At Home on Ladybug Farm (27 page)

Lindsay reached up and squeezed her fingers. “Thanks for coming with me, both of you.”

“This is probably the most important thing you’ve ever done. Like we’d let you do it alone?”

“Besides,” added Bridget, “he’s our Noah, too.”

“But you’re supposed to be building a chicken coop.”

“Believe me,” Cici said, “I’d rather be here.”

Lindsay cleared her throat. “Listen, I know this isn’t fair to either of you. I mean, it affects your lives, too. When we moved in together, it was to enjoy our retirement years. No one counted on a teenage boy.”

“Or a twenty-year-old college dropout,” Cici pointed out.

“Or a flock of sheep or a crazy sheepdog,” Bridget had to add.

“Or a deer.”

“Or two dozen chickens. I still don’t know what you want with two dozen chickens.”

“Look,” Cici said, glancing over at Lindsay, “I couldn’t have raised Lori after Richard left without the two of you. Even now, I sometimes think you’re better mothers to her than I am, and I
know
she thinks that more often than I do.” They smiled. “It might not take a village to raise a child, but it for damn sure takes a few good friends. We’re right beside you in this, Lindsay, and we’re in it all the way. You should know that.”

Lindsay, smiling, sniffing, and blotting moisture from her eyes with her fingertips, said, “I do. But thanks for saying it.”

They reached out to clasp hands, right there in the car, and closed their fingers together briefly before Cici returned her hand to the steering wheel, and her attention to the road.

“Ida Mae sent you out here for the chicken boxes half an hour ago.” Lori’s irritation was plain to see.

Noah straightened up from his slouching position against the barn door, drew on the cigarette in his hand, and deliberately blew smoke in her direction. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Lori pushed past him into the barn.

“You can tell if you want,” he said sullenly, following her. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah, well that’s easy to see.”

“What do you mean by that?” Noah demanded.

Shafts of light filtered through the boards of the barn and caught bits of chaff that were stirred up by Lori’s feet. She stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness, then spotted the cardboard boxes in an untidy pile where Noah apparently had tossed them yesterday. She started gathering them up.

“Is this going to be another lecture about how I don’t know how lucky I am?” Noah pursued. “Because you’re a fine one to be talking, if you ask me.”

Lori flicked a dark glance his way. “I’m not even going to ask what that’s supposed to mean.”

“It means you
are
a spoiled rich kid. You got folks that
want
to give you stuff—they’re practically throwing four years at a fancy-pants college in your face—and all you can do is screech at your mama about wanting to raise chickens. You’re not only spoiled, you’re stupid.”

Lori hesitated, then stuffed the lid on one of the boxes with particular force. “I’m exploring my options,” she told him archly. “I’m allowed to do that.”

“Yeah?” He pinched out the cigarette and tossed it away. “Like I said, you’re lucky.”

Lori lifted the boxes and turned to him. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to at least act like one of the family. To pretend you appreciate what everyone is doing for you.”

He returned, “I ain’t one of the family and pretending don’t make it so.”

Lori elbowed past him with her arms full of boxes. “I really don’t have time for this teenage angst,” she said. “I was supposed to get those chickens back to Jonesie an hour ago, and Ida Mae’s having a fit about them pooping all over the sunroom. But just for your information,” she tossed over her shoulder, “the reason no one is home this morning to catch you smoking is because they all went into town to try to beg that social worker to let you stay here. I heard Aunt Lindsay on the phone making the appointment. Of course, the way you acted to her it probably won’t make a difference, so good thing you don’t want to be part of the family.”

He stared at her. “Did they really do that? All three of them?”

“What do you care?” she retorted, and marched on to the house.

The Department of Family and Children’s Services was housed in a small white clapboard building at the end of Riker Street, between the police department and the library. “Oh, damn,” Bridget said as Cici pulled into one of the three visitor parking spaces. “I left that library book I was supposed to return on the kitchen table. It’s overdue. Do you think I should run in and apologize?”

“I think the library is like the IRS,” Cici said. “They don’t care about apologies. Just penalties and fines.”

Lindsay got out of the car and smoothed her skirt. She looked from one to the other of them, trying to mute her anxiety. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? Do I need lipstick?”

“Your lipstick is fine,” Bridget assured her. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“Relax,” Cici added. “Carrie likes you, remember? You—we—are the best thing that ever happened to Noah.”

Lindsay straightened a little, and smiled. “That’s right. We are, aren’t we?”

“And possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Bridget reminded her, and they all laughed.

They crossed a small lawn dotted with crepe myrtles, and took the pansy-lined walk to the front door. Just before Cici reached to open it, Lindsay put a hand on each of their wrists. She looked from one to the other of them. “This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Even scarier than the time I had the bad mammogram, remember?”

Bridget said, “We went with you then, too.”

Lindsay nodded. “I just wanted to say thank you. Really.”

Cici gave her a smile that was filled with reassurance and understanding, and she opened the door.

The reception area was small and utilitarian, with cheap wood paneling on the wall and industrial tile on the floor. The receptionist’s desk looked as though it had been reclaimed from a public school, and was piled with untidy manila folders. The entire place had an air of barely managed chaos, even when it was empty, as it was now. Carrie must have seen them drive up, because she came to the door of her office right away and beckoned them in, saving the receptionist the necessity of interrupting her phone call.

“Hi, ladies, come on in. It’s good to see you. I didn’t expect all three of you to come,” she said, closing the frosted panel door and pulling up an extra chair in front of her desk. “I hope this doesn’t mean there’s a problem?”

“No, not at all,” Cici assured her.

“In fact quite the opposite,” Lindsay added. “Of a problem, I mean. At least I think so. I hope you will, too.”

Carrie’s smile was puzzled as she took her seat behind her desk. There was a potted hyacinth in the center of it, and her inbox looked slightly more manageable than the receptionist’s had, but the room was depressing overall, with its utilitarian shelves stacked with office supplies and its gray metal filing cabinets. The lone window looked out over the parking lot.

“It’s really a coincidence that you called when you did, because I was about to call you. There’s been a little complication in the case. That’s why it’s taking so long. It’s nothing to do with you,” she assured them quickly. “We’re very pleased with the job you’ve done with Noah. I know that caring for a teenage boy can’t be easy, and we appreciate your level of commitment. But there’s been a change . . .”

“Yes,” blurted Lindsay, her hands twisted together in her lap. “Change. Yes, that’s exactly what we want to talk to you about. We want to change our level of commitment.”

Carrie blinked. “Oh. Oh, dear. Well, I can certainly understand that. But maybe I’d better explain what’s going on. You see, the fact of the matter is that this might soon be out of my jurisdiction altogether. You see . . .”

“No, wait, I think I said that wrong. What I want to do is—”

Bridget laid a calming hand on Lindsay’s arm. “You do think we’re a good foster home?” she insisted.

She looked surprised. “Well, of course. As far as I’m concerned, Noah has made excellent progress under your care. His schoolwork has improved dramatically, he attends church regularly, certainly he appears to be healthy and as well groomed as one might expect from a boy his age.” She smiled a little at that. “Until the incident with the traffic ticket—and that was minor, really—he hasn’t been in a bit of trouble. I’m sorry if we made you feel otherwise, but there are rules and standards we have to go by, and the procedures are there for a reason.”

A small frown had creased Cici’s forehead. “What do you mean, this might soon be out of your jurisdiction?”

Carrie turned to her to reply, but Lindsay interrupted.

“As long as it is still in your jurisdiction, and as long as you do think we’re a good foster home . . . what I’m trying to say is, since we’ve been approved as a suitable temporary home, is there any reason we wouldn’t be just as good a permanent home?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Lindsay drew a breath. “I’d like to apply to adopt Noah. Permanently.”

The silence that followed seemed to go on for eons, although in fact it was only a couple of seconds. Lindsay rushed to fill it.

“I know I’m a single woman,” she said quickly, “and that will work against me. But I do own my own home—kind of ”—she glanced at Bridget and Cici—“and I’m a responsible member of the community, and I’ve got a good credit score, and I’ve been a teacher for over twenty years—”

“And we can supply a list of character witnesses as long as your arm, if you need us to,” volunteered Bridget. “There isn’t a person who ever met Lindsay who didn’t love her, and some of her students are lawyers and doctors and—and congressmen now! You can’t ask for better child-raising skills than that.”

“We’re all behind this decision,” Cici assured her. “Noah will have a place in our home until he reaches adulthood, and we’re committed to doing what it takes to see him through college or whatever avenue he decides to pursue. Now, I know we haven’t lived here all that long, but you’re welcome to do a background check—”

“Ladies, please.” Carrie held up both hands, her expression a little overwhelmed. “No one is questioning your suitability. I’m sure it would be a lovely placement for Noah, but . . . oh, dear. I don’t know how to say this.”

She looked at them helplessly. “The fact of the matter is, Noah isn’t available for adoption. That’s what I was going to call you about. It seems that the investigation after the court incident uncovered some errors in the paperwork in this office, and I just received the memo over the weekend. Noah isn’t an orphan. He has a mother, and she’s alive and well and living in Richmond.”

“I thought you had to take them chickens back.”

Lori was dressed in mud-spattered overalls and clunky work boots, and she was unwinding an orange extension cord across the backyard toward the outlet on the back porch. Rebel stalked the cord from a low crouch and a safe distance, as though it were a snake. “Are you looking for something to do?” she demanded.