Page 42 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“Yes, Lennon?”
“Stop talking and come kiss me, boyfriend.”
I kissed him hard and deeply all the way back to bed for round two.
Guess those toucans really know a thing or two about romance.
Chapter Fifteen
“As to the following notes, I think we should commit to a timeline for the activities. At one, we have the music portion, which will last exactly forty-five minutes. Then we’ll move across the street to the botanical gardens, where we will all take swan boat rides. Perhaps followed by a leisurely stroll through the gardens, then the Common, where we will then exit the Common and return home to open gifts and enjoy some cake and ice cream.” I looked up from my phone and everything I had planned out for next Saturday’s birthday party for Valeria. Nothing large, just me, the birthday girl, Lennon, Rissa, and her husband Kevin, as well as Chandler, Mona, and Penny from the park, and Ms. Markes. A small but caring contingency of partygoers.
“Wesley, I know you’re excited to plan all of this out down to the last bite of cake being eaten but tell me what you have learned during your few months as a child’s sole guardian.”
I glanced up from my spreadsheet at Rissa. She was dressed down today. It was some sort of office thing every Friday. I thought it was silly and refused to come into a law office inBermuda shorts and a shirt extolling the local pub. I did leave off a tie for these days, but that was as casual as I was going to go. Imagine what the clients must think coming in and seeing attorneys and their staff—that they pay exorbitant fees to—running about in sneakers and a denim jumper as if this were a daycare center.
“I have learned that small things get flushed down the toilet far too often. That preschoolers can open the security lock on your phone with the ease of a seasoned hacker. And that there is no saving a coffee table book that has been violated with a magic marker.”
She hid a smile behind her tablet. “Yes, those are lessons well learned. But have you not learned that trying to plan out anything with kids is asking for frustration?”
Well, yes, I had stumbled into that at times, but Valeria was generally amiable, and our plans usually ran well and on time. My cell phone pinged just as I was about to explain to Rissa how I was sure the tight timeline would work well despite her doubts.
It was Ms. Markes from child services. Probably ringing to ask what to buy Valeria for her birthday.
“It’s the social worker,” I told Rissa, conveniently cutting off her story about best laid plans, mice, and men. “Don’t fret. Lennon will be on hand to help keep things on time.” I tapped my phone and placed it to my ear as my sight went to the window. A gorgeous day was on tap. Hot, yes, it was the end of July, but everything was sunny and bright. I was hopelessly infatuated with a man and had slept for seven hours. Straight. With no horrific screams in the middle of the night. However, Valeria had come up with the safety of a sleeping bag, and I was thrilled for it. Life was smooth and filled with birdsong. Or would be if we could open the windows in this high-rise. I’d have to pretend I heard the pigeons on the sill cooing a song. “Good morning, Ms. Markes.”
“Mr. Barlowe, are you able to talk?” I sat up a bit straighter at the worrisome tone of her voice. She always sounded so chipper when we spoke.
“I am, yes,” I said as my sight met Rissa’s. She picked up my anxious vibe immediately and rose to close the door between my office and hers. She sat back down on the other side of my mahogany desk, all business despite being in a denim jumper and pink flats. “Is everything all right?”
“We’ve located Valeria’s father. It seems Aida’s neighbor kept a list of cars and license plates of the men who were seen with Valeria’s mother. She didn’t trust any of them, she said, so when we approached her for any information, she handed her list over. Then it was a simple enough run through the Federal Parent Locator Service system.”
All the cool air in the room seemed to be sucked out. I stared at the wall where my degrees hung in tasteful frames as my usually sharp mind spun aimlessly.
“He recently passed away in prison,” Ms. Markes continued.
And the spinning stopped with a jolt. Prison. Dear God. He was deceased. I felt as if I could breathe again. He was not going to try to wrest Valeria from me. “May I venture to guess the man was incarcerated on some sort of drug charge?”
It seemed to me junkies would hang with other junkies for a multitude of reasons. Shared understanding of the addiction, camaraderie, and support, and the sharing of said drugs. Or so I imagined being the case.
“Yes, he was. He was serving a thirty-year sentence in a federal penitentiary in Arkansas for drug trafficking. There was an abundance of charges he had accrued, plus the drug trafficking charge. Possession of a stolen weapon that was used in conjunction with moving a large amount of heroin, a domestic abuse charge, attempted homicide, resisting arrest, and endangering the welfare of a minor child.”
“My God,” I whispered as a headache began right behind my left eye. “You say he died in prison?”
“Yes, five months ago in a drug deal gone wrong.”
Ah. I could imagine that graphic death quite vividly. I’d watchedSons of Anarchy.
Rissa reached over the desk, her face a mask of concern, and placed her hand over my left hand that was resting on my desk and clutching a pen. I gave her my best “All is fine” smile, but she was not buying it at all. Truly, things were fine. More than fine. I’d been living with the worry of some stranger being found, then having to battle the man in court. Knowing that would not happen was a boulder lifted from my shoulders, even though I should not feel relief over the death of another human being. I never once claimed to be destined for sainthood. Rissa gave my hand a squeeze, then got up to pour me some coffee from the machine in the corner.
“I would like to proceed with adopting her,” I announced to no one’s surprise. “This man, her father…had he been Latino?” Valeria would want to know someday, and it would be a question asked on many forms. It was good to know your roots, even if they were not always the roots you would have wished for. This I knew firsthand.
“No, he was White.”
“Valeria is quite proud of her Mexican heritage on her mother’s side.” She knew nothing of her father, and I planned to keep her from knowing anything about him for as long as I could spare her the details of his rather dark past.
“As she should be. I’m so sorry to drop this upsetting information on you like this out of the blue. It just landed in my inbox. Interoffice correspondence out of state can be a bugger at times. I will keep you updated on the progress of completing your legal guardianship petition. Once we get a hearing date…well, I’m sure you’re well read on how this will proceed through the courts. The adoption process can be lengthy.”
“I’m aware. I have an acquaintance who is an adoption attorney already on retainer. I’ll reach out to her as soon as this call is over to update her on the status of the search for the birth father and its sorrowful conclusion.”
