WINDMILLS
"Diane!" Sarah says with genuine
surprise. "Uh, how are you?"
"I'm all right. How about you?"
Sarah shrugs. "Same old."
Awkwardness blankets them for a moment,
but waiting it out is not something to which Diane is accustomed, and she
doesn't intend to start now. "Mind if I sit down?" she asks.
"Uh, no, go ahead." Sarah's attention
turns back to the champagne, at least momentarily.
Diane flags down the bartender and
orders her drink.
"So what brings you here?" Sarah
asks suddenly, as though the thought just struck her and she must know
right this instant.
"I've been in King's Bay for a while,
on and off," Diane says. "For Samantha."
"Oh yeah! How's all that going?"
"There was a hearing this afternoon,
actually." She lets Sarah linger for a moment. "A preliminary thing, just
until the court gets itself in gear, and we all know how long that can
take."
"And ... ?"
"The judge gave me custody."
Sarah's eyes go wide. "What? Claire
lost custody?"
"Yeah. The judge thought it would
be best for Samantha to have the time with me, I guess."
Sarah isn't sure if she is gloating
or not. The bartender interrupts to deliver Diane's drink.
"Poor Claire ..." Sarah says almost
under her breath. "First Tim and now this."
"I was so sorry to hear about
Tim,"
Diane says with an honesty that takes Sarah by surprise. "But Samantha
-- she's my daughter. Do you and your husband have kids yet?"
Sarah does her best to stifle a groan.
"I have a daughter, yeah. Victoria." A smile curls her lips.
"So think about it. Your husband
marries some other chick and then all of a sudden, she's your kid's mother
and you're four weekends a year. Not exactly easy to stomach."
"No, I guess not."
"That's how it is for me -- or was.
I mean, I know Samantha's conception wasn't so ... simple, but she still
is my daughter. And for two years, everyone has acted like Claire's her
mother. Isn't it about time things swung around in my favor a little?"
"Maybe, yeah," Sarah says thoughtfully,
the idea still playing on her brain.
Diane slugs back an impressive amount
of her drink and then sets the glass back down on the bar, cradling it
in both hands. "No offense, but Samantha's my kid and I'm tired of being
second best." Her voice falls several notches. "It's gotten to be way too
familiar and I'm not taking it anymore."
"I'll second that," Sarah says, downing
the last of her champagne in a self-toast tinged with all the bitterness
of the last few years.
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