19. Tessa
Not long after sunrise, Eli and Maggie came to relieve Tessa and Kate at the hospital. Tessa made her way back to her car, noticing it still smelled like the donuts and coffee she’d taken in for her sister. Just as she pulled on her seatbelt, her phone vibrated with a call from Dusty.
“Hi,” she said, digging for brightness over exhaustion.
“Hey, babe. How’s Jo Ellen?”
“Stable. ICP’s holding at seventeen. They’re going to try to wake her on Tuesday if the numbers stay where they are.” She closed her eyes and leaned back. “How’s Olive?”
“She did fine all night. Never heard a peep.” The three of them were staying in the first-floor guest room, the very tucked-away suite where Tessa had secretly hidden many months ago when she was between jobs, homes, and lives.
And now look at her, just six months later—staying in the same room with her husband next to her and their soon-to-be-adopted daughter “camping” on a blow-up mattress on the floor. Because life was funny and unpredictable like that.
“That’s good,” she said. “Tell her I’ll be back soon. But fair warning, there’s a nap in my immediate future.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “At least, that’s the plan.”
“That’s not the plan anymore, I’m afraid.”
Tessa’s stomach did the thing it had been doing regularly for the last sixteen hours, dropping with fear and panic. “What happened?”
“Lynda just called. She’s on her way to the house.”
“The…our house? In Miramar?”
“Yeah, she’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll be there in five.”
“Why?” Tessa asked. “We haven’t even had it cleaned out yet. Why is she coming?”
“She wants to walk it with me, and she wants you there for a conversation.”
“Oh, God.” Tessa’s heart tumbled. “That’s not good.”
“It might be,” he said, trying—maybe failing—to sound optimistic. “The storm could have changed things.”
“Could have? Dusty, we don’t have a home!”
“We’re living large at the Summer House, Tess. Olive’s not in school, nothing’s changed but our location.”
Cringing at what it could mean, she started the car and put it in reverse. “I’m on my way. Oh, wait. Who has Olive?” She groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask. What kind of mother am I?”
“Yesterday and overnight, you were the daughter, not the mother,” he said in full therapist mode, which did always calm her. “Olive is with Meredith and Emma, and there was talk of playing dress-up. She’s in good, safe hands, well-loved and, by now, probably in high heels.”
She smiled at that and pulled onto the main road. “Thank you, Dusty.”
“Tess,” he said softly. “She has two parents, remember. Or will, when this is official. You don’t have to do life alone anymore.”
“Oh, I love you so much,” she whispered and never meant anything more.
“I love you, too. Be careful. Take any road but 98 to get here—it’s a parking lot.”
Lynda was there when Tessa pulled up to the house. Her silver sedan was parked behind Dusty’s truck, and she stood on the front porch, chatting with him, blazer on despite the heat, folio under her arm.
He turned and waved as Tessa pulled in, then came down the walk to meet her.
As she climbed out of her car, he cupped her face and looked at her for a half-second as though inspecting her state of sanity, then gave her a quick kiss.
“I told her about your mom,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Doesn’t make the Summer House sound very safe, but what can we do? Did she say what she wants?”
“No, she hasn’t been here that long. Come on, let’s do it.” He wrapped an arm around her in what felt like an act of solidarity and walked toward the front door and their waiting guest.
The smell hit Tessa from ten feet away—wet drywall, low-tide rot, mold.
“Ah, the lovely stench of two and a half feet of saltwater silt that decided to break into our house,” she said, attempting a light voice. “How did you fare in the storm, Lynda?”
They shook hands when Tessa reached her. “Much better than you,” the woman said.
Tessa gave a tight smile. “We have insurance, a lovely place to live, and…” She put her hand on Dusty’s shoulder. “My guy is handy and will be our contractor. This will look brand new in no time.”
Lynda just smiled and angled her head. “Dusty told me about your mother’s accident. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. She’s going to be…” Tessa swallowed. She didn’t know if Mom would be fine. “Out of the ICU soon, we hope. And I apologize…” She gave a vague gesture to her face. “It’s been a few sleepless nights, with the hurricane and all.”
Lynda nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry to be doing this on the morning after you’ve been through such a difficult time.”
“That’s okay. I assume it’s urgent?”
Lynda gestured to the front door. “Can we go in?”
Tessa drew back, hoping her face didn’t look as horrified as she felt. “There’s nowhere to sit. There’s nothing but…no. You don’t want to go in there.”
“I have to,” she said, looking from one to the other. “By law, I have to see it before we take one step further on this adoption process.”
Tessa’s heart fell so hard she could have sworn she heard it hit the front porch.
“Of course,” Dusty said easily, stepping to the door and bringing out his keys. “We don’t have masks, but if you do, you might want to wear one.”
“I’m fine,” she said, following him inside.
The smell was worse in the foyer and somehow it looked even more dreadful after a day and a half of rotting. The throw rug from the front door was in a wet wad against the baseboard. Every wall had the brown water line. It was utter destruction, end to end.
Lynda took it in with a long, sweeping glance, no reaction visible. She inhaled and blew out the breath noisily. “Oh, yeah. This is bad.” Then she turned to them.
“We’re going to fix everything,” Dusty said.
“And we have a beautiful place to stay in the meantime,” Tessa added. “Olive’s so happy there with family and, oh, another baby. It’s a huge house and—”
“Tessa.” Lynda’s voice was quiet as she reached out to put a light hand on Tessa’s arm. “Please, listen. I am not here to look for flaws or faults.”
Tessa bit back the kind of joke she always made when she was nervous, forcing herself to keep her mouth closed.
“And, believe me, I understand this is a very bad time for you on multiple levels.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked, sounding weak and scared because, well, she was both.
Lynda looked around and took a breath, wincing.
“Let’s stand outside,” Dusty suggested.
“I need to get some pictures,” Lynda said.
“Why?” Tessa asked, her voice taut.
Lynda pressed her lips together and looked directly at Tessa. “These are the facts. Olive is in the legal custody of a placement agency that has not been informed of her whereabouts since approximately five o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
“She was with us! We evacuated, as you knew. You gave the approval to the sheriffs to let us take her over the bridge when they took her mother.”
“Yes, but right now, this very minute?” Lynda angled her head. “She is quite technically in the care of someone I don’t know and have never met, in a residence not approved for the placement. We are out of compliance, and we have been out of compliance for sixteen hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said.
Dusty stepped into the discussion. “Lynda, I’ve texted you every six or seven hours with assurances that Olive was completely safe. Pictures have been sent and you FaceTimed with her before we left Rock Hill. You haven’t said a word about compliance.”
“I know, but the hurricane was considered extenuating. It no longer is. We are talking about a child’s life.”
“Our child,” Tessa croaked.
“Not yet.” Lynda opened her leather folder and looked down at it, then back up. “Yes, let’s do this outside. I’ll come back in for pictures.”
Walking into the sunshine didn’t make Tessa any less sick inside, but she waited as Lynda flipped through a few pages and pulled on some reading glasses.
“I drove past at six-thirty this morning and made a preliminary assessment.”
She was here? While Tessa was sitting next to her maybe dying mother and crying with her sister? This woman was here poking around her flood-destroyed house? Ire skittered up Tessa’s spine, joining the fear that settled in her bones.
“I’ve spoken with my supervisor,” she continued. “Your home is uninhabitable. The downstairs unit is a complete loss. The upstairs unit—”
“Is fine,” Tessa said.
“Cannot be occupied until a structural engineer signs off on the interior staircase and the south wall.” Lynda talked right over her and glanced at Dusty like she’d had enough of Tessa. “Which is at minimum two weeks away, if you’re lucky. Every Joe in town needs one now.”
Dusty nodded once.
“Construction timeline to a fully approved residence is six to twelve months, conservatively. I’m told by FEMA contacts that on this coast, after this storm, six is optimistic. Twelve is realistic.”
Tessa let out a soft groan. “We’re staying in a good place. If that doesn’t qualify for some reason, we’ll rent something.”
Lynda’s eyes shuttered, definitely losing patience. “The Florida statute under which we operate requires the prospective adoptive home to be stable, approved, owned by one or both of the parents with up-to-date mortgage payments, or leased in one or both their names for at least one full year.”
In other words, “staying with friends” was not going to cut it.
“But…but this property is in our names,” Tessa said, gesturing to the house. “And before that, Dusty owned a home for many years.”
“And you lived in hotels.”
Tessa blinked. “I worked for Ritz-Carlton. That was part of my compensation.”
“Regardless, this residence is the one you claim now, and the home study is tied to its inhabitable condition. Generosity from friends and family, however genuine, is not what the statute requires.”
Tessa reached for Dusty’s hand. “What are you telling us exactly?”