She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest against his shoulder.
“Forty minutes,” she muttered, “is not enough time.”
“Is more than enough time.” He stepped back. “You get some dust rags. I’ll get the tools out of the front room and throw a sheet over the worst of it. We are not going to pretend the renovation isn’t happening. We are going to acknowledge it and tell her exactly what we’re doing.”
“With no handrail.”
“We’re not using the stairs—they’re gated top and bottom.” He gestured to the safety gate next to him. “Safer than if we even had a handrail.”
“It just looks bad.”
“Come on.” He gave her a nudge. “Let’s do what we can while Olive’s still asleep. Trust me.”
She did trust him, of course. Shehadmarried him twice.
Lynda Roberts arrivedin thirty-eight minutes, not forty.
Tessa watched her get out of a silver Kia from the front window. The pretty Black woman was tall, crisply dressed in a blue blazer and cream slacks, which looked warm but professional. She carried a leather folio under one arm and a sharp handbag on her shoulder.
She walked to the front door without looking at the landscaping, the paint, or even the Gulf view over her shoulder. She didn’t look like she held Tessa’s happiness in her hands—yet she did.
Tessa opened the door before she rang.
“Hello, Lynda.” She extended her hand. “I’m Tessa Wyl—Mathers.” Good heavens, she didn’t remember her own name. Well, her new name. But still.
Lynda’s smile was instant and warm. “Hello, Tessa. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
They shook hands and Tessa ushered her in. “And on such short notice,” she joked.
Lynda acknowledged that with a tilt of her head. “That’s how we roll in child services,” she said, giving a level look that managed to be kind and direct. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m sure you understand.”
“Totally,” Tessa assured her, turning as Dusty walked toward them.
As they greeted each other, Tessa looked around to see Dusty had thrown a clean drop cloth over the worst of the construction zone and rolled up the extension cords and gathered the loose tools into one neat pile by the office door.
He had also, she noticed with a private little surge of love, put on a fresh pot of coffee, and picked up the toys and books from the kitchen table while she’d gone upstairs to check on sleeping Olive.
Lynda accepted his offer of coffee and sat in the living room armchair, leaving the sofa for Tessa and Dusty. As they settled in, Tessa took a deep breath and took the hand Dusty offered her, loving him for the solidarity and comfort.
Lynda placed the leather folio on the coffee table and looked from one to the other. “As you know, this is a slightly unusual situation.”
Why was that, Tessa wondered. Her age? The fact that Morgan was alive and surrendered Olive for adoption? That they lived on the beach, had just married, or that neither of them had ever raised a child?
What made it unusual?
“And I’d rather we address the toughest aspect of this adoption now, and not in front of a judge.”
“Which is…” Tessa asked with a tight voice.
Dusty leaned forward, somehow communicating that he knew exactly what it was. “The fact that I was Morgan’s therapist for several months,” he answered. “Still am, if we’re being accurate and honest.”
Lynda gave him the smallest smile. “I appreciate that you recognize that.”
Tessa frowned, shaking her head. “Why is that a problem? Is that a conflict of interest? I thought we?—”
Lynda held out a hand, her fingers long and tipped with the prettiest pink polish that Olive would love.
“It’s not a deal-breaker,” she said calmly. “But it is something that everyone has to consider, because the court will want to determine with hearings and signed affidavits that you did not encourage Morgan to make this decision.”
