At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [55]
“I must say,” Derrick commented in his customary dry way, “you girls do lead colorful lives. Do be sure to invite us back real soon.”
Cici returned a weak smile as she pushed open the door to the kitchen and leaned against it to allow the others to pass. “I think I’m starting to remember why we don’t entertain anymore,” she said.
Hoping that the aroma of good things baking would have the same effect on cranky social workers that it did on prospective home buyers—which was why Cici had never shown a home without first sprinkling a little vanilla flavoring or cinnamon on a hot burner—Bridget and Ida Mae got busy whipping up a batch of muffins. But before the oven even preheated, Lori—who had volunteered to spy on the proceedings in the living room—came scurrying back to report, “They’re coming! You won’t believe it—he didn’t say a word! They kept asking him questions and he kept not answering until I guess they got tired of wasting their time. I guess he meant it when he said he wasn’t going to talk to them.”
As one, Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay groaned out loud.
Cici volunteered to take the social workers on a tour of the house while Noah, jerking Paul’s cashmere sweater over his head, stalked off to his room. Before the tour even made it up the stairs, he was barreling back down again, wearing his own sweatshirt and coat. “Goin’ to the barn,” he muttered as he shoved past, and was out the front door.
They looked into all the rooms and made notes. They asked about daily schedules and the division of labor. They refused muffins. They talked to Lori, to Ida Mae, and to each of the women separately. Finally Mrs. Boynton said crisply, “I think we have all we need. Ladies, you’ll be hearing from our office.”
Bridget, Cici, and Lindsay walked them to the door. Carrie lingered as the older woman went to the car. “I am so sorry,” she said, her expression distressed. “But since it was a court case, they had to send a supervisor.”
Lindsay asked seriously, “Are we in trouble? I mean . . . do you think she’ll try to take Noah away?”
Carrie hesitated. “I think there may be some concerns,” she admitted. Then she gave them a reassuring smile. “But in the end I’m sure she’ll see this is the best possible situation for Noah at the moment. After all, this is a very small county and, well, there simply aren’t that many foster homes available.” Again a pause before she added, “We might have to rethink the homeschooling, though.”
“We promised Noah he wouldn’t have to go to public school,” Bridget said.
“The public school doesn’t have an art program,” Lindsay objected.
Cici said, “Carrie, this is the longest he’s ever stayed anywhere without running away. We’re starting to make some real progress. It would be a shame to give up now. Can’t you see what you can do about keeping things stable for him a little while longer?”
Carrie smiled and squeezed her hand. “Of course I will. I’m on your side, remember?”
She opened the door and looked back over her shoulder. “It certainly would have helped if he had at least talked to us, though,” she said.
Lindsay leaned against the door and closed her eyes. “I am going to strangle that kid.”
“Not until after breakfast,” Bridget said, and linked her arm through hers. “Come on. We have company, remember?”
“You ain’t gonna invite them sour biddies to breakfast, are you?” Ida Mae demanded as she took the breakfast casserole out of the oven.
“Oh, yes, please, tell us you didn’t invite the sour biddies,” Paul said. He and Derrick, as at home in the Ladybug kitchen as they were in their own, were pouring orange juice into stemmed glasses and arranging them on the kitchen table, which was already set with bright yellow Fiesta ware and tangerine napkins. The hickory wood table, which was arranged in a nook beside the raised kitchen fireplace, was the coziest place in the house.
Lindsay made a face at him in reply to his remark, and he added, “I hope the kitchen table is okay for breakfast. We thought it would be cheerier than the dining room.”
Ida Mae grumbled, “I didn’t think no such thing. Decent