At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [80]
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Lindsay drew a breath. “I’d like to apply to adopt Noah. Permanently.”
The silence that followed seemed to go on for eons, although in fact it was only a couple of seconds. Lindsay rushed to fill it.
“I know I’m a single woman,” she said quickly, “and that will work against me. But I do own my own home—kind of ”—she glanced at Bridget and Cici—“and I’m a responsible member of the community, and I’ve got a good credit score, and I’ve been a teacher for over twenty years—”
“And we can supply a list of character witnesses as long as your arm, if you need us to,” volunteered Bridget. “There isn’t a person who ever met Lindsay who didn’t love her, and some of her students are lawyers and doctors and—and congressmen now! You can’t ask for better child-raising skills than that.”
“We’re all behind this decision,” Cici assured her. “Noah will have a place in our home until he reaches adulthood, and we’re committed to doing what it takes to see him through college or whatever avenue he decides to pursue. Now, I know we haven’t lived here all that long, but you’re welcome to do a background check—”
“Ladies, please.” Carrie held up both hands, her expression a little overwhelmed. “No one is questioning your suitability. I’m sure it would be a lovely placement for Noah, but . . . oh, dear. I don’t know how to say this.”
She looked at them helplessly. “The fact of the matter is, Noah isn’t available for adoption. That’s what I was going to call you about. It seems that the investigation after the court incident uncovered some errors in the paperwork in this office, and I just received the memo over the weekend. Noah isn’t an orphan. He has a mother, and she’s alive and well and living in Richmond.”
“I thought you had to take them chickens back.”
Lori was dressed in mud-spattered overalls and clunky work boots, and she was unwinding an orange extension cord across the backyard toward the outlet on the back porch. Rebel stalked the cord from a low crouch and a safe distance, as though it were a snake. “Are you looking for something to do?” she demanded.
“I got stuff to do. Them chickens’ll smother in the boxes.”
“In the first place, you know perfectly well the correct term is those chickens, and you only embarrass yourself and all of us when you talk like a hick.”
He scowled at her. “I’ll talk whatever way I want to.”
“It makes it look like Aunt Lindsay doesn’t teach you anything.”
“You’re nothing but a big-mouth girl. You don’t know jack.”
Lori noticed with satisfaction that he avoided the double negative with no noticeable effort. “In the second place, the chickens are not going to smother because there are holes in the boxes and Jonesie said they’d be okay in there all day if they had to be.” She plugged the cord into the outlet. “And in the third place, I would have been to town and back already except everybody left in such a hurry this morning they forgot to leave me a car key. Why do you keep following me around?”
“How about you give me a ride to town when you go?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Why should I?”
He thought about that for a moment. “Maybe because you’re gonna need some help loading all them cement bags in the car.”
“What cement?”
“The cement you need to patch the bottom of the pond before you try to fill it with water again. And the cement it’s gonna take to fill in the cracks and holes in the patio all around it.”
Her brows drew together, but the expression was more one of uneasiness than annoyance. “That’s not a patio. It’s a path.”
“Whatever.”
She glanced up at him as she plugged the extension cord into the outlet on the side of the house. “What do you want to go to town for, anyway?”
“There’s a fellow there, buys old glass and junk.”
“Do you mean the antique store at the edge of town? Are you still trying to sell those glass bottles?”
“I found