“Why keep him on your lap?”
Having already given up any hope of approval from the woman, Willow spoke candidly. “He just threw a tantrum for not being allowed to steal. I just want to be sure he’s not going to repeat his attempt at grand theft train.”
“Some would say,” the woman suggested, “that he simply expressed his feelings. Do you not think that children should be allowed to express their feelings?”
“I don’t know about that, but I do know it’s cruel to allow a child to form a habit of socially unacceptable behavior and then later expect him to break that bad habit simply because he’s older. Why not teach him not to do it in the first place?”
Liam relaxed as Willow spoke; the last remnants of resistance dissolved and left him perfectly content to sit with her. She pointed to the basket of toys. “What about your ball? I’ll roll it. Go find the ball.”
The boy raced for the basket and dug out one of Willow’s wool felt balls and brought it back to her, throwing it in her lap. “No, son.” She handed it back to him. “Hand me the ball. Don’t throw.”
He cocked his head as his eyes traveled back and forth between his mother’s face and the ball. He raised his arm to throw again, but she stopped him. “No… gentle. Like this.”
With exaggerated movements, Willow took the ball and placed it gently in her son’s hands. “See. Give me the ball…”
Excited, Liam handed her the ball, but with much more force than could ever be called ‘gentle.’ Still, Willow praised him. “That’s better. Here…” She rolled the ball toward the dining room table, trying to aim for the center. Liam loved crawling around and between the table and chair legs.
“And yet, he still wasn’t gentle and that is fine?”
The disapproving tone, the press of the woman’s thin lips—everything screamed a big, red, rejection stamp to Willow, but she forced herself to remain calm. “Fine for trying. He was overeager, sure, but he tried to do what he was told. I consider that perfectly acceptable—particularly at his age.”
“I see.”
Those words made Willow want to scream. However, the woman closed her folder, stood, and gave them a weak and somewhat forced-looking smile. “Thank you for your time. You have darling sons.” She glanced around the house before adding. “You have chosen a unique life. I don’t quite know how to describe it, but it’s very interesting.”
They stood on the porch, the boys playing at their feet, and watched the sedan bounce along the lane to the highway. Chad draped an arm around Willow’s shoulder. “Think I should go see what I can find out about requesting a new home study?”
“Probably. If Maeve left things so ambiguous, and this woman is so obviously unsatisfied with our situation, we’ll have to appeal somehow, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I guess we shouldn’t have assumed everything was okay when we didn’t hear back.”
She gripped the porch railing, trying not to scream out her frustrations. “We told them everything up front. We told them about Mother and what she did. We told them about how we live and everything. We went to all those classes and those office interviews. We did the medical stuff, got all the references, handed over the financial records…”
Chad laughed. “And I even wrote that ‘life story’ thing.”
Willow snickered. “It was pretty funny…”
“Yours was more interesting.”
“Well… it was different, anyway.”
“I could have saved myself a lot of time,” Chad mused as he turned and leaned against the rail, his arms crossing over his chest. “I should have just written, “I had the opposite life from Willow. If she did it, I didn’t. If she didn’t and it was legal, I did.”
Willow dropped her head on Chad’s shoulder and allowed herself to relax just a little. “Maybe my letter killed our chances. Maybe it’s not the farm or the breaker box.”
“How do you figure?”
“You know in that movie Cheri brought—the black and white one she used to torture Chuck with that night?”
Chad’s chin dropped on her head. “Singing?”
“Right. Remember the guy who wanted to become a citizen and talked too much and the questioner said he should come back with shorter answers?”
The familiar feeling of the rumble of Chad’s chuckle comforted her as she waited for him to speak. After a few seconds, he sighed. “The paperwork assured us that they just wanted a safe home—ours is—with room for the child—we do—and adequate resources to care for it—we have them—and to be well adjusted and loving people.”
“Which we are—loving anyway. I make no promises about being well adjusted.” A yawn escaped before she could swallow it. “I’ve got to get some food and try to sleep.”
“You’re not going back?”
“Nope. Dr. Kline says she’s still not dilating, thinning, dropping, stationing… or any of the other ‘-ings’ he wants to see before they encourage labor to keep going.”
“Two more weeks.” Chad’s groan sounded suspiciously similar to Ryder’s.
“Or four.”
“What!”
“Well, if she’s not ready, the dates could be off…” Willow laughed. “Just kidding. They’re sure because they measured some bone in there and voila. It tells them everything.”
Chad pointed to the door. “Okay, you go and eat then. You might be up all night again.”
“At least they’re not trying to stop it anymore,” Willow murmured as she took each son by a hand and led them into the house. “That’s progress.” She yawned again, this time unable to suppress it.
His hand smoothed the back of her hair. “You know what?”
Willow paused, her eyes closing as she relaxed under his touch. “Hmm?” Good feelings flew as her sons tugged her toward the kitchen.
“Go upstairs, take a shower, and crawl in bed. I’ll make one of your egg and sausage sandwiches. You can eat there and fall asleep.”
She reached the kitchen door and hesitated. “But—” The boys rushed for their chairs. “—they don’t want me anymore anyway.”
“Food trumps mom any day. It’s a guy thing.” Chad pointed to the stairs. “Go on. You know you’ll get a call an hour into that nap anyway.” He snickered. “Can’t wait to tell Mom you’re gone again. For a woman who protested the idea in the first place, she’s nearly going insane waiting.”
“It’s not even Chelsea’s due date yet!”
“False labor messes with your mind—makes it seem like it has to be past time even when it’s not yet there.”
She shrugged and turned away. “You win—but only because I want that shower.”
Chapter 175
When days passed without news regarding the home study, Chad grew impatient. Frustrated, he asked his father who offered an excellent suggestion. “Aggie had to have had something like that done when she took over guardianship of the children, right? Call and ask her.”
Instead of calling, Chad stopped by on the way back from a transport to Brunswick. He found all but the youngest Stuart-Sullivan children around a table in the library, watching a rat chase through an elaborate maze. “What’s going on?”
“Tavish trained Trapper to follow the long route to the cheese!” Kenzie beamed up at Chad. “Trapper is very smart.”
“Greedy is more like it,” Aggie muttered.
“Got a question for you, Aggie. Can we talk somewhere—the kitchen maybe?”
Aggie gave Vannie a look that clearly said, “Don’t let that rodent escape into my house” and led Chad from the room. “Anything wrong?”
He crossed his forearms and leaned them on the island. “Home studies—what do you know about them?”
“I thought you did that a few months ago! I mean, that was back in what, April?”
“Yeah, well the first interviewer came out and left ambiguous statements about our electricity which prompted another interview. From what I can tell, Ms. Claremont is unimpressed with us and our home. We need
to know what to do next. The baby could be here any day… or in the next month, anyway.”
“Month? I thought she had two weeks!”
“And,” Chad muttered, “who reminded us that a mother can go two weeks past her due date?”
Aggie giggled. “Well, you can, but I doubt they would after the misery that poor girl has been in. Why don’t they just induce her?”
“Dr. Kline says she just isn’t ready. He says it’ll end in a C-section most likely.” Chad ran his hand over his head in frustration. “We have to have this stuff done or they won’t let us keep the baby!”
“I don’t know, Chad. The court ordered a background check and fingerprints and stuff for me, but I didn’t have to do everything, because I’m just the guardian. It wasn’t nearly as involved as what you’re doing.” Her eyes widened. “But Ellene would know! Let me call her—wait, is she home?” Aggie glanced out the window. “I can’t tell. Hold on.”
Chad wandered into the library to watch the kids with their rat while Aggie chatted with her neighbor. Half a minute later, she appeared at his shoulder. “Murphy wants to know what the social worker’s name is.”
“Ms. Claremont.”
Laughter came through the phone before Aggie could relay the name. She listened and then nodded, turning to walk away from the children’s cheers as the rat neared the end of the maze—again. Chad followed, eager to hear why Ms. Claremont’s name was so amusing. Still, it took several more minutes for Aggie to disconnect the call.
“Okay, first, Wendy Claremont is probably their best social worker. Murphy says you got a great advocate in her.” Aggie ticked off her fingers as she counted. “Second, I guess the woman is kind of hard to read, but if there was a problem, you would have gotten a call the next day. Murphy says to call and request a copy of the report.”
“Okay…” He sighed. “I just—I had no idea it could be a problem.”
“It’s probably not one. Just ask.” She grabbed a glass and waved it at him. “Water? Tea? I might have some dregs of lemonade in there, but I doubt it.”
“Water, thanks.”
“Sandwich?” Aggie began pulling out lunchmeat as he hesitated. “Sandwich it is. Ham okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“So, why are they waiting so long to do this study? You’ve been going to all those classes and things, right?”
“This is just the final home inspection part. We keep calling it the ‘home study’ but the whole process has really been that.”
“How has Willow handled that?” Aggie held up mayonnaise and mustard with a questioning look on her face.
“Both please.”
“Watermelon?”
“Sure, but—”
Aggie interrupted him. “Okay so this is just the ‘make sure the kid will have a bed and not be allowed to play with live wires’ visit?”
“Second one. The first one just left notes about no electricity and questions about it and they sent a letter saying we had to have someone else come out to fill in the report.”
“Sounds routine. You have electricity. There’s no law that says you have to use it. You’ll be fine.”
Chad accepted a wedge of watermelon and moved to the sink before taking a bite. Juice ran down his chin and dropped into the basin. “Good watermelon.”
“Luke knows how to pick ‘em. I try to copy his technique and get mealy things that even my bottomless pits won’t touch.” She passed him the sandwich on a paper towel. “So everything else is in order? You just need this report on how safe your home is or isn’t?”
“Yep.”
“Want me to ask Mur—”
“Do you call Ellene that to her face?”
Aggie laughed. “Yep. She even calls herself that now and then when she wants to tease me. So, as I was saying before I was so rudely and suspiciously interrupted…” Aggie grinned. “Do you want me to ask her if she’d come give your place a once-over and tell you what she thinks could be an issue?”
Chad sighed. “I don’t think she’d be allowed to do that, and even if we could hire an independent social worker to do their own inspection, I doubt Ellene could be that person. Being your neighbor and friend—it’s probably a conflict of interest thing.” He took a swig of his water and swallowed a bit almost whole. “If she thinks it was probably okay, then we’ll just trust—for now. If you talk to her again, can you ask her for a recommendation for a private agency if we need to hire a “rebuttal” inspection or whatever we do if we have to appeal?”
“Sure.” Aggie winced at squeals coming from the library. “So help me if those kids let that rat get loose…”
After another quick swig of water, Chad grabbed his sandwich and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks. I’ve gotta get back. I just thought about you and the chief said I could have half an hour, so I took it while I had the chance.”
As he stepped through the screen door, Chad heard screams of “Get him!” Seconds later, Aggie’s voice wavered and began singing, “When sore trials came upon you, did you think to pray…”
A snicker escaped before he could stop himself. “Willow is gonna love that one.”
Willow met Chad at the door. “I called the lawyer and he said that even if the home study is not finalized and approved, that we can sign a legal risk waiver and some kind of other documentation so we can still take the baby home. He thinks everything is fine, but he’s contacting the social worker today to see if we need to do anything else.”
“Shouldn’t we be calling?”
“Dale said usually, yes, but since we’re concerned about approval, it might be better to go through a third party—him. I asked Renee about it, and she agreed.”
“Two lawyers—who can argue with that?” He sank into the rocking chair by the stove and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe how relieved I am.”
“I know what you mean!” She waved her hands over the table. “I’ve been playing with invitation ideas all afternoon. It’s like my creativity resurfaced once that weight lifted.” Willow’s eyes slid toward the clock. “But, those sons of ours will be up from their naps soon. I’d better clear it away.”
Eyes closed, Chad nodded and said, “Let me see your favorite three.”
“See? Sure you will. Right through those closed eyelids.”
“Woman!”
Willow giggled and chose three of the dozen or so prototypes spread across the table. “Okay, what do you think?”
The first looked similar to the effect she’d used for their invitations, but with roses instead of daisies and lilacs. “I like it.” The second, seemed too plain to him, but it did lend a certain elegance. “What’s with the monogram and nothing else?”
“I thought maybe it might be something they’d want and then really liked how it turned out. I wish I could make it raised instead of flat, but I had a hard enough time trying to do that with the next one.”
Chad stared at the third card, wondering at the holes in place of flower petals in several places. She had managed a decent attempt at an embossed surface, but the holes marred the effect and she hadn’t managed to make the edges smooth. “I like the concept.”
“Me too. I just can’t get the right amount of pressure on top and hardness beneath it.”
“What did you use?” He laid one of the other cards beneath it and nodded. “The alternate color behind that hole looks cool, though.”
“Pencil eraser. I just dragged it where I wanted. I tried other things but everything I had was too sharp or narrow. I need something with a small ball on the end, I think.”
“I bet Mom has something in all that scrapbooking junk she has.”
As they talked, Willow began gathering her paper, watercolors, pencils, and scissors into a basket. “I’ll call Mom tomorrow. She’d probably have fun helping me come up with ideas.”
“And then she might not feel so weird asking you for help with Cheri’s.”
Willow turned, stunned. “Cheri’s? Why would she want help? I thought they
would order the kind of stuff they showed me in magazines.”
“Maybe, but I got the impression that she was going to see if you could help them design something. I guess hand crafted is very ‘in’ right now.”
“Who cares if it is or isn’t? Do what you want. I don’t get people.”
Chad’s laughter filled the kitchen. “That’s okay, lass. They don’t get you either. That’s what makes it a very interesting world.”
Her phone rang. Willow glanced at the name, dumped the basket on the table, and reached for her keys on the shelf as she answered it. “On my—oh. Well, that’s good! Great. Okay. Have fun and try to relax.”
“What was that about?”
“Chelsea went to Dr. Kline for a quick check before the weekend. He said she’s thinning and that the baby’s head is further down. He suggested she walk, so they’re going to go to that summer faire thing in New Cheltenham.”
“Sooo…” Chad shrugged. “Why’d she call you?”
“Just warning me to get a nap in case it starts the labor stuff again.”
He stood, took the basket from her, and jerked his head toward the stairs. “She’s right. Go sleep while you can. I’ll put this away. If you hear the boys, ignore them. Sleep.”
“I’m not tired. I’m actually quite energized.”
Chad thought for a moment and nodded. “Okay, I’ll go change and we’ll take the boys fishing when they wake up. That way, you’ll at least relax.” Willow’s squeal told him he’d made the right decision.
“I haven’t been fishing in—when was the last time I went fishing?”
“Dunno. Let’s get ourselves ready, eh?”
“I’ll pack a snack. Want a sandwich?” She reached for bread without waiting for him to answer.
“Yeah… maybe a little pico de gallo? I’ve got chips in the truck. Grabbed them on the way home.”
She grinned. “Sounds just about perfect. We’ll have fish and fried okra for dinner. I’m pretty sure the plants closest to the house flowered a few days ago.”
“Cornbread?”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 5 Page 29
