“And, believe me, I understand this is a very bad time for you on multiple levels.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked, sounding weak and scared because, well, she was both.
Lynda looked around and took a breath, wincing.
“Let’s stand outside,” Dusty suggested.
“I need to get some pictures,” Lynda said.
“Why?” Tessa asked, her voice taut.
Lynda pressed her lips together and looked directly at Tessa. “These are the facts. Olive is in the legal custody of a placement agency that has not been informed of her whereabouts since approximately five o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
“She was with us! We evacuated, as you knew. You gave the approval to the sheriffs to let us take her over the bridge when they took her mother.”
“Yes, but right now, this very minute?” Lynda angled her head. “She is quite technically in the care of someone I don’t know and have never met, in a residence not approved for the placement. We are out of compliance, and we have been out of compliance for sixteen hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said.
Dusty stepped into the discussion. “Lynda, I’ve texted you every six or seven hours with assurances that Olive was completely safe. Pictures have been sent and you FaceTimed with her before we left Rock Hill. You haven’t said a word about compliance.”
“I know, but the hurricane was considered extenuating. It no longer is. We are talking about a child’s life.”
“Our child,” Tessa croaked.
“Not yet.” Lynda opened her leather folder and looked down at it, then back up. “Yes, let’s do this outside. I’ll come back in for pictures.”
Walking into the sunshine didn’t make Tessa any less sick inside, but she waited as Lynda flipped through a few pages and pulled on some reading glasses.
“I drove past at six-thirty this morning and made a preliminary assessment.”
She was here? While Tessa was sitting next to her maybe dying mother and crying with her sister? This woman was here poking around her flood-destroyed house? Ire skittered up Tessa’s spine, joining the fear that settled in her bones.
“I’ve spoken with my supervisor,” she continued. “Your home is uninhabitable. The downstairs unit is a complete loss. The upstairs unit?—”
“Is fine,” Tessa said.
“Cannot be occupied until a structural engineer signs off on the interior staircase and the south wall.” Lynda talked right over her and glanced at Dusty like she’d had enough of Tessa. “Which is at minimum two weeks away, if you’re lucky. Every Joe in town needs one now.”
Dusty nodded once.
“Construction timeline to a fully approved residence is six to twelve months, conservatively. I’m told by FEMA contacts that on this coast, after this storm, six is optimistic. Twelve is realistic.”
Tessa let out a soft groan. “We’re staying in a good place. If that doesn’t qualify for some reason, we’ll rent something.”
Lynda’s eyes shuttered, definitely losing patience. “The Florida statute under which we operate requires the prospective adoptive home to be stable, approved, owned by one or both of the parents with up-to-date mortgage payments, or leased in one or both their names for at least one full year.”
In other words, “staying with friends” was not going to cut it.
“But…but this property is in our names,” Tessa said, gesturing to the house. “And before that, Dusty owned a home for many years.”
“And you lived in hotels.”
Tessa blinked. “I worked for Ritz-Carlton. That was part of my compensation.”
“Regardless, this residence is the one you claim now, and the home study is tied to its inhabitable condition. Generosity from friends and family, however genuine, is not what the statute requires.”
Tessa reached for Dusty’s hand. “What are you telling us exactly?”
