middle-aged woman, but Marian MacAdam must have been well into her seventies. She wore a beautifully tailored camel overcoat that helped camouflage her stooped back. A pink-and-orange scarf was tied artfully around her neckline. Kate bet she drove either an Audi or a Mercedes. That was the car of choice for well-heeled Halifax matrons. The only thing that gave her away was her eyes. They looked anxious and tired.
“Yes,” Marian MacAdam replied, her gaze sweeping over Kate. Uncertainty flashed across her face.
Kate put on a reassuring smile. “I’m Kate Lange.” She held out her hand. Marian MacAdam grasped it, her fingers knobbed with arthritis but surprisingly soft and warm.
“My office is this way,” Kate added briskly, holding the glass reception door open for her. They walked down the hallway, Kate forcing herself to shorten her stride, making small talk about the weather and the tulips. Marian MacAdam nodded, but said little. Her breathing came in shallow puffs by the time they reached Kate’s office.
“Please, have a seat, Mrs. MacAdam.” Before you collapse.
Marian MacAdam sank onto the blue upholstered chair. She glanced around, her gaze taking in Kate’s stacks of legal books, the degrees mounted on the wall behind her, the picture of Kate’s dog. Her eyes lingered on Alaska’s goofy grin.
Kate sat down behind her desk. “I understand you have a custody issue you need some advice about?” She hoped maybe Randall had been wrong. Because if this lady did have a custody issue, it must be for a grandchild. And that was sure to be messy.
“Yes,” Marian MacAdam said with an air of defiance. “I am seeking custody of my granddaughter.”
Damn Randall Barrett. He really had it in for her. “I see. Does she live with one or both parents?”
Marian MacAdam hesitated. “She lives with my daughter-in-law. My son moved out two years ago, and they divorced a year later.”
Kate began jotting notes. “How old is your granddaughter?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” Kate stopped writing and looked at her client. “What does she want to do?”
“She wants to stay with her mother.”
Kate put her pen down. “Then why do you want custody?”
Marian MacAdam leaned forward. “Because her mother completely ignores her. She’s always working. She has no idea where Lisa is most of the time.” Disapproval tightened her mouth, puckering the loose flesh of her jaw. She was the picture of indignant outrage.
What Marian MacAdam didn’t realize was that she wore the same expression as three out of four of Kate’s clients. The anger, the blame—each side in a custody battle nursed their grievances. Kate listened to the diatribes, defused the pain, steered them back to the legal issues and dreaded the next client.
Maybe Lisa’s mother needed to work to keep them going. Nova Scotia had a lot of deadbeat dads. Maybe Marian MacAdam’s son was one of them—and she didn’t want to admit it.
Kate knew how hard it was to swallow that truth. It had almost killed her twelve-year-old self to admit that her own dad had joined those ranks.
Kate knew her next words would not be welcome. “Mrs. MacAdam, the law does not like to take children from their parents. The parent has a prima facie right to custody unless you can prove the child is being neglected or emotionally harmed.” She practically had those words memorized. Now came the clincher. She held Marian MacAdam’s gaze. “Is Lisa being neglected or emotionally harmed?”
Marian MacAdam looked away. “She hasn’t been physically neglected. But you might say she has suffered emotional harm.”
“Mrs. MacAdam, there is a specific definition to that term. You would need to demonstrate that Lisa has severe anxiety, depression, withdrawal or self-destructive behavior—” And yet, as Kate knew only too well, emotional harm could be something far more insidious, far less obvious, something that spurred a teenage girl to ignore every warning her stressed-out mother ever gave her and allow the unthinkable to happen.
“I think she is using drugs,” Marian MacAdam said softly.
Kate leaned back in her chair. “Are you sure?”
Marian MacAdam shook her head. “I don’t have any proof…it’s just a suspicion. She’s unreliable, won’t come to supper when she says she will, that kind of thing.”
“Have you spoken to her parents about it?”
“Her mother keeps saying that Lisa doesn’t have a problem, and, of course, Lisa won’t admit to a thing.” Marian MacAdam’s voice hardened. “Which suits her mother just fine.”
Kate felt a sneaking sympathy for Marian MacAdam’s former daughter-in-law. It wouldn’t be easy facing a mother-in-law’s disapproval while trying to handle being a single parent.