Last Breath (The Good Daughter 0.5)(19)
Charlie would love to make the decisions if it meant a new dishwasher that didn’t flood if you put more than four plates on the bottom rack.
Jo said, “Here we go.” She held out her arms, indicating a large family room and kitchen. Sunlight streamed in from the humongous windows. The vaulted ceiling was at least thirty feet overhead, wooden beams making it somehow feel homey. The back of the house, at least, had been decorated. It was the only part that looked lived in. Deep leather couches. Recliners. A giant flat-panel TV mounted above a stone fireplace. There was an open concept kitchen that made Charlie’s eyes water with jealousy—not because she was a cook, but because she wanted a kitchen that made people’s eyes water with jealousy.
If they didn’t want to adopt Flora, Charlie would gladly offer herself up as a replacement.
“We’re not lawn people,” Jo said, as if Charlie had asked a question about the muddy back yard. “It’s a thing with the neighborhood, because there’s some kind of bullshit line in the covenants for the home owners’ association about yards and we were, like, ‘So what?’ but apparently you can’t take a crap around this place without getting permission. But, hey, you’re a lawyer, right? Could you help us get them off our backs? All they are is a bunch of whiny bitches with nothing better to do.”
Charlie had to shake her head again to make sense of the request. “I’m not a real estate lawyer, but I can give you the name of one.”
“Nah.” She waved her hand, indicating Charlie should follow her into the kitchen. “They’ll just charge us for it.”
Charlie didn’t point out that she would’ve charged them, too.
“Sweet or unsweet?”
Charlie hadn’t asked for tea, but she wanted a reason to stay in the kitchen so she could ogle the stainless steel appliances. “Unsweet.”
“Flora is amazing. We couldn’t love her more if we tried.” Jo jerked opened the glass door of the Sub-Zero fridge. The glass rattled. She had to muscle the door closed. She told Charlie, “Nancy met Flora on the first day of school, and they got along like a house on fire. Always have. Two peas in a pod.” She found two clean glasses in the Miele dishwasher beside the scratched apron-front sink. “I was really worried when Mark moved us up here from Roswell, but it’s all worked out. He’s a real estate developer. That’s where he’s at now, scouting out some new property for some developers up from Atlanta who want to build an Applebee’s off of the North 40. Applebee’s! Can you imagine? What’s next? An Olive Garden? A Red Lobster? This place’ll be hoppin’!”
Charlie sat down at the bar-top counter. The smooth granite was cold under her palms. An empty wine fridge purred beside her. Her jealousy dialed back a notch. On closer inspection, the kitchen looked too lived in. There were scuff marks on the walls. A chunk of wood was missing from the vent hood. Two of the red knobs on the range were missing.
Jo, oblivious to the silent criticisms, poured the tea. “And then there’s some other folks looking to build a shopping center off that old mill property on 515. You know the one I’m talking about?” She didn’t need encouragement to keep going. “I could totally see a day spa there. I love it up here, but my Lord, it’s been hard on my nails, and I think half the people up here would be in a hell of a lot better mood if they could get a decent massage. But look at me talking about myself. What do you need from me?”
Charlie listened to the unaccustomed silence.
“About Flora?” Jo prompted. “What do you need me to say?”
Charlie took a moment to put her lawyer hat back on. “Flora is seeking emancipation.”
“Right, she told us that. Remember that Drew Barrymore movie where she was a kid and did the same thing?”
“It’s a bit different from—”
“Irreconcilable Differences!” She snapped her fingers. “God, that would’ve driven me crazy, trying to remember the name of that movie. I wonder what happened to Shelley Long? She was so good in Cheers.”
Charlie couldn’t get sidetracked. “With emancipation, what happens is, we all have to persuade the judge that Flora is capable of being an adult—looking out for herself, being responsible, staying off the government’s dime. I think we’d be much more likely to win if we could prove that she had a good home to go to.”
“Can’t get any better than this.” Jo spread out her arms with pride, as if her house was not falling apart around her. “But we wouldn’t be adopting her, right? She would be living here. Almost like a tenant. But not, like, we have her sign a lease or anything. One of our kids, but not really our kid.”
“Exactly,” Charlie said, because Flora was still a kid and there was no way she could navigate the world completely on her own. “So, what I need from you in the immediate is for you and your husband to sign an affidavit stating that you’re willing to take Flora into your home until she’s eighteen years old.”
“Oh, hell yes, but more than that.” She pushed a glass of tea across the counter toward Charlie. “We’ll take her on until she’s married. And then she can live in the basement if she wants. We just love her to bits. I said to her the other day—whatever she needs, we are here to give it to her. Anything.”