Summer on Mirror Lake

by JoAnn Ross

  “I tried to twirl a baton once,” Chelsea said quietly.

  Hannah turned toward her. “How did you do?”

  “I dropped it while practicing in the living room, which I wasn’t supposed to do, and it fell on a vase that had been a wedding present to my folks from my grandmother Prescott.” Who’d died of a stroke when Chelsea was Hailey’s age, so she couldn’t remember her very well. But she did have a very clear memory of the pieces of porcelain vase scattered all over the carpet.

  “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Not as much as I could have. I just had the baton taken away for a weekend, which wasn’t any big deal because I’d already decided that I could practice all day long every day and probably never get as good as the girls in the parade because my coordination was off. Years later I learned that my mother and grandmother had never gotten along, so I suppose that was why she wasn’t overly upset about the broken vase.”

  “It doesn’t look that hard,” Hannah mused as the band, led by a high-stepping drum master in a tall Mountie’s-type hat, began playing an enthusiastic, only slightly off-key rendition of a Sousa march.

  “You’ll never know unless you try. We could find one online.”

  “It’s silly.”

  “It never hurts to try.” Chelsea waved to John and Sarah Mannion as they cruised by in a land yacht of a 1960s red Cadillac DeVille convertible donated by a member of a Port Townsend classic car club. The mayor was always designated grand marshal, and since John had been mayor as long as Chelsea could remember, Sarah had had many years to perfect her regal windshield wiper wave.

  Behind the car came the local veterans, marching along with Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts carrying flags. While the girls had marched during those two years when Chelsea had worn the green uniform, they hadn’t been allowed to carry flags. Which, she thought, made this one major change for the better.

  The vets were followed by floats, pulled by decorated trucks representing businesses and service groups from the community. This was Bastien and Desiree’s first year and their red, gold and purple colors brought a New Orleans flair to the Pacific Northwest. The chef/sax player stood on one side of the float, the baker/singer on the other, tossing Mardi Gras beads to the crowd lined up on the sidewalk as hidden speakers played their new album, a musical tribute to, and a soundtrack of, their native city.

  And then, finally, toward the end, right before the Mannions’ Christmas tree farm float, came the library float that Chelsea, Farrah, Lily, and even Janet and the other volunteers had been working on part-time for months. On the backdrop of the float, they’d painted a large mural of familiar Dr. Seuss characters; on the front was another board with large wooden letters Seth had cut out with his jigsaw which had been painted in bright crayon primary colors reading “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!”

  On the platform, sitting on boxes painted to look like stacks of books, were the reading adventurers and members of the younger readers group. Chelsea had asked Hannah if she’d like to join them, but, again, she’d declined.

  “Maybe next year,” Chelsea had suggested.

  “Maybe,” the girl had answered. “If I’m still here.”

  And wasn’t that the problem that hovered over everything like a threatening storm cloud?

  The Kiwanis had already started their annual holiday barbecue and the scent of grilling meat greeted the parade participants and viewers alike as they reached the park.

  The music, provided by the high school pop choir, was wonderful, the company even better, and the fireworks, lighting up the sky over the harbor and reflected in the water were, Hailey declared, “The best fireworks ever!”

  “That was a good day,” Chelsea said to Gabe as they drove back to the lake.

  “I think Hailey nailed it,” he said.

  “Your parents’ snow machine was a big hit.”

  “Yeah. Dad was worried about it working, but it was a great ending to the parade.”

  “I think the adults enjoyed it as much as the kids. And speaking of kids, we’ve lost Hailey.” And Hannah had her head against the window, looking as if she was about to fall asleep.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “But a good one,” Chelsea said. “I know it can be considered old-fashioned, but I really enjoy our small-town holiday celebrations.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that.”

  * * *

  AFTER THEIR LATE NIGHT, the girls both slept in. Fortunately, with the library being closed on Monday, Chelsea was able to enjoy the slow morning after having spent almost an entire night with Gabriel. He still left before dawn, though with the girls having been so exhausted, they’d taken the chance on him staying over. But had been sure to lock the bedroom door and open the closet one for a quick hiding place if necessary.

  They were out on the deck, enjoying the morning birdsong while Hannah read in the library, and Hailey drew pictures of yesterday’s adventures at the kitchen table, when Chelsea’s phone rang.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Douglas. What can I do for you? The girls, by the way, enjoyed yesterday’s celebrations.”

  “So I heard,” the social worker said. “I happen to have a family to visit on the other side of the lake today, and thought, while I was out here, I might as well kill two birds with one visit, so to speak.”

  “That’s fine. Gabriel can open the gate for you.”

  As soon as she ended the call, she said, “You know she did this last-minute inspection on purpose! To catch us off guard!”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  “I need to change!” She was wearing her I proudly contribute to the literacy of minors red T-shirt with a pair of leggings, and no shoes.

  “I think you look great. And it’s not as if you’re lounging around in ice cream pajamas.”

  “But it’s an official investigation! At least I should put on some makeup. Or lipstick, or...oh my god, did the girls make their beds yet? I haven’t looked.”

  “They’re kids. Besides Monday is like our Sunday. A day of rest. Still, I’ll just... Damn.” They heard the car coming up the road. “Too late,” Gabe said.

  “What if she finds something that will make me unsuitable?”

  “I can’t think of anyone more suitable. Besides, if that woman they’d been living with had been approved, you can’t possibly have anything to worry about.”

  “Try telling that to the giant condors in my stomach.”

  She took a deep breath as the doorbell rang and grabbed his hand. Hers was ice-cold.

  “I suppose we ought to let her in,” he said. “I’ll send the girls upstairs.” Chelsea thought, not for the first time, that for a man who claimed not to know anything about children, he possessed very good parenting instincts.

  “I guess we don’t have any choice.”

  “Hello, Chelsea. Gabriel,” Adele Douglas said. “It’s good to see you again, in more pleasant circumstances.” She took in Chelsea’s shirt. “I like that message.”

  “Thank you.” Chelsea ran a hand down the front of her shirt. Maybe casual was okay. After all, the moms who brought their kids into the library for story hour didn’t dress for a formal tea at The Mad Hatter. “Mrs. Henderson was always so well turned out, but that’s not really my style. I have found that both adults and kids respond to the T-shirt messages.” This one was definitely better than her Crazy Book Lady or Librarian by Day. Ninja Demon Slayer by Night ones hanging in the upstairs nanny’s room closet.

  “Spreading the gospel of libraries and reading is always a good thing,” Mrs. Douglas said. “Where are the girls?”

  “When I opened the gate, I sent them upstairs,” Gabriel said. “In case you wanted to talk alone with us first.”

  “I do. Where would you like to conduct the interview?” Chelsea realized that her nerves might have shown for a moment, when the woma
n who held two little girls’ lives in their hands backtracked. “Interview can sound more daunting than it is,” Adele Douglas said. “I’m going to make notes for my report, but mainly I’d just like to have a conversation about how things have been going, and if you’ve considered any plans, Chelsea.”

  “Why don’t we go into the great room?” Gabriel suggested. “That way the girls can know where we are if they come downstairs.”

  She smiled approvingly. “That’s an excellent idea.” As they led the way, Chelsea considered that Gabriel was batting a thousand. Perhaps she ought to just let him handle this.

  The great room looked as if the decorator had been channeling Ralph Lauren. While impressive, Chelsea remembered an HGTV designer proclaiming that there was a thin line between sublime and clichéd. While she was certainly no decorator, having seen what Sarah Mannion had done with both Mai and Kylee’s Folk Victorian and Herons Landing, she had no doubt that Gabriel’s mother could come into this room, remove a few things, change others around and immediately make it more homey. More as if a family lived in the house, while at the moment it appeared to have been staged for a photo shoot. Which, thinking about it, she guessed that it was now probably front and center on the decorator’s website.

  “This is quite the house,” Mrs. Douglas said.

  “I’m just borrowing it from a friend for the summer,” Gabriel said.

  “Yes, you mentioned you’d be leaving.”

  “Would you like some coffee? Or tea?” Chelsea asked.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She opened her notebook to a page Chelsea noticed already had been written on. The woman had probably made contemporaneous notes that first night. While details were still fresh in her mind. That’s what she herself would do.

  “You mentioned going to the parade yesterday.”

  “We did. They both had a great time. Hailey wore herself out, but that was probably partly due to dancing to ‘Jingle Bells’ all the way down Water Street on the Mannions’ Christmas farm float.”

  “So I saw on the Facebook page.” She made a note. “How did that come about?”

  Damn. Chelsea had forgotten all about checking that page. She spent the next few minutes explaining about the picnic, the trip to Seattle, the sandcastle building, Gabriel taking Hailey to the farm, which the social worker already knew because he’d called her ahead of time to make sure it was okay, and Hannah’s days at the library. “She’d already spent every day there after school, so she felt comfortable and safe.”

  “Both good things,” the woman said with a decisive nod.

  “She’s also been working with Gabriel at the boat shop.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m building a faering,” Gabriel said. “It’s a smaller version of a Viking boat. I’m auctioning it off for Welcome Home during the boat festival.”

  “I remember you making some lovely boats,” Mrs. Douglas said. Then wrote some more.

  “So, Chelsea, although you’re staying here for the time being, you’re still renting an apartment in Edna Moore’s house?”

  “For now. But I’ll be moving.”

  The slight lift of a brow was unreadable. “Will you be staying in town?”

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely. I just thought it was time for a larger place.”

  “Any particular reason?” The pen poised over the lined paper again.

  Knowing this woman hadn’t been born yesterday, and had shown herself to be very good at her job, Chelsea didn’t try to hedge. “I was hoping that I could be approved to be a foster parent. Rather than merely an interim placement.”

  “I see.” She didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Merely made a notation in the notebook. “And, I assume, from what I saw of your relationship to the girls the night of the incident, and heard from Sarah Mannion and Mrs. Henderson, that you might be a candidate for guardianship.”

  “They’ve already moved so many times for such young ages,” Chelsea said. “I know all about growing up in a less-than-stable environment. I wouldn’t want that to be their future. So, yes, I’ve considered it.”

  “It’s not an easy process,” the social worker warned.

  “It shouldn’t be. Not with children’s lives in the balance.”

  “A child or children must be in a proposed guardian’s home for six months prior to any guardianship being established.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’d need to participate in a shared planning meeting.”

  “Planning meetings are a normal part of my life,” Chelsea said.

  “You’d also have to understand that you’d be making a commitment to the children until adulthood with the intention of a continued lifelong relationship. This is nothing like bringing a puppy home from the shelter.”

  Chelsea was about to object to the idea that she would consider the situations at all similar, then decided against challenging a statement that felt like a test of some sort. “Absolutely, I’d make that commitment.”

  “Yet it seems a bit impulsive.”

  “I can see how it could appear that way.” Chelsea didn’t allow herself to look at Gabriel, who she could feel intently watching her. “Sometimes you know things are right. You don’t just know it in your head. But also in your heart.” She covered her own heart, which was currently beating like a snare drum playing Sousa. “I felt an immediate connection to both Hailey and Hannah within minutes of finding them in my library. The library,” she amended, reminding herself that although it might feel like hers, officially it was Honeymoon Harbor’s library.

  “Perhaps it was because I recognized my younger self in them. Perhaps the bond, which has grown since then, was merely fate. Something inexplicable, but meant to happen. All I know is what I know. And I know I can give Hannah and Hailey the home they need. The home they deserve.”

  “That’s very heartfelt,” Mrs. Douglas said as she began writing again. “And sincere. I do have one additional question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Guardianship is typically considered when reunification isn’t possible and adoption is not in the child or children’s best interests. As in the case of permanently separating siblings. Is there a reason you haven’t considered adopting?”

  “I have considered that.” The idea had circled around and around, like a leaf caught in an eddy since that night they’d brought the girls home from Mrs. Lawler’s. “But I assumed that I’d have to prove the ability to be a good guardian first.”

  “Well, yes, that’s the case. Why don’t we keep things as they are for now, and get you through the guardianship process while you give additional thought to a more permanent relationship.”

  “My relationship will be permanent whatever its official status. But if adoption is open to me, I’ll definitely take it. If only to make the girls, especially Hannah, feel as if they’ve found their forever home.”

  She cringed inwardly, realizing that statement sounded like all those shelter adopt-a-pet TV commercials and videos that were always showing up in her Facebook timeline, but Mrs. Douglas merely continued writing. Then finally slipped her pen into the holder on the side of the notebook.

  “I believe I have enough for today,” she said. Then turned to Gabriel. “Now I’d like to speak with Hannah and Hailey. Alone.”

  “Of course.” He stood. “I’ll show you to their rooms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  DESPITE HAVING NO reason to expect things would go wrong during the social worker’s interview with Hailey and Hannah, Chelsea’s nerves were buzzing like electrical lines in the fog.

  “You’re going to pace a path in this rug,” Gabe advised. “Not that either the current owner nor I would care. Just saying.”

  “It’s nerve-racking.”

  “Obviously. You sure threw a curveball there. Adoption is quite a jump from considering trying to bec
ome a permanent foster mother.”

  “Not as much a jump as it seems. The friend who gave me those foster care statistics warned me against getting too involved with the girls. Or letting them get too involved with me, because they’d start seeing me as a mother figure, which in turn would make them feel the loss so much harder when they moved on. Which can happen several times a year.”

  “Hard to get your feet under you when the ground keeps shifting.”

  “Exactly. I was trying to walk a line between being just the library lady and a friend and mentor. Like yours was in New York.”

  The absurdity of that comparison almost had him laughing, but Gabe knew that she was dead serious.

  “That’s a difficult line.” The one thing that the two situations had in common was that Carter and he had blurred their line from his very first year at Harborstone.

  “It’s been getting narrower and blurrier every day. It took the fire and seeing what their lives really were, what they might never be, perhaps until they aged out of the system at eighteen. And even by then, they could be so messed up, the entire rest of their lives could be affected.”

  “Possibly. But it wouldn’t be your fault.”

  “Wouldn’t it?” She stopped pacing in front of him. “Answer me this... If you were driving across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, and you saw someone standing there looking as if they were going to jump, would you just drive on by and risk the chance of them jumping, or stop and try to help?”

  “I’d call 911.” When her eyes narrowed, he lifted his hands. “And okay, although I see where you’re going, of course I’d stop. After I called 911. Because first responders are professionals. They know what to do.”

  “That argument isn’t going to work for me, because what the admittedly overworked and underpaid professionals can do under these circumstances is shuffle kids around from home to home to home. It’s not their fault, because they can only work with what they have and I looked on their website and they’re trying a lot of outreach to prospective foster parents. But even if they get more, you and I both know that the opioid epidemic, which doesn’t appear to be going to disappear anytime soon, will only increase demand for homes. For beds. Meanwhile, two innocent young children might spend over half their lives without parents, stuck in a never-ending revolving door. And the most important reason I want to adopt them is that I love them.”