The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(7)

This whole thing with Jo doesn’t feel like a healthy woman trying to reunify with her child. It’s more like a power grab. If Rachel really had changed, she could have come to me. She had years to reach out, to do anything. I can only imagine what this will do to Jo.

My stomach feels like it’s been shoved inside a trash compactor. “What can I expect with this hearing?”

Ashlee stares at me for a moment, as though measuring me up. I try to sit a little straighter, wondering suddenly when the last time I washed my bra was. Ashlee seems like the kind of woman who would wash her bras regularly. She probably never wears them until the armpit area turns a weird gray color and the underwire pokes out.

“It’s unlikely they’ll make a decision at this first hearing. They will probably do evaluations on both you and Rachel. We’ll present the best possible case for you being the best fit for Jo.”

Desperation is rising like a starving hyena, all wild-eyed and panting, searching for any scrap of meat on a bone. “What can I do? I need specifics. What do they look for?”

This is how I operate. Give me a task, and I’ll get it done. This is how I’ve survived the past five years essentially as a single parent. I’ve held it together so far, and I’ll keep holding my little world together at the seams.

“I know you’re working, but it would be good to be involved in Jo’s school. Maybe volunteering or helping the PTO?”

A shudder passes through me. As much as I can, I avoid what I call the PTO Mafia, a tiny legion of women in athleisure-wear who coordinate—aka emotionally manipulate and browbeat—parent volunteers.

“I can do that.” I’ll hate it, but I can do it.

“The court will want to see a stable home life,” Ashlee says.

“I’m stable. Super stable.” My awkward, high-pitched laugh does anything but bolster this claim.

She continues, ignoring my weird laughter. For this, I am grateful.

“They’ll look at your living situation.”

“I have a house.”

It’s the one I grew up in, which is falling apart, but still standing. And fifty percent of the toilets actually work! (Which means exactly one working toilet, if anyone is counting.) Based on the uncomfortable look Ashlee is giving me, she knows the general state of my home.

“They like to see job security.”

“I have a steady job.” Steady-ish. Freelance can be up and down, honestly, but I have a few sites that pay well and don’t turn any of my posts down now. “And I’m an active member of the community.”

Mostly the Ladies Literary and Libation Society, a semi-secret and highly exclusive not-quite-book-club Ashlee and I are both members of. It’s not quite Fight Club where we can’t talk about its existence, but neither is it the kind of organization I would put on an official form.

“I don’t like to sugar-coat things,” Ashlee says, which is never a good start to a sentence. “Despite her history, Rachel has some advantages you do not. Her financial position is more secure.”

I wait, because it’s clear Ashlee has more to say. She doesn’t shift her gaze, though it is rife with apology.

“As much as I hate to say this—being married will work in Rachel’s favor. Coupled with the fact she’s Jo’s biological mother, this may hold sway with the courts.”

These words hit me like a bowling ball to the gut. People sometimes treat being single as though it’s a preventable condition, like a sunburn. I wish snagging a good man were as easy as waltzing into one of those candy stores with all the bins, scooping out exactly what I want, and then walking away with a perfect combination of exactly what I want.

Dating these days, especially while raising a five-year-old alone, is not as simple as swiping in whatever direction you’re supposed to swipe on some app. Especially in a small town. Even if there were more guys to choose from here in Sheet Cake, Pat ruined me for other men. Or all men.

My dance card is empty. Wolf Waters, who jokingly proposes to me once a week, is my only prospect. Considering he’s Billy’s younger brother, it’s a hard pass. Though I do applaud Wolf for being the only Waters to break the privileged, pretentious vibe the rest of his family wears like a crest. Wolf—whose real name is Walter—seems sweet, even if he gives off doomsday prepper vibes. He lives in his own underground bunker on a big piece of property where he runs Backwoods Bar, the semi-legal drinking hole Sheeters frequent.

I stand, ready to be done with this conversation, this topic, this whole day. Unsure whether I should shake Ashlee’s hand, I go into weird mode again and curtsy, giving her an elaborate wave.

Ashlee’s kind smile only makes me feel worse. “I promise you, Lindy—I will do everything I can.”

But will it be enough? I swallow down that question.

“Thank you.” And because I’m not done being awkward, I add, “I’ll be in touch if I find a spare husband by the side of the road.”

Yep, I made that terrible joke. Before Ashlee can respond, I bolt through the door and almost run into Kim, Ashlee’s assistant. She steps back, her brassy highlights glinting.

“Sorry! I was just going to see if you needed more coffee,” she says, holding up the coffee pot in one hand. “What’s that about you finding a husband?”

Kim graduated a few years behind me. She seems friendly but has that slightly too-eager-to-please thing going on. Not to mention she’s got a bloodhound’s nose for gossip.