6. Pope
SIX
Pope
I pull my SUV into the shell-lined drive, tires crunching over the uneven path. The bungalow sits back from the road, half-hidden behind a jungle of flowering bushes and dangling ferns.
Val calls it “strategic landscaping.” I call it organized chaos—much like Val herself.
She’s my mother, though I hardly call her “Mom” anymore. It isn’t disrespect, it’s just a byproduct of our shared survival.
She’s colorful, unpredictable, and always bouncing into her next reinvention. She learned to spin chaos into color. I learned to lock everything down.
I cut the engine and rest my hands on the wheel for a beat. Deep breath in, out. Time to keep this focused.
The front porch stretches across the entire facade, dotted with mismatched vintage furniture that somehow works together. Three of her rescue parrots squawk from inside, shouting curse words like sailors.”
Before my knuckles even connect with the door, it swings open.
"Pope!" Val launches herself at me, silver hair flowing, wafting that familiar scent of patchouli and grapefruit. Her hug is fierce, despite her willowy frame. "Let me look at you."
She pulls back, scrutinizing my face with those sharp blue eyes. "Are you eating enough protein? You look tired. Are you sleeping? I love having you here in Florida. Does this mean I get to see you more than twice a year?"
"Hello to you too, Val." I grin, knowing full well she’ll ignore my answer if it’s not the one she wants.
She smacks my arm. "Would it kill you to call me Mom once in a while?"
"Probably." I flash a quick smile to soften it.
"Let him breathe, babe." Hart appears in the doorway behind Val, two tall glasses of iced tea sweating in her hands. Her calm presence immediately shifts the energy. "He just got here."
Hart’s been around for eight years now. “Life partner,” Val says, though permanence has never been her thing. She’s a cat, burning through lives like matches.
Hart's eyes follow Val with practiced attention. I recognize that look. She's used to gently redirecting Val's whirlwind energy when needed.
"Come in, come in!" Val pulls me through the door. "Hart made grilled snapper. We aim to please and know you prefer fish over red meat. You look like you haven’t eaten."
The interior smells of fresh coffee and grilled fish. Plants hang from macrame holders, creating an indoor-outdoor feeling that suits them.
"I had breakfast," I say, accepting the iced tea from Hart with a grateful nod. "I had oatmeal and fruit, and drank a protein shake on the way over."
"Sit. I’ll fix you a plate."
"Val—"
"When's the last time you went on a date?" She's already halfway to the kitchen. "I know you're the most eligible bachelor in Colorado."
"I'm not here to discuss my dating life, Val."
"Then what are you here to discuss? I haven't seen you since Christmas." Val spins back around. "Which reminds me, why aren't you at work on a Tuesday morning? You never take days off."
I set my glass down. "I didn't just come for a social call."
The room shifts. Hart arches one eyebrow and exchanges a look with Val.
"Then let's sit down and talk." Hart gestures toward their eclectic living room, her voice steady.
I settle into a turquoise chair at the kitchen table, watching Hart arrange grilled fish tacos on colorful ceramic plates. The kitchen is alive with plants cascading from shelves, mismatched pottery everywhere, and the scent of cilantro and lime filling the air.
"I got a call last week." My voice sounds too formal, even to my own ears. "About Maria Lopez."
Val freezes mid-motion, a lime wedge suspended over the plates. "Chris's third wife? The one with the little boy?"
"Yes. She died of cancer."
Hart puts her tea down hard on the formica table, causing the ice cubes to clink against the side of the thick glass. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"The boy, Lennon, is seven now. As you know, he's my half-brother." The words are strange in my mouth. I've only met him once, but our connection is there.
Val's face darkens. "Oh, my God. That poor child. I know Chris wasn't in his life, so what will happen to him? Will he have to live with Chris?"
"That's exactly what I'm trying to prevent." I squeeze the lime over my taco, focusing on the action. "Camila Reyes, Maria's cousin, called me. She was worried Chris would want custody when he found out Maria left everything to him."
Val slams a fork down harder than necessary. "He doesn't care about that child. What's he really after?"
"Maria's estate. She had a nice-sized insurance policy, a house, and a small savings account. She left all of it to Lennon. Since he's a minor, whoever his guardian is will have control over all of that."
Hart sits, her steady gaze assessing me. "So why are you here telling us this? My child-rearing days are behind me."
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Camila plans to adopt him.
She's his godmother, was close with Maria, but is going through a divorce and can't take him on right now.
She's worried that if someone stable doesn't step up, then the judge will have no option but to grant Chris custody.
" I take a bite of my fish taco to buy time.
"Shit."
"I know. She told me her divorce will be final in about nine weeks, and she can take him once that is behind her.”
"So she wants you to take him until then?" Hart's question is direct, no judgment.
I nod. "Apparently, I'm the only option."
Val mutters something under her breath, but Hart speaks over her.
"Are you ready for the reality of raising a seven-year-old, Pope? Even temporarily?"
"To be honest, no. But I have the means to protect him from Chris. Just until Camila can adopt."
“Most guardianship cases take months,” Val says with her brow furrowed.
Val leans in. “How long has all of this been swirling?”
“I got the call a week ago,” I say.
"How did this happen so quickly?"
“Three days to get the petition filed, two more for the judge to sign off on temporary custody. Camila’s attorney rushed it so Chris wouldn’t be notified of Maria’s death. He hasn’t been in the child’s life for years.”
Hart’s eyes narrow. “Temporary custody means you still have to go in front of a judge again, then, right?”
I nod. “For temporary, it’s not much more than procedural. Unless, of course, there is an objection. It doesn’t look like that will be the case. And when Camila is ready, I’m sure there will be something, but it will hopefully be seamless.”
Val exhales, shaking her head. “Goddamn, Pope. You’re a good man. Thank the Goddess above that Chris won’t get his hands on that sweet baby.”
Silence hangs over the kitchen as we finish eating. Afternoon light filters through the hanging plants, casting dappled shadows across the half-empty plates pushed toward the center of the table.
One of the parrots screeches something from the other room that sounds suspiciously like "bullshit," which is oddly appropriate.
Val leans back in her chair, crossing her long, bangled arms. "I wish I could be more help," she says, her voice softer for once.
"That's not why I came here, Val. I guess I didn't know who else to talk to about this."
"I know. But I do. We're only an hour apart, but I'm at the nursery most days, and Hart's got her hands full keeping me out of trouble."
"That's an understatement." Hart's lips curl into a smile.
Val smirks, reaching for Hart's hand. "You know, I always imagined we'd make the best hippie grandma duo someday. I finally accepted it when you said you would never have children."
My chest tightens at that. The unspoken implication hangs between us, that I haven't given her grandchildren, that I never will.
"Of course, you can be as involved as you want." I push a lime wedge around my plate with my fork.
There's more to it than that. I needed to see their faces when I told them, to gauge if I'm making a catastrophic mistake.
Hart watches me with those perceptive eyes that never miss a thing. "Then, how are you going to manage a seven-year-old while you're running everything you're running? Didn't you move here for this big hospital thing?"
That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? The one I've been avoiding since I signed those temporary guardianship papers, the one that kept me up at three this morning, staring at my ceiling.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Camila put in a job at a temp nanny agency in Palm Beach. She’s handling all of that, but we will have a live-in nanny for the entire time.”
Hart's eyebrows lift. "Smart move."
"They matched me with someone yesterday. She's starting tomorrow if the meeting goes well later today. Camila and Lennon will be there to meet the nanny. We need to get him settled right away."
"Tell us about her." Val leans forward, elbows on the table.
"She's twenty-five, has a master's degree in behavioral therapy. She's waiting to start a permanent position in the fall. She's overqualified, which is exactly what I need right now."
Val's eyes light up with a mischievous gleam. "That sounds like a good person to have in your court."
"She might be too good to be true. We will see."
"The child needs someone with real credentials after what he's been through," Hart interjects.
Val drums her fingers on the table. "How well does Lennon know you, anyway?"
The question hits a nerve. "He doesn't. I met him once when he was a baby."
Hart frowns. "So you're essentially a stranger taking custody."
"Yes."
"That poor boy." Her voice softens. "A mother gone, shipped off to live with a half-brother he doesn't know."
"I know it's not ideal." My jaw tightens. "But it's better than Chris."
"A low bar, honey." Val's words are sharp and unapologetic.
"The nanny will help with the transition."
"When will he get here?" Hart asks.
"Camila and the court-appointed guardian ad litem are en route now with Lennon. I'm flying them here from Jacksonville." My stomach knots at the thought.
“”Oh, wow.”
I’m leaving here to meet them at the Palm Beach International Airport. They will both be there to meet the nanny, which is why all of this is happening so fast."
I check my watch and stand. "Speaking of, I should get going."
"Good luck," Hart says, genuinely.
Val rises to hug me. "Call us when he's settled. Hart and I will make a trip up to meet him and spend some time with you."
The ground crew finalizes preparations for the jet's arrival. My attention locks on the empty sky where the chartered plane should appear any moment.
Sweat beads at my temples despite the air conditioning in the private terminal. Wiping it away, I step outside where the hot Florida air hits like a physical force.
I roll up my sleeves, the fabric of my custom shirt suddenly restrictive. The control I usually maintain becomes more tenuous with every passing minute.
The distant hum of engines grows louder. I spot the silver body of the jet breaking through clouds, sunlight glinting off its polished surface. My chest tightens.
The black SUV that drove me here idles nearby. The driver nods at me when he sees me looking before returning his attention forward. At least something is going according to plan.
The plane touches down with practiced precision, taxiing toward our position. I slip my phone into my pocket, refusing to check emails that can wait. I didn't expect to be so nervous about meeting him.
As the aircraft door opens and the steps unfold, I straighten my posture and try to arrange my face into something approachable. Friendly, even. The role is more foreign than I even imagined.
A woman steps out first, dark hair pulled back, dressed in slacks and a blouse. There’s a quiet efficiency in the way she moves, but the strain on her face says it’s been a long week.
I figure this has to be Camila.
Her hand rests on the shoulder of a small boy trailing behind her. Lennon.
My breath catches.
He's so small. How did I not know how small a seven year old is?
His thin shoulders fill out a blue t-shirt with planets scattered across it, and his dark hair falls into his eyes. Those big, brown eyes scan everything, appearing to miss nothing.
Behind them follows a woman with auburn hair streaked with gray, chin held high with the confidence of someone used to making difficult assessments. She must be Dana Black, the guardian ad litem. The court's eyes and ears.
I move forward to meet them, extending my hand to Camila first.
"Pope, thank you for doing this." Camila's grip is firm, her eyes direct. "And thank you for sending the plane for us. It was much better than a four-hour drive."
"Of course." I turn to Dana. "Ms. Black. Thank you for accompanying them."
Dana studies me with clinical detachment. "Mr. Carrigan."
Then I face Lennon. I kneel down to his eye level.
The resemblance catches me off guard. He doesn't remind me of Chris, thankfully, but something in the set of his jaw reminds me of photos of myself at that age.
He's wary and watchful.
"Lennon, I'm Pope. It's good to finally meet you."
His eyes dart between my face and the ground. He nods once, then looks back at the sleek aircraft behind him. "That's your plane?"
Something shifts in my chest. "It was yours for the day."
A flicker of genuine interest crosses his face before his expression shutters again. Camila's mouth lifts slightly at the corners, but Dana continues her silent assessment, cataloging every interaction.
"Let's get you settled," I gesture toward the waiting SUV. "We have someone special coming to meet us at the house, so we should probably get going."
As we slide into the vehicle, Lennon's hand releases Camila's. He presses against the window, watching the jet grow smaller behind us.
Then those large brown eyes shift, finding mine across the leather seats. The look is brief but penetrating. He's sizing me up, measuring me against some internal standard I can't begin to guess at.
He turns back to the window, but that look stays with me as we exit the airport gates. It's a silent question, like he’s already decided if I measure up.
And if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure I do.