“Ummm,” Naomi managed as she tried to blot at the wine on her chest with her hands. “Uhhh.”
“I’m Yolanda Suarez. With Child Protective Services.”
Ah. Fuck me.
Naomi went rigor-mortis stiff next to me. I snatched the box of tissues off the top of the desk and handed it to Naomi. “Here,” I said.
When she just stared at the visitor without moving, I yanked a few tissues out and started to blot up the disaster.
It took about two dabs into her cleavage before she snapped out of it and slapped my hands away.
“Um! Welcome. This isn’t my wine,” Naomi said, eyes wide. The visitor’s gaze slid to the now-empty glass Naomi was holding. “I mean it is. I don’t know why I said that. But I’m not drinking a lot of it. I’m responsible. And I hardly ever yell at men in my living room.”
“Okaaaaaay. Is Chief Morgan here? He asked me to stop by,” Yolanda asked coolly.
FIFTEEN
KNOX GOES SHOPPING
Naomi
Two days later, I was still having mini heart attacks every time someone came to the door. Nash had invited Yolanda, Waylay’s caseworker, to stop by so he could introduce us. He’d just had no idea that she’d show up when I was in the middle of unloading a lifetime of baggage on Knox Morgan.
The introduction had been brief and awkward. Yolanda handed over a paper copy of the guardianship application, and I could feel her classifying me as a screaming shrew with a taste for too much wine. On the bright side, Waylay had been mercifully polite and didn’t mention how I was torturing her with vegetables in her meals.
I’d over-analyzed the informal meeting to the point where I was convinced I’d barely survived an interrogation and that Yolanda Suarez hated me. My new mission wasn’t just to be judged an “acceptable” kinship guardian—I was going to be the best kinship guardian Northern Virginia had ever seen.
The very next day, I’d borrowed Liza’s Buick and marched into Knockemout’s consignment shop. Pack Rats had coughed up $400 for my custom-made, barely worn wedding dress. Then I’d grabbed a coffee from Justice and gone straight home to finalize the back-to-school shopping list.
“Guess what we’re doing today,” I said to Waylay as we had our lunch of sandwiches and carrot sticks on the back porch.
The sun was shining, the creek burbling lazily as it flowed past the edge of the grass.
“Probably something boring,” Waylay predicted as she tossed another carrot stick over her shoulder into the yard.
“Back-to-school shopping.”
She looked at me with suspicion. “Is that a thing?”
“Of course it’s a thing. You’re a kid. Kids grow. They outgrow old stuff and need new stuff.”
“You’re taking me shopping. For clothes?” Waylay said slowly.
“And shoes. And school supplies. Your teacher hasn’t answered my emails yet, so I got a copy of the supply list from Chloe’s mom.” I was babbling because I was nervous. Waylay and I had yet to connect, and I was willing to attempt to buy her affection.
“Do I get to pick the clothes?”
“You’re the one wearing them. I might retain veto power in case you decide to go for a fur coat or velour tracksuits. But yeah. You get to pick.”
“Huh. Okay,” she said.
She wasn’t exactly jumping up and down and throwing her arms around me like she had in my imagination. But there was a twinkle of a smile happening at the corners of her mouth as she ate her turkey and provolone.
After lunch, I sent Waylay upstairs to get ready while I reviewed the mall research I’d printed at the library. I was only halfway through the store descriptions when there was a knock at the front door. Fearing it was another “drop-by” from Yolanda, I took a moment to run my fingers through my hair, check my teeth for lipstick, and close the lid on the rolltop desk so she couldn’t judge my obsession with notebooks and planners.
Instead of Yolanda, I found the most annoying man in the world standin
g on the porch in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and aviators. His hair looked a little shorter on top. I guessed when you owned a barbershop, you could get a haircut whenever you wanted. It was annoying how attractive he was, all bearded and tattooed and aloof.