by Ashton Cade
I’m the one who knocks on the door when we get there. Craig’s behind me, and Garrett’s behind him, the three of us making up a pretty imposing-looking force on this woman’s front porch.
The door creaks open just a crack, and a middle-aged woman with sallow skin and a mess of brunette hair peeks through.
Her shrewd eyes go from me, to Craig, and stop there.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” she hisses.
“Ma’am, please,” I say, throwing my hand out to stop her from closing the door. “We’re here to find a solution to this.”
She scoffs.
Garrett steps up, putting on a winning smile.
“Morning, Lois,” he says like he knows her. “Been a while since you’ve been out to visit Biscuit, Dad says.”
She frowns, the door opening a bit wider. “There’s never any time…”
“You heard I’m running for town council? Think I can count on your vote?”
Lois sighs and shakes her head.
“You can try to butter me up all you want, but I never asked for this. Tried to give the girl a temporary home when it came out her daddy and brother were beating on her, but I never asked for a baby underfoot. It’s not happening,” she says, resolute.
Garrett sighs, nods understanding.
“Can we just come in and talk to the kids together? Maybe we can sort something out here. I know you don’t mean any harm, Lois.”
“I don’t, I just…”
“Let us in,” Garrett says, surprisingly gentle and convincing.
Lois’s guard drops, and she steps back from the door, shaking her head like she’s wondering what she’s doing the whole time she’s doing it.
Inside it’s dark and dusty, furniture leftover from the seventies littering the place, yellowed lace doilies covering every table, centerpieces of fake flowers covered in cobwebs. Libby’s peering out from the kitchen, and the moment Craig breaks through, they’re in each other’s arms, just holding each other. We get them to sit down in the living room with us, and all five of us take a moment.
“You sure keeping this baby is what you want?” Garrett asks, looking at the two teens. “It’s a lot of responsibility, a lot of work. You’re young, lots of life ahead of you still—”
“I’m ready to be a dad,” Craig says, arm around Libby. “I wanna work and support it. Take care of Libby and the baby.”
Libby smiles sweetly, her hand on her belly.
“We know it’s crazy,” she says, her voice so soft it’s hard to make out. “But it’s ours,” she says, lacing her fingers with Craig’s.
Of course this isn’t a reasonable or logical decision. This isn’t something we can decide for them. And even if I’m not sure it’s a great choice on their part, I support their right to make that choice.
Maybe I could be Libby’s foster parent. All she needs is someone to care of her who’s willing to care for the baby too. I’ve got no doubt I could manage it, but with my past, I’m sure I’d be disqualified before I even finished filling out the paperwork.
“What if I fostered you instead of Lois?” Garrett says out of the blue, shocking everyone, but especially me. It’s like he was reading my thoughts and made them his own, and I can’t believe the capacity for love and generosity in this man of mine. My heart feels like it’s ready to burst, and I realize that it’s love I’m feeling. There’s other stuff mixed in there, admiration, respect, attraction… But mostly, it’s love.
I love this man. So freaking much.
“Seriously?” Craig asks, his head cocked to the side.
Garrett shrugs. “It won’t be as easy as saying it, but if no one objects, I think it could be an ideal arrangement.”
Lois makes a face. “The stipend helps pay bills, but not enough,” she says with a shrug.
“What do you think, Libs?” Craig asks. “Live with Garrett, keep our baby until I can get us a house?”
She smiles and kisses him, her face turning bright pink when she does.
These kids have a long road ahead of them, but they won’t be on it alone. At least there’s that.
We iron out a few more of the details and plans before dropping Craig off at home—making him promise to stay on his best behavior while we get everything sorted. I hate leaving him with Tina again, knowing the kind of shitty situation that is, but it’s better than him being out on his own in the world in a stolen car with his pregnant girlfriend.
At least he’s safe and sound.
Garrett calls Ryan after we drop Craig off, and explains everything to him. Ryan’s interested in our plan, and says he’ll call the county where the kids were picked up to ask for leniency—especially for Craig who’s already got a juvenile record. Hopefully a judge will hear all the circumstances and realize the kids were being dumb, not malicious or criminal.
By the time we get back to Garrett’s, I’m feeling so much more optimistic about everything. Dr. Peterson’s going to get what’s coming to him, Craig and Libby are going to get the help and break they deserve, and me… Well, I’ve got Garrett, so what more could I want?
Or it’s easy to think that until a text from Dr. Barnes encourages me to look at the local paper.
Garrett has it delivered every day—he really is into all the local stuff more than anyone I know—and today’s is sitting on the kitchen counter, unopened.
I slide it out of the plastic sleeve, hands shaking as I unfold it. Dr. Barnes’s text didn’t tell me what to expect, just that I should look.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett asks, seeing my face before I’ve even read the awful words.
There’s a picture of me—no, a mugshot of me—from when I was a teenager, when I was a prostitute. Those records are supposed to be sealed!
With the picture there’s a whole column dedicated to gossiping about me, my lurid past, and the speculation that Garrett and I have a relationship. The article says the information—and mugshot—were provided “anonymously,” but I’ve only got one guess who the tipster is.
He just can’t give up, can he?
But this… This is a step too far. This is exactly what he said he’d do. He’s told the whole town about my past, and dragged Garrett through the mud with me.
Garrett reads the whole thing, his face mirroring mine, an angry, frustrated frown, rage bubbling behind his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shoulders slumping, my whole body feeling like Jell-O. I just want to crawl into bed and hide forever.
Garrett pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead, smiling gently.
“Look at the bright side: now there’s nothing else that could possibly come out,” he teases.
I groan.
“That’s not a bright side.”
“Sure it is,” he says, kissing me, sucking on my bottom lip. “Now you’ve got nothing else to fear.”
It’s not really reassuring, though I’m sure to him it makes sense. To me, it feels like all the worst possible outcomes are coming to fruition. I’m having a hard time believing everything will be okay when I’m being lampooned on the front page of the paper and Garrett’s political career might be in tatters before it’s begun because of it.
Still, with his arms around me, his lips on me, promising everything’s okay, it’s hard to worry too much. I let him take me back to bed, and we snuggle like it’s going out of style, neither one of us talking about the things weighing us down, but both clearly preoccupied by it all.
Still, it’s oddly nice to just share this silence with him. Even if we’re both in our own heads both worrying about things we have no control over, doing it together is new and better than I ever thought dealing with a crisis could be.
Garrett
It’s taken a few days of navigating the red tape of bureaucracy, but I’ve finally managed to get an interview set up with Libby’s caseworker, Sharon. She’s probably up to her ears in paperwork, and I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate me bringing more work down on her desk, but I think it’s wor
th it. If all goes well, she won’t have to worry about Libby so much anymore, and that’ll be one less case cluttering her inbox.
That’s if it goes well, though.
We’ve done all the paperwork and shit—Lois and me. We’ve even got a statement from Libby, expressing how much she’d rather come stay with me. Everything’s in order as long as this interview goes well.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? This woman Sharon’s coming to my house to check things out. And to be honest, I don’t know what the hell she’s looking for. I’ve got two bedrooms, enough space for Libby to have her own territory, and when the baby comes, we’ll set up a nursery for her. It won’t be the Ritz, but it’ll be better than what she and Craig would have found on their own.
“It’ll be fine,” Eli calls from the other room. He’s hiding in the bedroom—well, not hiding. He doesn’t think he should be here for it, but I wasn’t gonna kick him out either. Him staying in the other room was our compromise. “I can hear you pacing,” he adds with a snicker.
I give him a sharp look even though there’s wall between us.
“Hush, I think she’s pulling up,” I say, pushing back floral curtains which were hand-me-downs from my mom, to peer out the window. I brush imaginary lint off my shoulders, then head for the door, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves before I pull it open.
“Sharon,” I greet her warmly, wishing I could remember her last name right now. I’m not sure I ever learned it, but I don’t know if we’re on a first-name basis.
Guess it’s too late to worry about it now.
“Mr. Rainier,” she says with a nod.
“Garrett, please,” I correct her. “Start throwing around ‘Mr. Rainier’ and you never know who’s liable to turn up in this town.”
That earns me a smile. “Garrett,” she corrects herself with a curt nod.
Sharon’s middle-aged, probably around the same age as my mom or Aunt Sheryl. She’s trim and blonde, with bright blue eyes and high cheekbones. Despite looking overworked and tired, she’s put together, her clothes ironed, makeup applied perfectly. She’s not on the cutting edge of fashion by any means—not that I’ve got the first clue in hell what that would look like—but she looks like a nice enough lady, and I hope that I’m not wrong about that.
“Please, come in. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I ask, ushering her through the door.
“That would be lovely, thanks,” she says, taking a look around once she’s inside. I don’t know if I should’ve cleaned more or not. I didn’t want it to be so clean that it makes it look like I’ve got something to hide. But not cleaning enough is just as bad when there’s gonna be a baby in the house.
I set the pot on and turn back to face her with my heart in my throat.
“So, you want to become Libby’s foster parent?” she asks, pulling a folder out of the briefcase she brought with her.
I nod.
“That’s right.”
“You plan for her to stay here?”
“Yes ma’am,” I answer, throat tightening, not sure what the right answers are, how to chart these unfamiliar waters.
“Fostering a child comes with a monthly stipend of a few hundred dollars. In my experience, it’s not enough to cover the full expenses of proper care. It’s only meant as some assistance. Are you financially secure enough to support another person without that?”
“Of course,” I answer, not meaning to sound as defensive as I do. The coffee pot percolates behind me, filling the air with the rich aroma of Columbian dark roast, and I let out a breath.
“I own a fairly successful adventure tours business in the summer and live sustainably throughout the year. My portfolio includes a retirement account at the bank,” I say.
Sharon nods, writing things down, though I can’t see what her scribbles say without making it obvious that I’m trying to peek. The coffee’s done, and I pour us both a mug.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Please,” she nods, letting me fix it up for her. She takes a long drink of the coffee and lets out a happy sigh, eyes closed like she’s somewhere else for a minute.
Then she opens her eyes again and she’s here, the smile fading.
“There’s also the question of your… personal life,” she says, studying the rim of her mug closely.
“My personal life?” I ask, thinking about Eli in the other room, heart clenching.
“Your sexuality?” she prompts.
“Oh,” I mutter. “Oh! I didn’t think being gay would be a problem…”
She shakes her head. “So you are…?”
I nod, figuring it’s not worth explaining the intricacies. If it’s a problem, it’s gonna be a problem regardless of the fine details.
“Is… that gonna cause trouble?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” she says, brightening up. “On the contrary, your being gay will ease some of the worries about putting a teenage girl with a single adult man.”
I nod along, then pause. “I’m not exactly single, though,” I tell her. I know Eli and I haven’t made anything “official,” but at this point, I don’t know what the hell we’re waiting for. He’s mine whether he likes it or not. And I’m his. That’s just how things are gonna be from now on.
“You’re not? Does your boyfriend live with you?”
I lick my lips, trying not to look back toward the bedroom.
“Not yet, but I’d like him to eventually. For full disclosure.”
Sharon nods like it’s no big deal. “He’ll have to pass the same background check you did, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
That makes my stomach drop, the feeling like this might make it all fall apart seeping in through my bones. But there’s no point in trying to hide it or tiptoe around it. Better to get it out in the open now and see how to tackle the problem head-on.
“My boyfriend’s Eli Sanders,” I say, no fanfare about it. If she’s seen the article…
She has. There’s no doubt about it the moment the words have left my mouth. Her face falls, her demeanor going brusque right away.
“Is he still a prostitute?” she asks, matter-of-factly. Never mind that the article was only accusations and slander. Never mind that no one’s asked Eli for his side of things.
I bite back that quick response. Gotta keep my cool. This is bigger than me. Or even Eli for that matter.
“Not since he finished nursing school,” I tell her, my voice hard.
Sharon seems surprised by my tone, offended even, and some of the haughtiness leaves her expression.
“Well, the offense I read about was a juvenile charge. So long as he hasn’t had any charges as an adult…”
“He hasn’t,” I say, sure that Eli would’ve told me about that. At this point, I have to believe he’s told me everything. If there’s anything else, I don’t know why he’d possibly still be holding back. “He’s a good guy, with a good job who had shitty parents who put him in a very bad position. If anyone gets that, it should be you.”
Sharon scribbles something down before closing the folder in front of her and slipping it back into her briefcase. She gives me a small smile and another curt nod.
“It will take a few days to process everything, but I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to be Libby’s foster parent. I would recommend not telling her until it’s finalized, however. We don’t want to get their hopes up in case it falls through.”
“Of course,” I say, nodding as I escort her to the door, in a state of shock.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t really that. The interview was hardly anything at all. Is that really all the investigating we do into the strangers we’re entrusting with the lives of innocent children?
Seems crazy, but I guess in a town like this, there’s not too many secrets.
Once Sharon’s gone, I head into the bedroom to find Eli sitting on the edge of the bed looking off into the distance.
“Hey,” I say, sitting down with him. “Did you hear?”
I mean to sound excited—it seems like things are going to work out after all—but Eli’s shoulders hunch forward more.
“I did,” he says, sounding dejected. “It would all be fine if I weren’t here. But now there’s a chance you won’t—”
“Stop it,” I say, pulling him into me. “I’m not letting you start this again. We’re going to be just fine. Everyone’s going to forget about that article in a little while, and we’ll still be together. And not just that. We’re gonna make a family for Libby and her baby. Craig too.”
Eli smiles up at me, eyes watery as he clings to me.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re the sweetest man in the world?”
I snort.
“Nope.”
“Well you are.”
“Doubt it. I’ve met you, remember?” I tease, getting an eye roll out of him.
“That’s so cheesy,” he laughs.
“Yeah, dunno how you put up with me,” I say, sighing dramatically despite the bubbling anxiety creeping up in me.
“What?” he asks.
“What, what?” I echo innocently.
“That sigh. What was the sigh for?”
I fight to hold back a grin, trying to play up the forlorn act.
“Just thinking how with me being so cheesy and insufferable, there’s probably no way you’d ever agree to move in with me.”
Eli’s jaw drops, his eyes going wider. “You’re serious? What about the election?”
I growl, pulling him closer to me, dragging my teeth over his neck until he gasps.
“How many times do I have to tell you that the election doesn’t matter to me half as much as you do?” I suck on the base of his neck, my fingers slipping under his shirt, over his heated skin.
“But…” he gasps, throwing his leg over my lap so he’s straddling me. “But I know it’s important,” he argues, dragging my shirt up over my head as he grinds his hips into mine, our growing erections pressed together, friction and heat building between us.
“The only thing that’s important is I have you in my life,” I tell him, groaning as he dips to suck on my nipple, drawing it between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue, shocks of pleasure arcing out all the way to my fingertips.