Author's Note: Thank you all for reading this and commenting, even if you were a bit wary about it at the time of click-age. I've decided that this will be a short series, maybe five parts at most. I am going to apologize now if my law-information is off, I'm a writer, not a lawyer, lol. If anyone knows anything about that kind of stuff and wants to share, then tell me! Thanks again!
Part Two: A Series of Unfortunate Events.
Mark hadn't done one of those Panicked Phone Calls in years. Not since Marina was just learning to walk and had taken a tumble, her head ungracefully colliding with the corner of the coffee table, her cries sharp and terrifying. That had been when Roger was still around, and they tag-teamed it, Mark on the phone, dialing Cindy ("Cindy, I don't know what to do, should we bring her to the hospital?") while Roger tried to comfort the child.
But this was a different kind of call, this was the kind of call he never thought he'd have to make.
"Joanne," He said breathlessly as his friend picked up the phone. He could hear Marina's dramatic cries as she pounded up the stairs - result of his snappy, short-temper that had come from the conversation with Mr. Went - ("Marina, go upstairs and start cleaning up now, please." "Uncle Mark, I want to color!" "Marina! Right! Now!") and felt terrible.
"Hey you," Joanne's voice was so good to hear, like music in his ears, "What's up?"
"Joanne, Mimi's mother's attorney showed up at my doorway this morning." No use small talking, this was much too important. Joanne was silent, contemplating the words that had just been thrown at her.
"Mark-" She finally said, "Please don't tell me what I think-"
"It is what you're thinking, Jo," Mark sighed, leaning forward and placing his head in his hand.
"Oh, Mark," Joanne sighed.
"Can she do that? Can she take Marina away from me?"
Hesitation as Joanne contemplated, "It's possible-"
"But how, why! When Roger died, when we were going through all the paperwork so I could adopt her, I asked her if she wanted custody of Marina."
"Mark, I know-"
"-But no, she didn't. I asked her, because Marina is the only thing she has left of her daughter, even though I didn't want to give her up- I asked her because I felt she deserved to be asked. Roger wanted me to have Marina, but I asked Marguerite, and she said no, Jo, she said no because she was too old and she didn't want to raise any more kids."
"Mark -"
"And now she wants her? How is that possible? How is that fair?"
"Mark!" She yelled, and Mark stopped suddenly, breathing ragged and tired. His free hand rubbed his eyes, ran through his hair. He felt tired. He was tired.
"Mark, honey, you need to calm down." Joanne pleaded, "I don't know why she's doing this to you. I don't. But she can at least try - she won't succeed, but she'll try."
"How do you know she won't succeed?" Mark wondered, finally feeling a bit of hope.
"Because I won't let her." Joanne replied, determined.
Mark could only hope she was right.
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"Rog, can you help me with the door?" Mark called, struggling to hold the sliding door open with his foot while balancing grocery bags. The plastic hanging off of his arms and in his hands were weighed down by diapers and formula cans, heavy and awkward.
"Roger, the door!" These were the days when they were still in the loft, trying to juggle jobs and life and Marina and looking for a new place. With no help from Roger, Mark struggled through the stubborn door and collapsed all of his purchases onto the metal table with a loud clatter. He sighed, shaking his head, wondering where Roger could be with Marina to not hear him coming in.
"Roger!" He said, and then he spotted his best friend, a small smile forming on his face. Totally passed out on the couch, Roger was laying on his back. Marina was sleeping soundly on her belly on her father's chest and Roger had a protective hand pressed on her back. They both looked so peaceful and at ease that Mark couldn't help but chuckle a bit to himself. He pulled the old worn blanket they had folded over the arm of the couch (Mark's grandmother had knitted for him when he was still in high school) and pulled it up and over their sleeping figures. Leaning over Marina, he kissed her temple, and then Roger's forehead, pressing a soft hand quickly on the back of Roger's protective one on Marina's back.
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"Marina," Mark said as he stood in the doorway to the little girl's room less than a half hour later. His guilt weighed him down, made him hurt inside. Marina looked over at him before upturning her head and looking away, making him feel just that much worse.
"Marina, I'm sorry," Mark continued, leaning on the doorway, watching her pick up her toys and mess from her bedroom. She continued ignoring him, and suddenly it wasn't Marina he was looking at, it was Roger. Young, angry Roger, betrayed and annoyed. This was the Roger that was escaping to Santa Fe, before Mimi returned, before Marina was even a thought, before their lives changed that second Christmas Eve. Roger, stomping through his room in the loft, throwing things in a well worn suitcase, ignoring Mark's pleas.
A slam of a drawer and Mark was back in his little girl's room, the tall frame of the memory of an old best friend turning back into his present, tiny Marina, curls bouncing and mouth twisted in a pitiful frown. Mark tentatively walked into the room and sat on her bed, running a hand through his already-mussed hair.
Before living in the loft, Mark had always thought himself a pretty independent person. He liked being alone, creating alone, thinking alone. Even during his life at the loft he considered himself pretty separate from his bohemian friends, keeping himself detached just a bit to have his own space. It wasn't until Marina that Mark had realized how dependent he really was on in the people in his life. The three years he had spent with both Marina and Roger both had been wonderful for him. He had his best friend; he had someone who depended on him.
The thought of losing the only thing in his life that kept him close to Roger, to Mimi, was so fucking scary.
"Marina, please," He said softly, begging. And then she launched herself at him, crying and crying and crying – he wasn't sure when she had started, but it seems to him that she couldn't stop. He held her close, breathing in her fading baby smell and wondered.
Wondered what was going to happen to him if she was gone.
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"So, I don't understand," Abigail said, as she walked next to him later that day. Running a few feet ahead was Marina and Abby's son Joshua, laughing and tripping over one another in their version of "tag". Mark's eyes strayed from the kids only a moment to look at his friend.
"I really don't know either. Joanne said it could be possible."
"But she signed the release forms –"
"I know."
They exchanged glances and sat down simultaneously on the stoop of Abby's townhouse, Abby's face tainted in a confused expression.
"How is Marina taking it?" She asked, flipping her curly hair to the side. Mark avoided her gaze and watched with a rueful smile as Marina grabbed Josh in an impromptu hug.
"She doesn't know." He said, "I told her I just wasn't feeling well."
Mark could sense Abby's protest but knew she had better sense than to judge.
"Well, how are you?" She finally spoke up, twisting the ring on her finger.
"Not so good. I'm not good at dealing with this kind of stuff anymore." He answered honestly – which he was even surprised at himself for, "I mean, Collins isn't even sounding so good. By the way – he's coming on Tuesday so you'll finally be able to meet him."
Abby nodded and said nothing, silent enough for Mark to finally look over, "Penny for your thoughts?"
Abby cringed, reached over and touched the side of Mark's face, a wan smile on her face. She looked hurt and betrayed, sympathy radiating out of her blue eyes.
"I was just thinking about what I'd do if they ever called me and told me and Jess that they were taking Josh from us."
Mark sighed and put his hand over hers and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it. It won't happen."
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"Alright, here's the deal," Maureen said, arms way over her head. In her hands she held a package of construction paper and an art box, the supplies inside clacking together loudly. Marina's eyes were wide and she looked extremely amused, Mimi's patented hand-clasp and goofy grin plastered across her face. Maureen shook the box.
"We, Marina Angel Davis-Cohen, WE - are going to making the coolest, bestest, prettiest pictures ever. That's our goal today. Are you up for it!"
And Marina jumped up and down, giggling at the sight of Maureen, who suddenly broke out into an impromptu jig, the bracelets on her wrists jingling wildly. Joanne stood a couple of inches behind her, eyes just as wide but not as amused.
Mark, who was shocked enough at the unexpected appearance of Joanne and Maureen, hadn't been prepared for Maureen to push her way into the their home without so much of a hello - immediately starting in on a rant about arts and crafts and how she and Marina were going to save the world.
"Uh, hey." He said, hand mid-wave. Maureen laughed and winked, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek as she shuffled past him, pulling Marina behind her by her hand. The two, both giggling wildly, disappeared up the steps as Mark turned to look back at Joanne, who was shrugging.
"Don't mind her." She laughed, and Mark suddenly leaned down and scooped her up into a hug, taking a deep breath to convince himself she was really there. Maureen and Joanne had gotten a small house in Suffolk County further out on Long Island and they didn't see one another as much as they used to. The sight of them, though, right then, was more then he could ever ask for.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, finally pulling away. Joanne kissed him on the cheek and quickly ran a hand through his hair, trying to pat the stubborn cowlicks down.
"Thought you'd need some support. That and I think we should talk in person." She said sort of sternly. Mark nodded and gestured past him, leading her further into the house.
"And Maureen?"
"Marina's distraction, of course."
Mark smiled, feeling, for the first time since the unexpected visit that morning, just a little bit of relief.
