Rhys gripped the table tighter.
“You.”
His tension snapped like a cut support cable, leaving him dangling in the wind. “With me.” He had to make sure he’d heard right.
The caseworker smiled. “With you. That’s what the hearing notice you received is about.”
His heart filling to bursting, Rhys closed his eyes for a quick, Thank You, Lord, before he thanked the caseworker.
She smiled again. “I’d like to take the credit. My days tend to have too little good news to share. But you’ve had good reports from the Hills, a solid recommendation from Pastor Connor Donnelly and your older boy has expressed a preference to live with you.”
Rhys couldn’t keep the silly grin from his face, even as he asked, “And Dylan?”
“Your younger son is still conflicted. Mr. Richards, the children’s law guardian, didn’t press him for his preference, especially since the Hills wouldn’t be part of that choice. We believe it’s best that the boys stay together.”
“That’s a given. I mean, I agree, and we’re doing the Building Bridges thing.”
“Yes, we’ve recommended your continued participation be one of the custody provisions. You’ll have those resources.”
Including Renee. The reality that he was going to get Owen and Dylan took a firmer hold on him. And the thought of Renee helping, working with him and the boys, brought a wash of calm that helped him control the joy inside him. He really shouldn’t leap from his chair, fist-pumping and shouting Yes! He could do that later.
“You’ll also have the Hills. They’ve said they’d be happy to stay in contact with you and your sons.”
Rhys thought of the connection he’d made with Jack after the Bridges’ field trip. “And Jack Hill’s mother—we all go to the same church and she works at the child-care center—has become a surrogate grandmother to Owen and Dylan. They don’t really have any grandparents.”
“That’s good.” Ms. Bulmer straightened the papers in Rhys’s folder and closed it.
Rhys took that as a sign they were done, pushed his chair from the table and stood. The grandmother bit was probably overkill, but it had just come out of his mouth like so many other things lately.
Ms. Bulmer rose and offered her hand. “Good luck.”
“Thanks again.” He turned away and then back. “Wait. Can I tell Owen and Dylan?”
“No, their law guardian is meeting with them and the Hills later today.”
“Oh, okay.” The reminder that others still had control tarnished his unbridled happiness. But he knew he had to play by the rules.
When he was safely in his truck, he let go with the “whoop” he’d been restraining. Rhys pulled his cell phone from his pocket, ready to call Renee with the news.
He stopped. That might be assuming too much of their friendship.
He’d need to talk with her about being a character witness, anyway. Or his lawyer would, if he needed character witnesses.
No, he’d call Pastor Connor. He was the person who’d gotten him here. Yeah, he’d call Connor. Then, he needed to get to work. He’d already lost a couple of hours. Now, more than ever, he needed to focus on his sons and their welfare—not on being friends with Renee.
Chapter Nine
Rhys tugged at his necktie to no avail. It still felt like a noose around his neck. Might as well get it over with. He stepped out of his truck onto the sidewalk in front of the courthouse, the already-sweltering morning sun baking him in his dark wool suit, the only one he had.
“Rhys.”
He looked over his shoulder to see Connor Donnelly striding up the sidewalk toward him. “Pastor Connor.” Rhys extended his hand. “I really appreciate this.”
“No problem. It’s part of the job.”
Despite Connor’s smile, Rhys felt a letdown. What had he expected? That the pastor was here strictly for him, that he had no agenda? Pastor Connor was a great guy. But Rhys was well aware that Connor considered him one of, if not the, star “save” from the Christian Action Coalition’s prison ministry that Connor led.
“I talked with your lawyer yesterday. She knows I’m available as a character witness.”
Rhys swallowed his doubt. “I don’t know what to say.” All he’d asked Connor for was moral support. On his lawyer’s advice, he’d backed down from his earlier idea of asking Pastor Connor, the Hills and Renee to testify on his behalf. Ms. Johnson had said it might be overkill and prolong the hearing. Rhys was all for getting it over with, but not to the point of short-changing him and his boys. A vision of another court-appointed attorney making short work of his defense obscured his hope. Then, his sons had had their mother. This time, more was at stake. He blew out a breath. But the attorney knew the judge, and these kinds of proceedings, better than he did.
“You don’t need to say anything.” Pastor Connor slapped his back. “Let’s go in and wrap this up.”
Ms. Johnson was seated at the front of the courtroom, along with Mr. Richards, the law guardian appointed to represent Owen and Dylan’s interests, the Hills and—Rhys almost missed a step. Renee. The professional Renee in her sharply creased dress slacks, blouse and short-sleeved jacket.
Since he’d met with his caseworker, he’d avoided personal contact with her so he could keep his mind clear. He’d helped with the Bridges meeting on Thursday, but had left right after. When Claire had checked in with him about the doghouse, he’d put her off, saying he was getting in as much overtime at work as he could before Owen and Dylan came to live with him. It was true. He had been.
A chill ran through Rhys. Could Renee be here representing the Action Coalition and Building Bridges? Something related to Tyler and his mother? Ms. Johnson had contacted the director of the Building Bridges’ program for a report on his and Dylan’s progress and Rhys’s volunteering. But Renee had said the other day that the director had accepted their report with no questions. He clenched his jaw, trying to drive out the feeling that he and Renee were back to Ms. Delacroix and Mr. Maddox.
Rhys held his index finger up when Ms. Johnson motioned him to her, and walked past her behind the front row seats until he was behind Renee. “What are you doing here?” The gruffness of his voice earned him a frown from Jack.
“We’re here for moral support,” she said, oblivious to or, more likely, ignoring his rudeness. She tilted her head toward Pastor Connor. “Although I see you’ve brought the big guns with you.”
Cheerleader Renee in Oh-So-Professional Renee’s clothes struck him speechless. Rhys looked from Jack to Suzi and then rested his gaze on Renee, drowning in the dark depths of her eyes. His voice caught. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“I think your attorney needs to talk with you,” Renee said, ending the moment.
“Right.” He sidestepped to the aisle where Ms. Johnson sat.
“Let’s go over to the side table,” she said.
Rhys followed her. They sat and she pulled a sheet from his folder and pushed it toward him. “I know you received the conditions of the provisional custody Social Services recommended.”
He had. He and the attorney had talked on the phone about them. Rhys ran his finger down the list: steady employment, safe living conditions, no association with former criminal contacts or with local known felons, no leaving the state with the boys without permission of Social Services and no relocating the boys outside of Essex County without review of the court...
Rhys pushed the paper back to her. He was an ex-convict, not an imbecile, although he’d certainly done some stupid things in the past. But that was the past. “I understand the conditions.”
“Good. If the judge questions you, answer only what he asks. Don’t add any other information.”
“I understand,” he repeated. Rhys could have laughed. He was a ma
n of few words to begin with, and one of the first things he’d learned as a delinquent teen was to never tell “the man” any information not specifically asked for.
“We’re ready, then.” She pushed from the table.
“It looks good?” he asked in an effort to calm the pod of dolphins doing backflips in his stomach.
“I can’t give you any guarantees.”
One of the dolphins did a triple spiral flip. She was supposed to be on his side. He studied her passive face. Maybe she was doing the best thing for him by not feeding his hopes. Rhys set his jaw and shook it off. He wasn’t going to fail Owen and Dylan. Rhys glanced at Renee, Pastor Connor and the Hills. Nor his friends who had faith in him.
“All rise for Judge Richard Clark,” the court clerk said as Rhys and his lawyer returned to their seats in the front row. The judge entered, took his place behind the bench. Rhys resisted wiping his hands on his pant legs.
After reciting the preliminary case information for the court record, Judge Clark called Rhys, his lawyer and the lawyer representing Owen and Dylan to the bench.
“Mr. Maddox,” the judge said.
“Judge Clark,” Rhys said with a respectful nod.
“Ms. Johnson, Mr. Richards,” the judge greeted the lawyers. “Is there anything not in the reports I received that you want to add now?”
“No, sir,” they each said.
“Mr. Maddox, has your attorney explained the conditions of the provisional full custody the Department of Social Services has recommended, and do you fully understand them and the consequences of breaking any of the conditions?”
“Yes, sir.” Possibly losing Owen and Dylan for good.
“I see no impediments to granting provisional custody of Owen and Dylan Maddox to their father, with a final custody hearing in three months. Social Services will transfer the children to you tomorrow. My clerk will give you the information.”
The boulder that had been sitting on Rhys’s chest rolled away as he watched the judge sign two copies of the custody decree. “Thank you, sir.”
“You take good care of those boys. I don’t want to hear otherwise.”
“Yes, sir. You won’t.” Rhys’s sight blurred. Owen and Dylan were his again.
“The court clerk has some forms for you to sign. Good luck.”
Rhys nodded, not trusting his voice. He walked to the clerk and listened impatiently while he explained what Rhys was signing and where to sign. He scribbled his name and the date and shook hands with Ms. Johnson and Mr. Richards. One more step completed.
Pastor Connor, the Hills and Renee met him in front of the courthouse.
“Congratulations!” Connor and Jack shook his hand as Suzi and Renee smiled on.
“Owen and Dylan will be thrilled,” Suzi said.
Rhys could only pray that would be true. He and Dylan still had a long way to go.
Renee stepped up next to him and squeezed his hand. “I’m so happy for you. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”
He squeezed her hand back, and the cascade of emotions inside him collided and tumbled like the rapids of Niagara Falls. He appreciated the offer, but Owen and Dylan were his responsibility.
“Who wants to get some lunch to celebrate?” Suzi asked.
“Count me in,” Connor said. “I’ll treat.”
Renee pulled her hand from Rhys’s as if she’d just realized he was still holding it. “Sorry, I’ve got to go into the office for a new volunteer training session I’m giving this afternoon.”
“I can’t, either,” Rhys said reluctantly. “Work.” He’d told the supervisor on his scheduled job that he’d be there as soon as he could after the hearing ended. So there was no logical reason Renee’s response should have stung, except that his nerves and emotions were totally haywire.
* * *
Rhys had thought he was as nervous as he could get yesterday. But yesterday didn’t hold a candle to today. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with one of the work bandannas he’d pulled from the laundry basket in his bedroom. Maybe he should have unloaded the clothes. But there was no time now, as if Owen and Dylan would notice or care. He felt so much joy and excitement and, he’d admit to himself at least, fear at having Owen and Dylan here with him. They’d never even stayed overnight. He hadn’t gotten beyond supervised visits with them. Now—bam!—they were his. Today. As soon as he got over to the Social Services’ building.
Rhys gave the boys’ room a final once-over. He’d gotten new racecar bedspreads for the nearly new twin beds he’d found at a garage sale soon after he’d rented the house—Owen had been so wild about his Pinewood derby car and all. He’d found and refinished a bookcase. Gwen had told Rhys about Dylan’s appetite for reading. A duel-pronged pang of regret for what she would miss and remorse for what he’d done stabbed him. But it wasn’t as intense as his previous bouts of regret and remorse. Would he have Gwen’s forgiveness if she were still alive? Definitely. And God’s forgiveness, too, his heart whispered.
* * *
Fifty minutes later Rhys raced up the walkway and into the Essex County building. He slowed his steps before he pulled open the door to the Social Services’ office.
“Mr. Maddox,” Ms. Bulmer said as he walked in. His gaze shot to the wall clock behind the sign-in desk. His stomach knotted. He wasn’t late. No one had met him in the waiting room before. He’d always had to sit at least a few minutes before he saw her or Renee.
“Today’s the big day.” She smiled. “I have a few things to go over with you before Mrs. Hill and your sons arrive.”
The knot loosened but the tangled strings remained. He followed her to a cubicle. The caseworker reiterated his custody conditions and set a date for a follow-up home visit in a week. He’d have to take more time off work. The ring of her phone filled the deafening silence that hung in the air after she’d finished talking, jarring his already jangled nerves.
“Yes, we’re finished. Send her in.” She hung up. “Mrs. Hill and your sons are in the family sitting area. Do you know your way?”
“Yes.” It was the corner of the waiting room where he and Suzi and the boys had waited for Renee the day Dylan had refused to go for ice cream with him. He swallowed. No, he wouldn’t think about that.
“Good. My next appointment is here.” Ms. Bulmer rose and offered her hand.
He shook it.
“Congratulations,” she said, “and if you have questions, or any problem arises, don’t hesitate to call on your support network. You’ve got a good one, better than many of the families I see.”
“Thank you. I will.” He left her, wondering if that had been some kind of warning.
“Dad!” Owen raced across the waiting room when his father hit the doorway.
Rhys glanced around the room to see if he should be reining in his son’s exuberance, not that his wasn’t at about the same level. But no one was frowning or even paying attention.
Owen pulled him by his hand across the room. “We’ve got all our stuff in Mr. Hill’s truck. He’s going to meet us at your house. It wouldn’t fit in Mrs. Hill’s car.” Owen stopped. “If you don’t have room for it all, there’s some we could do without, like when we moved here with Mommy.”
It pained Rhys that Owen and Dylan hadn’t been to his house before and that they’d had to give up belongings when Gwen had moved them to Paradox Lake to be closer to him.
“We gave some, like baby stuff, to kids who don’t have as much as us,” Owen said.
That sounded like Gwen, making lemonade out of lemons. Except at the thought of lemonade, it wasn’t Gwen’s sweet face he saw in his mind but Renee’s, apologizing for serving him canned rather than fresh lemonade.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “The house is bigger than our old one. You remember the house in Albany?”
&nbs
p; From Owen’s tentative nod, Rhys wasn’t sure he did. “And our new house is just around the corner from your friend Alex’s house.”
“Get out.” Owen stopped dead in front of Suzi and Dylan. “I could ride my bike there?”
Rhys bit the inside of his lower lip. When he’d gone away, Owen had just gotten his first two-wheeler with training wheels. Rhys glanced at Dylan, standing close to Suzi. Dylan could probably ride a bike now, too. He’d missed so much.
“We’ll see.” He’d have to talk with Anne and Neal about whether that was something they’d allow before he made a decision. “Hey, buddy,” he said to his younger son, tipping his baseball cap back to see his full face.
“Hi, Daddy.” Dylan gave him a shy smile.
“All ready?” he asked with some trepidation, hoping he had enough planned for the day to keep them busy, especially Dylan. He didn’t want him missing Suzi.
“We’re just waiting for Renee,” Suzi said.
“Renee?” Had his voice actually squeaked?
“Didn’t you get the email from the Building Bridges director?”
Not again. “In all honesty, I had so much on my mind yesterday that I never thought to check my email.”
“The director feels having someone from the transitioning team—Renee—here could be helpful.” Suzi looked down at Dylan. “Last time...”
He didn’t want to think about the last time they were here. Didn’t anyone but him see how far he and Dylan had come? Or was he kidding himself? In his entire life, he’d never questioned himself as much as he had the past few days.
“Miss Renee,” Dylan called when Renee entered the waiting room. His face lit up when she walked over. “Mrs. Hill says you’re going to come with us to Daddy’s house. We can show you our new room, like when you were at the Hills and we showed Daddy our stuff.”
“I am. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” Rhys said in unison with his younger son, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until Renee chuckled.
“I’m a little nervous,” he admitted.
“I caught that. We can do this. First up...” Renee took over. “We need to head out to the parking lot and move Dylan’s booster seat from Mrs. Hill’s car to your truck. You have a bench seat, right?”
Reuniting His Family Page 12
