Deacon pulls to the curb just after four. Dusk, not dark yet. The sky is still holding onto that pale winter light that makes everything feel quieter and more peaceful than it is. I stay at the window, while Hank is at the door, before they even get out.
Claudia steps out first, calm and carrying herself with the kind of class you cannot buy or learn. Deacon follows, one hand on the car door, the other already steadying the baby carrier. Savannah is bundled tight, a knit hat pulled low, only her eyes visible as she blinks at the cold like she’s offended by it. She’s utterly adorable.
Hildy, the stunning redhead, comes next, careful on the snow as she turns and holds her hand out, and a small hand takes it. The first thing I clock is not the coat, not the tension in both of their shoulders, it’s the way Lucy looks up at her with all the trust in the world, even bruised and broken, arm in a cast.
The cast is bright against everything else, clean and so new that she’s still adjusting how she moves around it. I still remember my first break, I’m sure she will remember hers far longer than I.
Lucy breaks eye contact at last and looks around, curious, unafraid, already looking at the house, sighing and moves toward it.
I head to the foyer, but stay back.
Hank opens the door before they knock. “You must be Lucy.”
She looks up at him, assessing. “You’re tall.”
“You think?” Hank says, smiling.
“Uh-huh,” she replies.
“Come on in.” He waves a hand showing her the way, which is obvious, but this is Hank being Hank.
Hildy stays half a step behind Lucy as they enter. Close enough to reach her, but trying not to hover.
I step forward before the moment stretches. “Alright. Quick tour.”
Lucy’s attention snaps to me. Hildy’s follows a half beat later.
“This is the living room,” I force my eyes from Hildy and continue. “Everything in here is fair game. Except that chair. Hank and I are not allowed to sit in it, Hank and I, your new friends, are too big. But you, Lucy, are the perfect size for it.”
Lucy grins. Hildy smiles without meaning to, then schools it.
“The kitchen,” I continue. “Snacks are allowed whenever you want, actually, they are encouraged.”
Lucy walks over to the fridge, glances at us as if we’ll tell her to stop, then opens it. “You have cheese?”
“Always,” I assure her. “It’s a requirement here.”
Hildy leans against the counter, eyes never leaving Lucy.
I nod toward the stairs. “Upstairs is where Hank and I sleep. Second floor.”
Lucy tilts her head. “What else is up there?”
“Laundry and bad decisions,” Hank says.
She accepts that easily. Me? I give him a look.
“Snack first or down the hall to see your room?”
“My room,” she smiles.
“This way,” I say as I head in that direction.
I stop at the two doors. “These are yours.” I open Lucy’s room first.
The room is done. Not staged. Just ready for a little girl who deserves a softer life.
The walls are still their original soft cream and clean, even though no one touched a paintbrush.
