Squared Away

by Annabeth Albert

  The girls were dancing right behind them, delighted with the view, chattering about being hungry, and still Mark held on.

  “I don’t want to be here when the tide comes in,” Isaiah whispered.

  “Me either.” Mark wanted to keep those names there, a firm declaration on the sand that they would be remembered.

  “I know a good place near here for burgers and fries.” Isaiah’s voice was still soft, like he too was reluctant to break this spell.

  “Sounds good.” Mark followed him back down the trail, carrying Zoe again.

  “I want a hand too.” Daphne scampered between them. Crap. They were still holding hands.

  Isaiah laughed, dropping Mark’s hand to pick up one of Daphne’s. “Want us to swing you?”

  “Yes!”

  Mark grabbed her free hand, watching Isaiah for directions on when to gently swing her into the air, balanced between the two of them, a bright beacon of hope. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d have to start making plans. Tomorrow he’d have to take charge, stop relying so much on Isaiah. Tomorrow he’d have to face reality and lawyers and hard conversations, but for that moment, he let Isaiah lead.

  Chapter Six

  “I don’t wanna go.” Daphne plopped herself down at the top of the stairs, right by the baby gate, still in her pajamas. “We didn’t hafta do school yesterday.”

  “I know.” Isaiah tried to sound sympathetic even though he was running late and did not have time for this. “But it’s time to get back on our routines, okay? Uncle Mark and I have to go to the lawyer’s office, and trust me, you don’t want to come. It’ll be boring. School will be fun.”

  “Fun!” Zoe marched out of her room wearing a tutu and nothing else. Isaiah had just put her in her school clothes five minutes ago.

  “Mark!” Isaiah called down the stairs. He was going to need some reinforcements if everyone wasn’t going to be late. Mark had been subdued since their impromptu beach trip, helping when Isaiah prompted him, but keeping to himself. Which Isaiah supposed was only natural. He was having more than a small amount of post-funeral fatigue himself.

  “Yeah?” Mark bounded up the stairs. Like Isaiah, he was in civilian dress clothes—khaki pants, blue oxford shirt with a tie hanging from the collar like he’d been caught mid getting dressed. A hint of shaving cream clung to his neck. He’d lost the beard before the funeral, but his hair was still on the shaggy side, tamed with some product, which along with the outfit had him looking far preppier than Isaiah had ever seen him. Isaiah had skipped the tie himself, but the reading of the wills had seemed like a good occasion to wear the gray pants and white shirt he usually reserved for job interviews. Which he supposed this was, of sorts.

  “Do you want to dress Zoe? I’ve still got to get Liam changed and ready.”

  “I can dress me self,” Zoe protested.

  “Supervise. Closely,” Isaiah amended. “Her clothes should be on the floor in there. I’ve already dressed her once.”

  “Okay. I’m on it.” Mark scooped her up, too-large tutu and all. “What time does school start? We’re cutting it close for the lawyer.”

  “Aware of that.” Isaiah headed back to Liam’s room. “Move fast. And Daphne, you’re going. So get clothes on.”

  Isaiah made another executive decision—he was getting good at those—that Liam could go in his sleeper with a fresh diaper. He tossed a spare outfit in the diaper bag. He’d just change him into clothes at the next diaper change. But judging by Mark’s frown when he emerged from the room with Liam and the diaper bag, he didn’t agree with Isaiah’s streamlined approach. He had Zoe by the hand. Her T-shirt was on backward, and she was dragging her blanket.

  “He’s going in pajamas?”

  “You want to change him?” He headed for the stairs because he knew Mark didn’t. Mark had yet to change a diaper, and this was Mark’s first time in the girls’ room. He’d been pretty much leaving the kid care up to Isaiah. And he was nice—he wasn’t going to point out the backward shirt or how Zoe’s hair was now sticking up at alarming angles. They were going to be late—there wasn’t time for perfection, no matter what Chief Stick-in-the-mud wanted.

  “No.” Mark let out a long-suffering sigh as he followed Isaiah down the stairs. “But I better drive. We’re cutting it close.”

  Blinking, Isaiah swiveled around at the bottom of the stairs. “You get some sort of transporter powers at SEAL training? Because I think I probably know how to get to the preschool and downtown faster than you.”

  “Don’t argue.” Mark sounded a billion years older than Isaiah. Pompous ass. “We don’t have time for that.”

  “Okay, fine. But only because I’ll have to hop out and sign the girls into school.” Isaiah tossed him the car keys. They were having words, big ones as soon as the little ears were safely stowed at school.

  He got the kids buckled, then slid into the passenger seat. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been in his passenger seat before, wasn’t sure he cared for it. Mark was fast, faster than Isaiah would have liked, frankly, but they got the girls into school right before the morning circle time started, which Isaiah counted as a win. But then they hit big-time bridge traffic on the way downtown and ended up pretty much running from the parking garage to the high rise that housed the lawyer’s office.

  And through it all, Isaiah’s ire at Mark’s clipped commands grew. He was not some newbie SEAL on Mark’s team. He was an adult now, and why the hell couldn’t Mark see that?

  “Oh there’s the precious.” Aunt Louise took the car-seat carrier from Isaiah the second she spotted them in the lobby. She’d brought Aunt Cecily for the meeting, and damn if Aunt Cecily didn’t look twenty years older in just two weeks. Fuck. Cal. Why’d you do it? The rage Isaiah worked hard to tamp down built up again. He gave Aunt Cecily a hard hug.

  His father was back on a plane bound for Santiago, not even sticking around for this meeting. Not that Isaiah had expected him to. The research always came first. Mark’s uncle and wife who had come from Ohio were there too, but other than that, it was a small crowd that entered the large conference room, a reminder of how precious little family they had now.

  Tom Yates was a tall man with silver hair who had apparently been Mark’s family’s attorney since his parents had moved to San Diego thirty-odd years ago, and he had hearty handshakes for everyone. His assistant offered coffee and tea around.

  Like Aunt Cecily, Isaiah gratefully accepted a cup of tea. He’d made a pot of coffee at home that morning, but that was for Mark who drank the stuff black and strong and seemed to get marginally more human with each cup.

  The first part of the meeting was some legalese about the family trust and Danielle’s shares in it. Other than noting that the kids wouldn’t have to worry about money for things like college, Isaiah didn’t really follow all the technical terms that underscored how loaded Mark’s family really was. Apparently, the family back in Ohio had been big into steel. His own family was comfortably middle class thanks to his father’s career, and he had a small nest egg of his own from his mother’s life insurance policy, but Mark’s family was a whole different level of well off.

  “Now, we turn our attention to the real property and the wills, most specifically the children—”

  “I’ve been talking to my daughter back in Cleveland.” The uncle spoke up, wiping at his balding head. “She and her husband are considering taking the baby. They can’t do the older two, of course.”

  Aunt Louise piped up her same tired offer, “We could do the oldest—”

  “We are not splitting the kids up.” Isaiah glared at them both. “They are not puppies. You don’t get pick of the litter. They’re a family.”

  “Dani and Cal wouldn’t want them split up.” It was the first Mark had spoken since their mad dash to the lawyer’s office, but his voice was hoarse, as if he’d been talking for hours. “Let’s settle dow
n and see what they said in the will.”

  “And that’s the problem.” Mr. Yates let out a dignified huff. “There’s not just one joint will. We’ve got two competing wills. Mrs. Whitley-Underwood wrote a will five years ago, after the deaths of her parents, and at that time there was only one child. That will establishes that Mr. Whitley—Mark—retained half ownership in the family home, as per the terms of their parents’ will, and it also names him executor of her estate. We’ll talk more about the complexities surrounding the family home in a moment. But relevant here, as to the child, she expresses a wish that Mr. Whitley be named guardian.”

  “Whoa. Wow.” Isaiah couldn’t stop the words from popping out. He’d been at the hospital with Cal and Danielle. Been there for Daphne’s first smile, her first steps, when she’d became a big sister twice over, and it hadn’t even occurred to Danielle that he might be a better choice than an always-traveling SEAL who’d distanced himself from the family? The last week and a half now, he’d just assumed...

  But wait. Before he could let the hurt win, he managed to speak. “You said there were two wills?”

  “Yes. Mr. Underwood—Callum—wrote a will five months ago, one that names all three children. He expresses a wish that Mr. James—Isaiah—be named guardian. The language suggests that his wife shared this wish, but he’s the sole signatory on the will.”

  Well. Thank God. Someone had some sense. He released all the air from his lungs. “So that one wins, right? It’s more recent?”

  “Well, this is where it gets complicated. Even if the wills agreed, it’s a suggestion—short of joint guardianship, it’s not legally binding. The court will, of course, consider the wishes of each parent and the provisions of the will. Because certain financial provisions of the wills are in conflict with each other as well as with the wills of the Whitley parents’ estate, we could be looking at a lengthy probate for the assets.”

  “And for the kids?” Isaiah really couldn’t care less about the money or the property. Give that to Mark. He and the kids would deal. “If I petition for guardianship, how long are we looking at?”

  “Three to four months. Maybe longer. The court is always backed up. And if Mr. Whitley—or anyone else—is going to contest the guardianship, the court will order a full investigation for the best interests of the children. And because the children in this case have substantial assets, the court could choose to order one guardian for the physical well-being of the children and another for their assets.”

  Assets. There was that word again that Isaiah was starting to hate. “Are you saying the court could give me custody but make Mark or someone else in charge of their money?”

  “Exactly. And that might not be a terrible idea in this case. Mr. Whitley understands the finer points of the family trust and will have to arrange for the sale of the family home, if the probate court does find the children have an interest in the home, and the establishment of a new trust for the children with those proceeds. But that can’t happen for at least four months, until the wills make it through probate and the court approves the sale.”

  Having two separate guardians was an awful idea, and just the suggestion seemed to mean that no one in the room found Isaiah trustworthy with large sums of money, but he needed to put the kids first, not let his temper get the better of him. “It’s the only home the kids have ever known. Does it for sure have to be sold?”

  “Well, that’s a conversation Mr. Whitley and I will have to have at length. His parents’ will comes into play here, and there’s an interpretation where the house passes directly to Mr. Whitley.” Mr. Yates was fast proving himself to be an even bigger pompous ass than Mark had been that morning about the whole driving thing. “There’s a lot of nuance there, but in the interim, he could choose to allow the children to remain at the home.”

  “And me,” Isaiah added. “I’m going to apply for guardianship. That’s a given here, okay?”

  “And I’m not abandoning them either. If Danielle wanted it to be me...” Mark sucked in a breath, shoulders stiffening. “Then I better at least think about it.”

  “Good.” Mr. Yates nodded. “This is a huge decision. For both of you. But what we need right now is a plan going forward before the court can weigh in. Of course, foster care—”

  “Oh hell no.” Okay. A little of that temper slipped out. He couldn’t help it. “No foster care. I’m right here. Mark might need some thinking time or whatever, but I don’t. I’m right here and I want them.”

  “With all due regard, Mr. James, you’re twenty-four. What you think you’re ready for may not in fact be your reality. By the time the hearing comes around—”

  “I’ll be there in my best suit to get custody of my kids. I’m not changing my mind.”

  “We know you’re not, honey.” Aunt Cecily fumbled for his hand, patting him awkwardly. “Cal knew you’d do right by his babies.”

  “Here’s what I’m going to propose.” Mr. Yates stood, pacing the head of the conference table. “You’ve both been staying at the family home, correct? Sharing care of the children?”

  Sharing was a huge stretch, but it would be damn petty to bring up that he was doing all the work. He nodded, gut souring, already knowing he wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “What if you continue that arrangement? Mr. James can petition for guardianship if he chooses—”

  “He chooses.”

  “And Mark can decide whether to petition as well for either physical or financial guardianship. But in the meantime, while we await a court date, Mr. James and the children can reside at the home. Mr. Whitley can handle the finances as he carries out the execution of his sister’s estate as per the terms of her will. And that will give Mr. James time to find suitable living arrangements for the children should his suit be successful and should Mr. Whitley sell the family home.”

  Seeing as how Isaiah couldn’t exactly arrive back at his small apartment with three kids and all their belongings, he was forced to nod. “I’ll get on that.”

  “And you, Mark, this would let you get more comfortable with the kids. See if you do want to petition for custody.” The uncle nodded vigorously, clearly pulling for that outcome.

  “I guess I could supervise—”

  “I do not need supervision.” They were getting that straight right now. “But yeah, we could share until the court settles everything. The kids shouldn’t have to leave the only house they’ve ever known yet.”

  Isaiah might be tempted to get the kids and run, but he had to think like an adult here, put them first. They needed to stay in the house as long as they could, go to their preschool on the island for the rest of the school year if they could. There was no way he could afford even a condo on Coronado. No, the bigshot lawyer guy was right. Sharing made sense, much as he hated to admit it.

  And he’d prove to Mark that he was the best choice for the kids, get him to drop any thoughts of contesting Isaiah’s case for guardianship. Mark traveled even more than Isaiah’s father—and Isaiah well knew what it was like to grow up with that sort of absentee parent. No way did he want that for these kids. His kids. Isaiah was what was best for the kids, period.

  Chapter Seven

  “You need to lawyer up. Someone for your interests personally while the firm handles the probate details. You can’t let that kid win,” Mark’s uncle whispered insistently as the will meeting came to a close. “He’s single, too. And I’ve heard he’s—” he lowered his voice another octave “—into men. It’s just not right—”

  “Cal and Danielle didn’t have a problem with him. Neither do I.” Now was not the time to get into his uncle’s awful politics. He’d been subdued at the funeral, which was good. Mark didn’t need a rundown of what dubious causes he was throwing his considerable wealth behind now. His father had been of similar mind, something Mark had bristled against for years.

  “Still, he’s
probably just in it for the money. We can’t squander the children’s future.”

  Mark reluctantly nodded. He didn’t think Isaiah wanted the kids for the money—everything he’d seen so far said that he genuinely cared for the kids. Mark might have doubts about his suitability, but he didn’t think this was a money grab on his part. However, his uncle was right in that Mark might need to consider his own attorney for this will mess.

  “He’ll change his mind.”

  Mark ignored the weird fluttering in his gut. Isaiah would change his mind. Sure, he’d given an impassioned speech now, but the lawyer and his uncle were right—Isaiah was too young. Too flighty. Too much in love with drifting and partying. He wasn’t going to want the kids long-term. And if Danielle had had doubts about him and his readiness, then Mark wanted to honor her wishes. Wishes that could have been so much clearer. They should have kept their wills up to date. A lot of things had slipped through the cracks, which Mark had some serious frustration with, but Danielle did seem to have wanted him to have the kids. Might have been nice if she’d talked to him about it, but in a way, he’d known since he first heard the news that he was going to get the kids. This just made it more final.

  Well, not final. Because apparently Isaiah was determined to file for guardianship too. But that would change. A few weeks of caring for the kids and he’d be begging to go back to his life.

  “I’ll send you some names. And think about letting Betsy take the baby. It would be one less thing on your plate.” His uncle mopped at his head with his handkerchief.

  “No.” This was the one area where he and Isaiah were in agreement. “I don’t want to split up the kids.” Danielle had been complicated, infuriating at times, distant at others, and hadn’t always been the best sibling. But he also couldn’t imagine life growing up without her.