17
Colleen Parson’s home, a beautiful brownstone in Hyde Park, is pristine; manicured lawns, stain-glass windows, and potted plants hanging on the porch.
As soon as the door swings open, Colleen greets me with a bright smile. She looks exactly like her younger sister, albeit a brighter, shinier, flawless version. Colette 2.0, if you will. Everything about her screams money; the highlights in her hair, the diamond stud in her ears, her pink and black cardigan, and the fancy apron. It’s hard to believe the two women are related.
“You must be Mrs. Cooper. Come in, please.” She offers me her hand, and I shake it enthusiastically, already taking in the space; shiny hardwood flooring and sleek contemporary decor. “Call me Abby, please.”
“Yes… will do,” she says. “Come in. Please keep your shoes on… love those, by the way.” She leads me to the kitchen where she’s in the middle of baking muffins. I wonder if that’s just for my benefit, or if she always bakes muffins in the afternoon. She’s certainly equipped; a red Kitchen Aid mixer and a selection of colorful vintage bowls dot the kitchen. “Greg and the kids will be here shortly. Greg is getting out of work early today.”
“No worries. We can chat, just the two of us until they get here.”
“Please make yourself comfortable at the table. Can I offer you something to drink?” she asks. “Tea, coffee… juice?”
I nod, knowing I will be there for a while. “Uh… perhaps a tea.”
She bounces to the pantry. “Sounds good.”
I settle myself at the kitchen table and dig out the Perez folder from my briefcase. Colleen practically hops as she heads toward me and presents me with a tin full of different teas. After a quick perusal, I select the Orange Pekoe. She bounces back to the kitchen to make my tea.
She’s way too happy. She reminds me of those perky cheerleader types back in high school. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was one of them years ago. I’ll try not to hold that against her.
I go over all my notes as she busies herself making tea. Colleen Parson. Homemaker and attorney. Thirty-one years old. Married to Greg Parson, attorney. Two children.
She hands me my mug of tea, and settles down with her own. They’re matching of course. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who has mismatched mugs in her cupboard.
“Thank you,” I say. “So shall we get right to it?”
“I’m ready if you are.”
“You are an Immigration attorney. Are you working at the moment?”
“I work from home, part-time,” she tells me. “We have two kids. Natasha and Nathan. They’re at school right now. I try to have a lot of time for the kids. I’d have lots of time to devote to Madison as well.”
I check my files. Natasha is eight and Nathan is six. “How do the children feel about Madison possibly living with you?”
She sits up straighter. “They’re all for it. They love Madison.”
I nod and look around. “You have room for an extra child?”
She nods. “Yes… we have the attic all ready for her.”
I wince. The attic? Visions ofFlowers in the Atticsuddenly fill my head.
“We used to keep junk up there, but we’ve cleaned it up and painted and set it up special for her. Would you like to see it?”
Hell, yes.
“Yes, would love to.”
She bounces off her chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Let’s go.”
I nip at her heels as we climb up the stairs to the second floor. Tucked in the corner are wooden stairs which have been pulled out of the ceiling.
She smiles wide. “You may want to take off your heels.”
We walk up the small stairs, and I feel like a kid climbing up a tree house. When we finally get to the top, I’m awed. What I wouldn’t have given for a room like this when I was a kid. The walls are painted shades of yellow and blue. The white bed is a cloud of pretty blankets and pillows. Butterflies dot the walls and there are two framed posters of the Jonas brothers. A tall dresser and a wardrobe stand against the walls.
I walk over to the electric fireplace tucked in the corner, and Colleen picks up the small remote on the bedside table. She clicks the fire alive. “We put this in because it is a little chilly up here in the winter.”
