Page 21 of Nine Week Nanny
Hart sits, her steady gaze assessing me. "So why are you here telling us this? My child-rearing days are behind me."
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Camila plans to adopt him. She's his godmother, was close with Maria, but is going through a divorce and can't take him on right now. She's worried that if someone stable doesn't step up, then the judge will have no option but to grant Chris custody." I take a bite of my fish taco to buy time.
"Shit."
"I know. She told me her divorce will be final in about nine weeks, and she can take him once that is behind her.”
"So she wants you to take him until then?" Hart's question is direct, no judgment.
I nod. "Apparently, I'm the only option."
Val mutters something under her breath, but Hart speaks over her.
"Are you ready for the reality of raising a seven-year-old, Pope? Even temporarily?"
"To be honest, no. But I have the means to protect him from Chris. Just until Camila can adopt."
“Most guardianship cases take months,” Val says with her brow furrowed.
Val leans in. “How long has all of this been swirling?”
“I got the call a week ago,” I say.
"How did this happen so quickly?"
“Three days to get the petition filed, two more for the judge to sign off on temporary custody. Camila’s attorney rushed it so Chris wouldn’t be notified of Maria’s death. He hasn’t been in the child’s life for years.”
Hart’s eyes narrow. “Temporary custody means you still have to go in front of a judge again, then, right?”
I nod. “For temporary, it’s not much more than procedural. Unless, of course, there is an objection. It doesn’t look like that will be the case. And when Camila is ready, I’m sure there will be something, but it will hopefully be seamless.”
Val exhales, shaking her head. “Goddamn, Pope. You’re a good man. Thank the Goddess above that Chris won’t get his hands on that sweet baby.”
Silence hangs over the kitchen as we finish eating. Afternoon light filters through the hanging plants, casting dappled shadows across the half-empty plates pushed toward the center of the table.
One of the parrots screeches something from the other room that sounds suspiciously like "bullshit," which is oddly appropriate.
Val leans back in her chair, crossing her long, bangled arms. "I wish I could be more help," she says, her voice softer for once.
"That's not why I came here, Val. I guess I didn't know who else to talk to about this."
"I know. But I do. We're only an hour apart, but I'm at the nursery most days, and Hart's got her hands full keeping me out of trouble."
"That's an understatement." Hart's lips curl into a smile.
Val smirks, reaching for Hart's hand. "You know, I always imagined we'd make the best hippie grandma duo someday.I finally accepted it when you said you would never have children."
My chest tightens at that. The unspoken implication hangs between us, that I haven't given her grandchildren, that I never will.
"Of course, you can be as involved as you want." I push a lime wedge around my plate with my fork.
There's more to it than that. I needed to see their faces when I told them, to gauge if I'm making a catastrophic mistake.
Hart watches me with those perceptive eyes that never miss a thing. "Then, how are you going to manage a seven-year-old while you're running everything you're running? Didn't you move here for this big hospital thing?"
That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? The one I've been avoiding since I signed those temporary guardianship papers, the one that kept me up at three this morning, staring at my ceiling.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Camila put in a job at a temp nanny agency in Palm Beach. She’s handling all of that, but we will have a live-in nanny for the entire time.”
