Page 86 of Nine Week Nanny
It looks like a bad eighties renovation, complete with cheesy oak trim and black and gray indoor/outdoor carpet. A generic framed landscape print hangs on the wall like an afterthought,as if someone realized at the last minute that concrete-colored walls might seem unwelcoming.
Lennon's small hand squeezes mine as we sit at the polished table. His fingers are clammy. Mine probably are too.
Ms. Black strides in, her auburn-streaked hair perfectly styled, wire-rim glasses balanced on her nose. She carries that structured leather tote like it's government-issued armor.
Chris follows behind her, and I sit up straighter, showing him he won't reduce me like he’s always tried to do.
"Good morning, gentlemen." Her voice is measured, clinical. She places her things on the table and guides Chris to a chair across from Lennon and me.
"Hey, there, Lennon. I think you've gotten taller since I saw you last," Ms. Black says to Lennon.
Lennon presses against my side, not answering. I give his hand a gentle squeeze.
"Hi there, buddy." The voice from across the table makes my spine stiffen.
Chris Carrigan leans back in his chair, his baby face creased into what most would call a charming smile. I see the calculation behind it.
He's dressed better than I've ever seen him, donning a pressed shirt, no visible tattoos. He’s playing the part. He can do that better than anyone I’ve ever met.
"I'm Dana Black, appointed by the court to evaluate this situation." Ms. Black sets a folder on the table. "Today is about observing interactions, not making final decisions. I'll be taking notes. Please act naturally."
Chris smirks. "Naturally? Come on, Dana. Can I call you Dana? This whole setup is anything but natural." He gestures toward me. "My son is being kept from me by my own flesh and blood."
My jaw tightens. I force myself to breathe.
Ms. Black's expression doesn't change. "Mr. Carrigan, I'll ask that you address me as Ms. Black."
I want to laugh out loud that he got smacked down by a petite government worker, but I remember what Warren said about being civil, so keep it in.
“Now, I'd like to observe Pope and Lennon first. Perhaps you could show me that drawing you mentioned in the car, Lennon?"
Lennon nods, sliding a folded paper from his pocket. As he unfolds it, I see a crayon drawing of what must be Seabreeze. The picture is of blue waves, a yellow sun, and stick figures on sand.
"This is the tide pool," he says softly. "Where we found the horseshoe crab."
"You like horseshoe crabs?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"They're living fossils." His eyes light up just a fraction. "They've been the same for like, four hundred million years."
Ms. Black watches us, her pen moving steadily.
"Time to switch," she announces after fifteen minutes. "Lennon, would you like to talk to your father now?"
Lennon freezes. His eyes dart to mine, panicked.
"It's okay," I whisper, though my stomach churns. "I'll be right here."
He slides off his chair and moves to the one beside Chris, who immediately drapes an arm around him.
"There's my boy!" Chris booms, too loud. "Man, you got big since I saw you last."
Yeah, I imagine a lot of growth happens between the ages of two and seven.
Lennon's shoulders hunch. He stares at the table.
"So, sport, I'm so sorry about your mom. You remember all the adventures we had?"
No response.
