Mentally I shout in victory and Chelsea starts to cry.
“And so I am ordering that physical and legal custody of the six minor children be returned to Miss McQuaid, effective immediately.” She turns her attention to the Children and Family Services side of the room. “CFSA is charged with not just the task of judging parental performance but assisting them as well. Our job is not to tear families apart and claim they are better for it, but to find a way for families to stay together. Children and Family Services will provide the court with monthly updates on this case, and rest assured, I will be looking for increased involvement by that agency when it comes to providing assistance in all areas.” She glances at Chelsea and smiles. “Good luck, Miss McQuaid. Court is adjourned.”
Chelsea throws herself into my arms, while Brent, Sofia, and Stanton are all smiles too. She looks up at me. “Can we go get them?”
“Yeah, we can.”
“Right now?” She bounces.
“Right now.” I laugh.
? ? ?
We pick up Chelsea’s brother’s truck, then, with the information Janet provided, we drive about an hour north of the city to get the monsters. Chelsea talks and smiles the whole way there, looking so damn overjoyed. Janet notified the foster family that we were on our way, so they’re not surprised when we show up at the front door. It’s a nice place—a big house, a quiet street. The pretty blonde who answers the door tells Chelsea the kids are in the back. We open the sliding glass doors and step into the backyard, and you’d think they haven’t seen Chelsea in two years instead of two days.
That’s how happy they are. How fast they run to her. How loud they scream when they see her. How long they hug her—like they never want to let go.
“You’re here!” Rosaleen yells while her aunt tries to hug them all at the same time. “I knew you’d come, I knew it!”
“Can we go home?” Rory asks Chelsea.
“Yes—we’re going home.”
When Regan loses her footing in the mass of hugging bodies and falls on her ass on the grass, I scoop her up. I hold her high for a minute, then settle her comfortably in my arms. She puts her little hands on my cheeks, looks me in the face, and squeaks her third word.
“Jake!”
And the whole world goes blurry.
“Damn, kiddo, you’ve got a way with words.”
? ? ?
It’s around four o’clock by the time we get back to the house and get the kids unpacked. They’re all so hyped up, so excited to be home again, they convince Chelsea to throw a party.
And she agrees.
There’s a distinct possibility she’s never going to be able to say fucking no to them again.
A few hours later, there’s boxes of pizza, soda, streamers, and balloons. Stanton, Sofia, and Brent come, Janet comes, the neighbors come, as well as a bunch of the kids’ friends, and their parents. I kind of hang in the background, leaning up against the wall, watching.
Distancing myself. From all of it. Drinking a cup of soda and really wishing I could mix it with that bottle of Southern Comfort that’s back to being buried in the freezer.
It’s dark by the time I step outside, onto the back patio. Bright purple and white hyacinths bloom all around, their heavy perfume making me feel like I’m gonna puke hard. The noises from inside echo out—shrill, delighted childish screeches, music, Stanton’s deep rumbling laugh, the steady drone of adult conversation.
Even though the weather is on the cool side, I start to sweat.
I remember the scripture from yesterday, when I went to church with Chelsea. It was about Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying for a pardon that would never come.
Let this cup pass from me . . .
Seems pretty ironic right about now.
“You’re gonna dump her, aren’t you?”
My head jerks toward the corner of the garden, hidden in shadow from the lights streaming out of the house, where Riley is standing.
And she sounds pissed.
“I see what you’re doing—the way you lean away from her. The way you’ve been avoiding her all night. You’re acting like one of the boys in my school, right before he dumps his girlfriend in front of the entire cafeteria.” Her anger gives way to confusion and hurt. “How can you do that? Aunt Chelsea is the best person ever. And she loves you.”
“Riley—”
“She does! It’s obvious. She’s so happy with you. Why would you take that away from her?”
I rub the back of my neck. I’ve argued in front of judges with a lifetime of accomplishments behind them. Truly great judiciaries—some of them I studied in goddamn law school. And I was cool as ice.
I can’t say the same as I try to explain myself to a fourteen-year-old.
“Riley . . . it’s . . . complicated. I’m trying . . . you can’t . . .” And I go with the old reliable. The ultimate cop-out. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”