your wife attend church on a regular basis?"
He nods. "Every Sunday."
"Do you consider yourself a born-again Christian?"
"If you mean, have I accepted Jesus as my personal savior, then yes," Reid says.
"I'd like to direct your attention to the plaintiff in this case, Max Baxter." Wade gestures at me. "How would you describe your relationship with him?"
Reid thinks for a minute. "Blessed," he says. "It is so incredible to have my little brother back in my life, and on a path that's good for him."
In my first memory, I am about three years old, and jealous of Reid's secret club. It was located in his tree house, a special hideaway where he could escape with his school friends. I was too young to climb up into it, or so I was told repeatedly by my parents and by Reid, who didn't want some pesky little brother tagging along. I used to dream at night about what the inside of that tree house looked like. I pictured psychedelic walls, stockpiles of candy, MAD magazines. One day, even though I knew I'd get in trouble, I climbed up into the tree house while Reid was still at school. To my surprise, it was just rough wood, with some spots where he and his buddies had drawn in crayon. There was a newspaper on the floor and a few busted caps from a cap gun.
I thought it was the most magical place I'd ever seen--but then again, that's pretty much what anyone thinks about the things that are off-limits. So I hid, even though I heard my mom calling my name over and over. When Reid came home from school, like usual, he climbed up the ladder to the tree house before he even went into the house.
What are you doing here? he asked, just as my mother's voice rang out, and a minute later, her head popped up through the little trapdoor.
How did Max get up here? she cried. He's not big enough to climb that tree . . .
It's okay, Reid said. I helped him.
I didn't know why he was lying for me. I didn't know why he wasn't mad about me being in his tree house.
My mother bought it, although she said that she would come back to help me climb down because the last thing she needed was a trip to the emergency room. Then Reid looked at me. If you want to be part of the club, you have to play by the rules.