By the time I dropped Patrick back at his car in downtown and headed to the Valley in heavy evening traffic, I knew I was going to be late and would tip off another confrontation with my ex-wife. I called to let her know but she didn’t pick up and I left a message. When I finally got to her apartment complex in Sherman Oaks it was almost seven forty and I found mother and daughter out at the curb, waiting. Hayley had her head down and was looking at the sidewalk. I noticed she had begun to adopt this posture whenever her parents came into close proximity of one another. It was like she was just standing on the transporter circle and waiting to be beamed far away from us.

I popped the locks as I pulled to a stop, and Maggie helped Hayley into the back with her school backpack and her overnight bag.

“Thanks for being on time,” she said in a flat voice.

“No problem,” I said, just to see if it would put the flares in her eyes. “Must be a hot date if you’re waiting out here for me.”

“No, not really. Parent-teacher conference at the school.”

That got through my defenses and hit me in the jaw.

“You should’ve told me. We could’ve gotten a babysitter and gone together.”

“I’m not a baby,” Hayley said from behind me.

“We tried that,” Maggie said from my left. “Remember? You jumped on the teacher so badly about Hayley’s math grade — the circumstance of which you knew nothing about — that they asked me to handle communications with the school.”

The incident sounded only vaguely familiar. It had been safely locked away somewhere in my oxycodone-corrupted memory banks. But I felt the burn of embarrassment on my face and neck. I didn’t have a comeback.

“I have to go,” Maggie said quickly. “Hayley, I love you. Be good for your father and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mom.”

I stared out the window for a moment at my ex-wife before pulling away.

“Give ’em hell, Maggie McFierce,” I said.

I pulled away from the curb and put my window up. My daughter asked me why her mother was nicknamed Maggie McFierce.

“Because when she goes into battle, she always knows she is going to win,” I said.

“What battle?”

“Any battle.”

We drove silently down Ventura Boulevard and stopped for dinner at DuPar’s. It was my daughter’s favorite place to eat dinner because I always let her order pancakes. Somehow, the kid thought ordering breakfast for dinner was crossing some line and it made her feel rebellious and brave.