Chapter 4
four
MARILEE
I am not an angry person.
I do, of course, get angry just like everyone. I am quite an emotional person. But often, my emotions are delayed. I need time to process them.
For the last two days, since I heard about Constance and Larry’s petition though?
Hi, I’m Marilee Moffitt, the woman with a raging pool of protective-best-friend lava oozing from her pores.
Nice to meet you.
“Every time I think about it, my heart races and I wanna hit something.” I snatch my plastic cup from the center console of Jordan’s truck and sip up the last of my iced coffee from The White Mocha. Not even that can calm my nerves as he turns the vehicle east, away from the ocean and onward, toward San Luis Obispo, which is about forty-five minutes from Hallmark Beach. “And unfortunately, I’ve been holding an icing bag the last few times it’s happened. Icing went everywhere. I’ve ruined like three cakes.”
Jordan chuckles. “Oops.” His hands sit calmly on the steering wheel as he navigates Highway 1, and his shoulders are relaxed. Even though we’re heading to talk to an attorney about something potentially life changing, I’m not surprised, because Jordan isn’t one to express his emotions. It’s not like he’s a robot, but he’s just calmer all around. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him cry, to be honest. He’s just super steady, super chill.
Well, that’s not totally true. I’ve seen him angry a few times.
Usually, it involved Donny and his treatment of me.
Even with this situation, after that initial shock of finding out about the petition, he’s gone into problem-solving mode. I can sense an underlying tension, but he’s come down a lot from that moment when I met him on the boardwalk and he wrapped me up in his arms and held on for dear life.
That moment is seared into my brain forever. The fact he was looking to me for comfort instead of the other way around. The way we stood there for so long, I lost track of time. The way his warmth blended with mine, and despite the chilly breeze blowing up off the ocean, I wasn’t cold in the slightest.
“Seriously,” I say. The plastic cup bends and crackles underneath my fingertips because, oops, I’m doing it again. Wanting to hit something. But my energy would be better spent trying to cheer Jordan up. To distract him. “Three cakes. One was supposed to be a brown puppy dog, and it ended up looking like a pile of poop.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Jordan tugs at the collar of his purple shirt. It’s strange seeing him dressed up. He’s even ditched his hat and must have gone to see Glinda over at The Golden Highlight for a trim, as his hair is cut and gelled to perfection. I kind of prefer it a bit longer, though, where the ends curl over the edge of his shirt…
“Oh, it was bad.” I stick the cup back in the cup holder and smooth my hands over the green skirt I’m wearing. “Marla came in right afterward and gave me a face that looked just like the gritted teeth emoji.”
Still smiling, Jordan keeps his eyes on the road. “Speaking of Marla, what’s going on there? I meant to ask Tuesday, but then…” His smile disappears.
I’d do anything to get it back. Unfortunately, I don’t think this particular conversation will do that.
I clear my throat and fiddle with the air vent, directing some of the heat my way. “I visited Pete. Just to see if getting a loan would even be an option.”
“And?”
“And he confirmed what I figured. My credit… Well, as much as he likes me as a person and respected my parents, I’m just not a good risk.”
Tell me something I don’t know, Pete.
“That’s harsh.” His glance flashes over at me, then back to the road, where I can see buildings and stoplights ahead. We’re almost there. “So where does that leave you? Are you going to see if Blake and Lucy want to buy your portion of the house from you?”
“I haven’t decided. It’s a big decision, you know?” And I don’t have the best track record with decisions.
“For sure. You should absolutely take your time.” Jordan follows his phone’s GPS a few more blocks to a brick building in a nice part of town. He parks, turns off the ignition, and sits back. Breathes in. Out. Then turns to me. “You ready?”
“I am.” I tilt my head. “It’s gonna be okay, all right, Jay?”
“Yep. Right.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. And I don’t blame him one bit. This meeting will tell us a lot about what next steps need to be taken.
About how likely the Comers are to succeed in this petition.
Together, we exit the truck and walk up the steps into a multi-office building, then follow the signs for Samuel Granger’s office on the second floor. I’ve actually only met Sam a few times when I was much younger, but his information was in my dad’s old contact book. When I reached out on Tuesday, he was very kind and accommodating. Doesn’t mean he won’t charge Jordan an arm and a leg, but hopefully his experience with family court will mean this is an open-and-shut case.
Jordan holds open the door for me, then follows me into the small lobby. There are only a handful of chairs in the waiting room and a pleasant-looking woman with glasses and a gray ponytail who smiles at us from behind the receptionist’s desk. The run-of-the-mill carpet is a bit worn on the way from the door to the desk, but everything is very clean, and a small fountain on the edge of the woman’s desk trickles a calming waterfall. “How can I help you today?”
“Afternoon, ma’am,” Jordan says. “We’re here to see Mr. Granger. I’m Jordan Carmichael.”
“Ah, yes. One moment while I let him know you’re here.” She picks up her phone.
Jordan taps his finger on the edge of the desk. Then runs his hand through his hair. Then across his jaw.
I grab his hand and pull it down, keeping it firmly tucked in mine.
His gaze shifts to me, and he blows out a breath, nods.
“Okay, Mr. Granger will see you now,” the receptionist says. “It’s the second door on the left, down that hallway there.”
“Thank you.” Jordan starts walking and, since he’s still got ahold of my hand, I do too.
When we reach the door, we knock and enter after a gruff “Come in” greets us. Mr. Granger sits behind a large desk flanked with oak bookcases, a window on the wall to our right boasting a gorgeous view of downtown. He’s a nice-looking man, fairly fit and in his fifties, and his full head of salt and pepper hair adds to his distinguished air. He glances up from a stack of papers and sits upright in his chair, running one hand down the length of his silk, black tie before indicating the two chairs across the desk from him. “Please, sit.”
Jordan leads me to the chair on the right and pulls it out just a bit for me, then reaches out and shakes Mr. Granger’s hand. “Thank you so much for meeting with us last minute like this, Mr. Granger.”
“Of course, of course. But please, call me Sam.” He turns to me, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes me in. “Marilee, so good to see you again. Goodness, you look just like Holly.”
My eyes burn at the sudden and unexpected praise, because my mother was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, inside and out. “Thank you for the compliment, sir.” I place my hands in my lap and start fidgeting with the bottom of my blouse. A lump lodges in my throat.
Now it’s Jordan’s turn to reach over and grab my hand, to steady me like he always does.
Sam taps the paper stack on his desk. “I’ve been reviewing your file and all of the information you gave me over the phone, then chatted with the Comers’ attorney to gather some details. The good news is they’re only asking for partial custody, same as their daughter had. But I understand you never had a formal agreement drawn up between the two of you?”
“Correct. We didn’t see the need.”
“While I’m glad you had the kind of relationship with your son’s mother to allow for that, it does make it a bit tricky, as I’m told the mother’s will didn’t say anything about you. She only mentioned wanting her parents to have custody. But of course, as Ryder’s father, you have rights too.”
I squeeze Jordan’s hand.
But he doesn’t look my way. He’s frowning. “While I can appreciate their position, the truth is that he’s my son. If I can provide for him, and especially if I’m willing to allow them to have a relationship with him, I don’t understand why they think they have any sort of legal right to even partial custody.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised their attorney was willing to entertain the petition, but some people will do anything for a buck.” Sam shakes his head. “There have been a few cases—and they had extenuating circumstances—in which a deceased parent was able to appoint a guardian other than the secondary parent, but neglect of some sort had to be proven first.”
“And Jordan is the best dad in the world, so that’s going to be impossible.” I smile at Jordan and flash him a satisfied look that I hope says, See? It’s going to be okay .
He sends a look back my way that’s all soft around the edges. I could sink into that look.
My stomach twists.
“While I appreciate your ringing endorsement, Marilee, with the allegations the Comers have raised?—”
“What allegations, exactly?” Jordan’s eyebrows bunch together.
“Accusations of poor parenting decisions.” Sam flips through the papers until settling on one. “It says here that you frequently keep your child out late when he should be in bed. A Fourth of July festival was cited?”
I sit up straighter. “Everyone was out late that night. That’s a terrible example.”
“And the Comers say they are frequently asked last minute to watch Ryder for you, and he’s left there overnight most of the time?” Sam studies Jordan. “Is that true?”
“I’m a single dad, and I own a business. So yeah, sometimes I have to ask them to help out. But they’ve told me they don’t mind. They know my parents aren’t capable all of the time of watching him for me, and I often lead adventure tours all day and sometimes overnight, especially in the spring and summer.”
“That’s good information to know. Your business is relatively new, correct?”
“It’s about six years old.”
“Which means it’s probably just starting to turn a real profit only in the last year or two?”
“Yes.” Jordan draws the word out, slow, like a string of molasses suspended in the air.
“Have you ever had trouble paying your bills?”
Jordan scratches his neck. “I had to push a rent payment or two at the very beginning, but other than that, no.”
He did? I didn’t know that. I frown. “Sam, believe me when I say that you’re not going to find a more trustworthy or honest person than Jordan Carmichael. He’s as steady and stable as they come.”
Sam sighs. “I believe you, Marilee, but I happen to know this attorney, and I have to warn you that she’s a shark. She will take anything and spin it out of proportion. We’ve got a judge who is new to the area assigned to this case, so I’m not quite sure how he’s going to react when there are examples of what could be perceived as neglect.”
Squeaking with indignation, I start to protest. He holds up his hand before I can get any words out. “So while I don’t think it’s very likely the Comers’ request will be granted, I just need to let you know that there’s a tiny chance.”
“So.” Jordan’s got a death grip on my hand. “That’s it, then? There’s nothing we can do?”
“I didn’t say that. If you agree to engage my services?—”
“I do. Done.” Jordan leans forward slightly, nodding. “I don’t care what it costs. I’m not letting them take my son, even for part of the time. They might poison him against me for all I know. Or have different ways of doing things. This whole petition thing is proof of that.”
“I understand completely.” Sam sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers over his stomach. “What we need to do is use the next four and half weeks to make you look like the most stable guy on the planet. Job, friendships, community involvement—it’s all important. And relationship status too.” He glances between us. “The two of you aren’t by chance engaged, are you?”
I blink at Sam’s question. It’s not like he’s the first to assume Jordan and I are a couple, and I could see how the way we’re holding hands would throw him off. “Oh. Um.”
Jordan coughs. “Uh?—”
“Because if so, being engaged is good, but being married is even better. A marriage would go a long way in showing just how stable things are in your home. Shows you’re not afraid of commitment. Especially since, as I understand it—and I’m not judging here, but the Comers’ attorney just might—you never were in an actual relationship with Ryder’s mom.”
The words pinch something inside of me. I can see it now, Jordan’s reputation being publicly torn to shreds over one decision. I know how that feels. At least his decision led him to Ryder. I wasn’t so lucky. But then again, people warned me. Over and over again, I turned a blind eye to Donny and what he was.
Jordan, for whatever reason—he’s never told me—had one lapse in judgement one time. But the Comers don’t get to crucify him over it. It’s just not right.
“Jordan’s not afraid of commitment.” My nostrils flare. “The fact he didn’t walk away when Georgia told him she was pregnant is proof of that.”
“And that is definitely going to be in our favor. But we need to find a way to address the other concerns. If you were married, all of the Comers’ objections about you not being available to juggle everything alone would disappear. And it would showcase you as the family man you are, with a stable home life.”
Turning wide eyes to me, Jordan swallows hard. “The thing is, we’re not?—”
“Just think about it, okay?” The full weight of Sam’s stare bores into me. “I know you’ve probably got some big fancy wedding planned, and you don’t have to change those plans necessarily. You can still keep your big ceremony and reception. Hey, keep the honeymoon the same for all I care?—”
Jordan coughs again.
“—but if you’re planning to get married anyway, there would be a benefit to doing it sooner than later. It might just save you a lot of time, money, and heartache.”
Meaning, marriage might just make this whole petition a non-issue.
My brain starts whirring. It’s like when I get a new idea for a cake. A corner of my mind grabs onto the idea, tosses it around like a pizza, high in the air, until it’s got something ready to bake and decorate.
“I don’t think that’s going to work, sir.” Jordan lets go of my hand, leans forward so his elbows are on his knees, and rubs his hands down his face. “We need to figure out another plan.”
Sam flashes me a grim look. “All right, well, it’s just a thought. Stick it in your pocket. Ponder it. Marriage could be the answer to all of this. It’s the best way for you to look respectable and stable in a short amount of time.”
Jordan shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something—probably to inform Sam that we are not even dating, much less engaged—but I jump in with a question of my own. “But won’t the judge think it’s awfully convenient if we get married right before this? You don’t think the quickness of it would raise any red flags?”
“If you were already together, already planning to get married, I don’t think anyone could say anything against it. We could say you realized that getting married sooner would provide more stability for Ryder, and that his well-being is the most important priority for you.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
Sam smiles. “So you’ll consider it, then?”
“Yes. We’ll consider all options.” I say it with confidence, but I can feel the heat of Jordan’s stare. Turning to him, I find him blinking at me, confusion in his gaze.
Trust me , I mouth.
Then I turn back to Sam. “What else do we need to know?”