If they didn’t want to adopt Flora, Charlie would gladly offer herself up as a replacement.
“We’re not lawn people,” Jo said, as if Charlie had asked a question about the muddy back yard. “It’s a thing with the neighborhood, because there’s some kind of bullshit line in the covenants for the home owners’ association about yards and we were, like, ‘So what?’ but apparently you can’t take a crap around this place without getting permission. But, hey, you’re a lawyer, right? Could you help us get them off our backs? All they are is a bunch of whiny bitches with nothing better to do.”
Charlie had to shake her head again to make sense of the request. “I’m not a real estate lawyer, but I can give you the name of one.”
“Nah.” She waved her hand, indicating Charlie should follow her into the kitchen. “They’ll just charge us for it.”
Charlie didn’t point out that she would’ve charged them, too.
“Sweet or unsweet?”
Charlie hadn’t asked for tea, but she wanted a reason to stay in the kitchen so she could ogle the stainless steel appliances. “Unsweet.”
“Flora is amazing. We couldn’t love her more if we tried.” Jo jerked opened the glass door of the Sub-Zero fridge. The glass rattled. She had to muscle the door closed. She told Charlie, “Nancy met Flora on the first day of school, and they got along like a house on fire. Always have. Two peas in a pod.” She found two clean glasses in the Miele dishwasher beside the scratched apron-front sink. “I was really worried when Mark moved us up here from Roswell, but it’s all worked out. He’s a real estate developer. That’s where he’s at now, scouting out some new property for some developers up from Atlanta who want to build an Applebee’s off of the North 40. Applebee’s! Can you imagine? What’s next? An Olive Garden? A Red Lobster? This place’ll be hoppin’!”
Charlie sat down at the bar-top counter. The smooth granite was cold under her palms. An empty wine fridge purred beside her. Her jealousy dialed back a notch. On closer inspection, the kitchen looked too lived in. There were scuff marks on the walls. A chunk of wood was missing from the vent hood. Two of the red knobs on the range were missing.
Jo, oblivious to the silent criticisms, poured the tea. “And then there’s some other folks looking to build a shopping center off that old mill property on 515. You know the one I’m talking about?” She didn’t need encouragement to keep going. “I could totally see a day spa there. I love it up here, but my Lord, it’s been hard on my nails, and I think half the people up here would be in a hell of a lot better mood if they could get a decent massage. But look at me talking about myself. What do you need from me?”
Charlie listened to the unaccustomed silence.
“About Flora?” Jo prompted. “What do you need me to say?”
Charlie took a moment to put her lawyer hat back on. “Flora is seeking emancipation.”
“Right, she told us that. Remember that Drew Barrymore movie where she was a kid and did the same thing?”
“It’s a bit different from—”
“Irreconcilable Differences!” She snapped her fingers. “God, that would’ve driven me crazy, trying to remember the name of that movie. I wonder what happened to Shelley Long? She was so good in Cheers.”
Charlie couldn’t get sidetracked. “With emancipation, what happens is, we all have to persuade the judge that Flora is capable of being an adult—looking out for herself, being responsible, staying off the government’s dime. I think we’d be much more likely to win if we could prove that she had a good home to go to.”
“Can’t get any better than this.” Jo spread out her arms with pride, as if her house was not falling apart around her. “But we wouldn’t be adopting her, right? She would be living here. Almost like a tenant. But not, like, we have her sign a lease or anything. One of our kids, but not really our kid.”
“Exactly,” Charlie said, because Flora was still a kid and there was no way she could navigate the world completely on her own. “So, what I need from you in the immediate is for you and your husband to sign an affidavit stating that you’re willing to take Flora into your home until she’s eighteen years old.”
“Oh, hell yes, but more than that.” She pushed a glass of tea across the counter toward Charlie. “We’ll take her on until she’s married. And then she can live in the basement if she wants. We just love her to bits. I said to her the other day—whatever she needs, we are here to give it to her. Anything.”
“Anything,” Charlie repeated, because there was something strange, almost practiced, about her tone. “What about Oliver, your son? Is he still living here?”
“Of course. He’s still my baby.”
“Are you hoping they’ll get married?”
“Oh, who knows with these kids?” She laughed. “Oliver is so silly around Flora. He used to keep his hair long down to here—” she put her hand to her shoulder. “And he always had zits from the oil in his hair touching his face, and I’d say, ‘Ollie, wash that hair and you won’t get zits’ and he’d slam the door to his room and say, ‘Mom!’ But then Flora came along and he gets it cut the same way as Mark’s, but don’t tell Ollie it’s the same as his father’s because he’ll—” She rolled out her lip in a pout, then gave a laugh deep from her belly. Then she kept laughing. And laughing. And eventually, she was laughing so much that Charlie wondered if there was something really funny about this situation that she was missing.
For instance, why was the house falling apart?
Why was the only room that was decorated the only room you’d have visitors in?
Why couldn’t they hire a landscaper to do the yard?
Why couldn’t they hire a handyman to take care of the house?
And, most importantly, why was Oliver driving a Porsche that, according to Belinda, Maude Faulkner had been driving the month before?
Charlie leaned back in her chair. There was an open door leading off the kitchen, presumably to the basement, which was fine, but the drywall had not been painted, which meant that the basement was unfinished.
“Oh, my.” Jo wiped pretend tears from her eyes. “I hope they get married. We all just love that little Flora to bits.”