Coraand I are woken up at five o’clock in the morning by Pearl with Winnie on her hip. Pearl is a skinny kid, and at almost a year old, Winnie is a chunker, so it’s a real balancing act.
“Daddy! Mommy! Time to get up! It’s puppy day!” she stage-whispers. I’m not sure why she’s keeping her voice down. All four of us are awake now.
Cora scrubs her eyes, struggling to sit up in bed. She’s been sleeping deeper since Winnie has given up her night feed.
“What time is it?” she grumbles.
“Puppy time,” I say, grinning at Pearl and grabbing Winnie, who’s starting to slip.
“Come on, Mommy.” Pearl circles to Cora’s side of the bed to grab her hand and urge her out. “We have to get ready. Our appointment is at ten o’clockon the dot.”
I don’t know where she’s getting that “on the dot” business. The foster family told us anytime today would work for them. Let’s hope seven o’clock in the morning counts as “anytime.”
Cora wanted to adopt from the county shelter, but Iruled that out pretty much immediately after my reconnaissance mission. The concrete, the noise, the animal control officers in uniform. There were too many potential triggers for Cora. Maybe for our next animal.
I had Michelle contact the person in charge of the shelter to connect them with the company’s philanthropic arm. Hiring people to foster all the dogs really isn’t feasible. Michelle’s idea to fund a new facility is much better.
Plan B is a beagle rescue organization. We’ve completed the home visit and the paperwork. The only thing left is to meet Gonzo, the two-year-old male that Pearl picked from the website. We were advised not to adopt an actual puppy with a baby in the house because of the breed’s tendency to nip. All dogs are puppies to Cora and Pearl, though.
I’m not sure who is more excited. She might have been slow to wake, but Cora’s in high gear now. She’s already in the shower, leaving me to give Winnie a bottle for her morning feed. It’s no problem. A key aspect of our new relationship is that Cora doesn’t soft-pedal anything with me anymore.
One morning, Cora got hung up with something in the bathroom, and Winnie was fussing by the time she made it to the nursery. I was trying to comfort her—I think I was stroking her head—but I was obviously doing it wrong. Cora grabbed a bag of breast milk from the fridge, slapped it into my palm, handed me a bottle, and said, “If I die or get sick, you are not letting our baby starve because you’re scared of your emotions.”
And then she took Pearl by the hand and marched her out of the room.
I figured it out.
Thankfully, Cora takes over once she’s dressed. We have breakfast, and then, under Cora’s orders, we conduct a thorough inspection of our new backyard fence and all the doggear. We’re able to hold off leaving the house until nine o’clock.
The foster family is about an hour away. We’re meeting Gonzo in their backyard. They have several animals, so it’s easier for us to come to them than vice versa. Johnson drives. The family seems nice, and they checked out fine, but it’s too unknown a situation not to bring some backup.
Cora and Pearl chat the whole way. When Pearl asks Cora if she had a dog when she was little, Cora says, “I never had one of my own, but there was a dog I really loved.”
“What was his name?” Pearl asks.
“Ellis.”
Pearl nods in approval. “Like the island.”
“Exactly,” Cora agrees. “Do you think we’ll want to change Gonzo’s name once we meet him?”
“Even if we change it, he’ll still be him,” Pearl observes. “We’ll love him no matter what.”
I’m careful not to catch Cora’s eye. I’m not letting anything heavy touch this day if I can help it. But I do grab her hand and pull it onto my lap. She twines her fingers with mine. I relax in my seat.
Not everything is good now. Even though I’ve had the pre-nup rescinded, rehired Schmidt, fired the man Cora refers to as the “bitchy” cook, and moved her money to a brokerage of her choosing which I—at the time—did not own, Cora refuses to marry me for real. She says she doesn’t want to rush into anything serious. She thinks she’s funny, and frankly, she’s right. She jokes more now, or maybe I laugh more. Maybe both.
She still sees Deborah twice a week, and often, she’s totally drained when she comes out of the office. She’ll sleep on my shoulder all the way back to the house.
Several times, Deborah has recommended to Cora thatshe start an SSRI. Cora refuses. She says she wants to be angry when she’s angry, that she’s earned it.
I don’t argue. I turn all the frustrated energy from being unable to fix things for her into rowing. And revenge.
I started with Brian McDonough. I considered having him disbarred. No one asked him to steamroll Cora into signing the prenup. He took that upon himself. But then I talked to Nicolet and Burgess. They were ready to fire him, of course, but they were genuinely disappointed. Apparently, McDonough has become a highly effective courtroom litigator. I had an idea.
If McDonough wants to keep his license and reputation, half of his hours have to be pro bono work for juvenile offenders and kids in the foster system. He hates it—his dreams of partnership have evaporated—but damned if he isn’t good in family court, too.
Gideon’s connections have helped make Cora’s foster parents’ lives a little more miserable in lockup. His connections also ensured that all copies of the CCTV tape have been destroyed, and Delaney fully understands the cost of going to the press.
