Chapter 5 - The Blue Lights in the Driveway
As if on cue,
the sharp,
low wail of a police siren chirped from the front of the property,
followed by the crunch of heavy tires rolling over the gravel driveway.
Through the open redwood gate,
we could all see the flashing red and blue strobe lights reflecting against the glossy leaves of the magnolia trees.
Two county sheriff’s cruisers had pulled up behind the row of parked guest sedans,
their engines idling with a deep,
authoritative rumble.
A heavy silence fell over the backyard once more,
broken only by Maren’s frantic,
ragged breathing as she dropped to her knees beside the overturned gift table,
frantically trying to scoop up her designer handbag and phone.
Two uniformed deputies stepped through the side gate,
their duty belts creaking with leather and steel,
their hands resting naturally near their holsters as their eyes swept over the shattered champagne glass,
the weeping woman on the ground,
and the disheveled man pounding on the patio door.
“Afternoon,
folks,”
the lead deputy said,
a burly,
middle-aged officer with a silver mustache and a nameplate that read Deputy Miller.
“We received a call regarding an emergency protective order and a formal trespass notice for this address.
Is there a Gavin Holloway on the premises?”
Gavin spun around,
his hands dropping from the glass door,
his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon.
“Officer,
listen to me,
this is a misunderstanding!”
he shouted,
stumbling forward onto the lawn,
pointing a trembling finger at me.
“This is my wife!
She’s having a hormonal breakdown!
She locked me out of our home,
she stole my personal property,
and she’s staging this whole thing because she’s emotionally unstable!”
Deputy Miller didn’t even blink.
He glanced down at a blue folder in his left hand,
then looked up at Arthur Vance,
nodding with professional recognition.
“Afternoon,
Mr.
Vance.
Is this the individual named in the order?”
“It is,
Deputy,”
Arthur replied,
stepping forward to hand the officer a certified copy of the court mandate.
“Mr.
Holloway has been formally served with an emergency restraining order barring him from coming within five hundred feet of Mrs.
Tessa Holloway,
her unborn child,
and this real estate parcel.
Furthermore,
the second party named in the harassment injunction,
Ms.
Maren Wallace,
is currently trespassing on private property after being verbally instructed to vacate.”
Deputy Miller took the paperwork,
skimmed the judge’s signature,
and turned his gaze toward Gavin with eyes as cold as slate.
“Mr.
Holloway,
turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
“What?”
Gavin shrieked,
backing away toward the swimming pool,
his voice cracking into complete hysteria.
“You can’t arrest me!
I haven’t committed a crime!
I just wanted to talk to my wife!”
“You’re not under arrest yet,
son,
you’re being detained for violating an active court order and disturbing the peace,”
the second deputy said,
moving swiftly around the perimeter of the lawn to cut off Gavin’s retreat.
Within three seconds,
the two deputies had Gavin pinned against the brick retaining wall of the rose garden.
With practiced,
effortless efficiency,
they pulled his arms behind his back,
the sharp,
metallic click of the handcuffs ratcheting closed sounding like the final gavel falling on our marriage.
Gavin thrashing against their grip,
spitting grass and cursing,
his expensive linen shirt tearing at the shoulder as they hauled him upright.
He looked back over his shoulder at me,
his eyes burning with a venomous,
unhinged hatred that would have terrified me two weeks ago.
Now,
it only looked pathetic.
“You ruined me,
Tessa!”
he screamed,
veins bulging along his forehead,
saliva flying from his lips.
“You think you won?
You think you’re going to raise my daughter alone?
I will take every penny of child support you have!
I will drag you through every family court in this state until you have nothing left!”
“You won’t take a single dime,
Gavin,”
I replied,
standing tall in the center of the patio,
my voice ringing out clear and steady for every neighbor and relative to hear.
“Because your employer was notified of your fraudulent LLC activities at noon today,
your engineering license is under review by the state ethics board,
and by Monday morning,
the district attorney will have the bank records proving you embezzled thirty-four thousand dollars from our joint account to fund your mistress’s townhouse.”
Gavin’s jaw slacked,
the air leaving his lungs in a sharp wheeze as the deputies began dragging him toward the side gate.
Lorraine stood by the birdbath,
turning her back on her son as he was escorted past,
refusing even to look him in the eyes.
Meanwhile,
the second deputy walked over to the gift table where Maren was cowering,
sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.
“Ma’am,”
the officer said sternly,
“you have sixty seconds to gather your purse,
walk out to your vehicle,
and leave this neighborhood.
If you step foot on this street again,
you will be taken to the county jail in the back of my car.
Do you understand me?”
Maren scrambled to her feet,
her face a ruined mess of smeared cosmetics and tears,
clutching her purse against her chest like a shield.
She looked at me one last time,
searching for a shred of the gentle,
forgiving best friend she had manipulated for over a decade.
She found nothing.
I stood there like an iron statue,
my hands resting protectively over my child,
watching her scurry across the lawn like a cornered rat,
tripping over her own shoes as she fled out the gate behind the cruiser.
The backyard was quiet once more.
My mother walked over,
her arms wrapping around my shoulders,
her tears soaking into the fabric of my dress as she whispered,
“I’m so sorry,
my brave girl,
I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,
Mom,”
I said,
looking up at the clear blue sky,
feeling the gentle,
steady kick of my baby girl inside me.
“The trash was just taken out.
Now,
we build our real life.”
I turned to the remaining guests,
smiled warmly,
and said,
May you like
“If anyone still wants strawberry shortcake,
there is plenty left.
