A soft knock tapped on the door, and my mother peeked inside.
“We’re just about ready to eat,” she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think Nadia’s out of her comfort zone without you around.”
It wasn’t normal that my immediate reaction was rising to my feet to check up on her as if she were a tiny lost kitten.
“She’s just tired of your babbling,” Dad smirked, gesturing for me to stay put. “Give the girl a glass of wine and stop asking questions. We’ll be out in a minute.”
Mum pulled a face, then closed the door, and reluctantly, I sat down. Dad’s smirk changed into his signature business face. He let out a long sigh, straightening his back—a clear sign he was on a mission.
“Now ask me whatever it is you want to ask,” he said. “I can tell there’s something else on your mind. Something heavy.”
After years of working as an attorney he must have developed a sixth sense. Maybe his ability to read people so well was the reason why he was one of the best lawyers in the country.
I did have a question, but I was afraid of his reaction, and afraid of the answer. Not knowing allowed me to live in a fantasy land, but I needed facts to decide what my next move should be.
“This stays between us. Mum can’t find out.”
“Attorney-client privilege, son.”
I rested my elbows on my knees, watching his face as I spoke. “What’s the realistic jail time for a domestic abuse offender?”
Silence rang in the room. Dad’s eyes looked straight into mine, searching for answers to his unspoken questions. I counted thirteen ticks of the old clock before my father swallowed hard and opened his mouth.
“Are we talking physical violence?”
I nodded. It was one of those rare moments, when Alistair Calix struggled to keep his composure, to act the part.
“Depending on severity and whether it was an isolated incident…”
“It went on for six months. He broke her ribs. Tell me where that lands on the severity scale.”
Dad fell silent again, as if he needed time to process the information and come to terms with what had only been implied—that we were talking about his future daughter-in-law.
“He would be looking at two to four years depending on the circumstances, previous convictions, remorse, and many other factors.”
“Two to four years?” I mouthed, pulling on my hair. “Is that it? What is the point?! The trial will take half that long, and he’ll get out early for good behaviour.”
Dad mimicked my position, leaning forward. “Did she report it?”
“No. I can imagine it will be a nightmare since it all took place in New York, and the guy is an American citizen.”
There, the confirmation he needed to speak more directly.
“That it will be. Leave this with me. I’ll check what steps we would need to take to bring this to court,” he rose to his feet, buttoning his smart jacket. “In the meantime, get Nadia some professional help. Don’t try to take matters in your own hands.”
“She already has daily therapy sessions. I won’t go looking for him.”But if he ever shows up...
Let’s just say it’s good that my Dad is a lawyer.
He patted my back and walked out of the office. Nadia sat by the table in the dining room, clutching a glass of wine, listening to my mother tell her about her plans to redecorate the house for the twentieth time since I was born. I kissed Nadia’s head and slipped into the seat beside her when Annabel began serving Christmas dinner.
***
It was just past nine o’clock in the evening when Nadia emerged from the bathroom wearing my t-shirt, her hair wet. She owned a lot of sexy nightdresses, but she favoured my white t-shirts more than anything.
“What do you think about my parents?”
“Well, your Dad is a little scary, and your mum asked some odd questions, but overall, they seem nice.”