“Your four o’clock appointment is here,” Lena announces at the door.
“Thanks.” I make the effort to smile. “I’ll be right there.”
I stand and find that I’m shaking. With nervous hands, I smooth my suit jacket over the plus-size body I’ve battled since childhood. I shouldn’t care what Isabelle will think. But that insecure fat girl still lives inside me. I hush her up as much as I can. Then, calling upon the professional composure I’ve mastered over the years, I take a deep breath and walk out to meet Victor’s wife and foster son.
Lena’s already gotten Isabelle a coffee and Dwayde a soda pop. They’re standing in the reception area talking. Dwayde, fascinated by her piercings, asks, “Did they hurt?”
Lena points to her bottom lip. “This one, for sure. The others, not so much.”
“Cool. My teammate Joel has a hoop in his eyebrow.”
Isabelle affectionately bumps his shoulder. “Don’t even think about it, kiddo. After ears, I draw the line until you’re eighteen.”
“Ms. Torres,” I say, stepping forward with my hand extended. “I’m Deeana Chase.”
Isabelle turns to me. Her straight brown hair is pulled back with a headband from her wholesomely pretty face, and her smile is warm and genuine. I assume she knows about the way I left Springvale, as told by Mick and Victor. But I didn’t sense any animosity during our call yesterday nor do I now. She’s a woman who makes up her own mind.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person,” she says. “And please call me Isabelle.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Isabelle.” I take an instant liking to her. “This must be Dwayde.” I indicate the boy I recognize from the Internet photo. He’s dressed in hip-hop style baggy jeans and a red Chicago Bulls hoodie. Small black studs adorn both earlobes.
“Yes, this is my son. Sweetie, this is Ms. Chase.”
He nods his head, covered from crown to nape in wide cornrows, and eyes me warily, but he doesn’t speak.
“Hi, Dwayde. We’re not too formal around here, so you can call me Ms. C, as most of my clients do.”
That earns me an apprehensive shrug.
“I’ll just explain how the next hour will work. There are some things that we need to talk about. Just the two of us. Lena’s going to keep Isabelle company while you and I meet in my office. Isabelle can join us later to hear where we land.”
The boy slouched across from me stares past my shoulder to the brick wall, tracing an invisible pattern on the lip of my desk. Tall for twelve, he’s thin and all gangly limbs. So far, small talk hasn’t broken the ice. The most I’ve gotten for my efforts are disinterested shrugs.
I try again, this time going to business. “Do you understand my role, Dwayde?”
His shoulders hitch again.
“I’m a lawyer. Specifically, I’m a children’s advocate, which means I don’t work for your grandparents or your foster parents.”
“So who pays you then?” he asks astutely.
“To keep things fair, the courts require that both sides share in the cost. But even so, my only concern is you and what you want. It would help if you told me what that is.”
His eyes meet mine. They’re large and almond brown, and have seen more than any child’s should. “I want to stay with Victor and Isabelle. Victor promised that he’d keep me. He said I was theirs now and that nothing could ever change that.”
Regardless of my personal feelings toward my former foster brother, I admire him for giving Dwayde a loving home. It’s evident that Victor has his mother’s tenderheartedness for the lost and wounded and his father’s staunch commitment to family.
“I’m going to do my best to make that happen for you, Dwayde. But first I need to understand some things.”
“Like what?”
“Like why you don’t want to see your grandparents.”
“I already have grandparents,” he says emphatically.
My heart aches to ask about Mama and Papa T, but I don’t. Just as I hadn’t asked Isabelle. If I do, I fear my emotions will break apart on me.
“The Franklins are your grandparents, too, and they want to see you.”
