Chapter Twenty-Eight
But maybe she could be.
The drive to Daisy’s school took twenty minutes. Charlie sifted through the papers on Judge Mitchell as he drove.
“How many others has Mitchell gone lenient on?”
T.R. shook his head, resting a hand on the steering wheel and the other elbow on the window, still reverberating with aftershocks of losing all control with Charlie.
God, it had felt good to burn that out of his system and yet, it only induced a deeper wanting, a deeper need to hold onto whatever this was with her.
“None. Seems he’s got a record of being tough on deadbeat dads. In some cases, he’s awarded sole custody in volatile divorces when there’s a history of domestic abuse.”
“And yet, with Jason…” She shook her head and dropped the paper to her lap, clenched in her grip, to gaze out the window. “Even if there’s a pattern of judicial favoritism, what can I do about it?”
He reached out, hating the look of helplessness on her brow, and took her other hand, bringing it to his lips. “You talk to Tyler.” He kissed her knuckles.
Brushed his thumb over them. She bit her lip, the gears in her brain cranking. A shy gesture he was growing to love.
“What made you think to get these records?”
“You mentioned Judge Mitchell. It rang a bell, and I wanted to know why. When I went through my records from years ago, wanna know who presided over my case and ultimately dismissed it?”
Chills prickled her arms in his periphery. “Mitchell?”
“Mine was a clear-cut breach of contract case,” he continued, jaw tight.
“I ain’t the best reader,” he admitted softly, staring hard at the road ahead of him, hating to admit it aloud.
“I misread the date. Mitchell dismissed it with prejudice so that I couldn’t refile it.
Let Jason walk away. I had to pivot and go after him for criminal theft. ”
She squeezed his hand. “You read fine. You know how. And you’ve figured out how to manage it, all without any help from your parents, from school. Thaddeus, it’s kinda brilliant—”
He withdrew and rested his wrist on his steering wheel.
Offering comfort was a one-way transaction that flowed from him to her.
Like little Daisy holding his face and telling him that he had her, too, he didn’t know what to make of this acceptance, the gentle way his name rolled off Charlie’s tongue like a calling instead of like a ruler snap to the hands.
“There’s something going on here, baby, with Mitchell.”
Deflect. He wasn’t a teen anymore who could disrupt class to avoid his disability. His neck burned beneath her scrutiny as he pulled into the circle drive in front of the school.
Daisy’s face lit up like Christmas lights, noticing his truck.
He gazed at that little girl and returned her excited wave.
Thought of his mistakes. Thought of his threat to Jason.
Turned out, he had something to lose now too.
Would his mistakes come back to bite him in the ass?
His family had warned him countless times that living too fast led to crashes and burns.
He put the stick in neutral and clenched the parking break, hopping out while Charlie stepped out.
Daisy’s teacher called her forward, and the girl ran toward them as Charlie waved, her face brightening. “Hey, Daisy Mais—”
“T. Rex!” Daisy beamed, her twin braids swinging up to knock him in the face as she careened past Charlie’s open arms. “You came to my school. It’s the last day and Momma always takes me to Hilltop for ice cream on the last day of school so you gotta come too!
” She threw herself onto him and he twirled her, flashing an apologetic frown at Charlie who scoffed playfully.
“Girlie, is your momma chopped liver or somethin’?” He planted a kiss to the side of her head, tugging on her braid.
“Hi, Mommy,” Daisy said sheepishly.
T.R. opened the passenger door. “You want Stevie and Seth to come with for that ice cream?”
“Yes!” She pumped the air in her summer dress and cowboy boots.
“Wow, Daisy, your dad’s got a cool truck,” a boy from her class said as he passed, as Daisy’s teacher made her way over to them.
T.R. opened his mouth to refute it—
“Thanks. He even keeps candy in the cab.” Daisy’s hold around his neck, tightened.
Charlie’s eyes locked on his.
“Lucky,” the boy said, waving goodbye. “See you next week.”
Heat crept up his neck. To be this girl’s daddy … would he make a good one? Or screw her up like his parents had done to him? And how would he ever help her be a good student when he’d never known how to be one?
She wasn’t his. He’d barely clinched a second chance with Charlie, and he was already playing happy family. But she could be.
He lifted the girl into the cab, scooting her to the middle.
“Belt on, darlin’,” he said, when the teacher intervened.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bradford?” Mr. and Mrs.…
“Hi, Mrs. Rodriguez,” Charlie said.
The woman smiled and nodded. “Can I have a quick word with you and your husband?”
*
Husband?
A mistake on the teacher’s part, but one that … didn’t sound bad. She glanced at him, the man who kept showing up.
Thad nodded toward the teacher. “Go ahead, babe, I got the girl.”
She stepped apart from them.
“How was Daisy’s program? Is there a progress note in her backpack?”
The teacher smiled. “Actually, after our phone call yesterday morning, in follow-up to your note, I was able to bring in the speech pathologist. Do you have a minute?”
She nodded, and Mrs. Rodriguez held out a packet. At the top read Language-based special education evaluation results and impact statement.
She furrowed her brow as she read down a list of apraxia and other jargon she was unfamiliar with.
“Daisy is a bright girl. Eager to learn, which made this eval a pleasure.” Charlie nodded and the teacher continued.
“These are just preliminary. We didn’t have much time with the end of summer school today.
Read over these results and feel free to reach out with any questions.
But we feel it imperative to do a deeper evaluation when the regular term starts next week, to develop an IEP. An individualized education plan.”
“What’s wrong?” Charlie said, perusing the packet, glancing back at Thad teasing Daisy, inciting giggles.
“Our speech pathologist believes that there’s nothing wrong with her cognition. In fact, her comprehension is higher than average for her age. And, of course, her math and oral language skills are above grade level.” The teacher smiled gently. “The team agrees. We believe Daisy might be dyslexic.
“Once she explained how letters get jumbled for her, we realized it impacts her ability to decode them and piece the sounds together to form words when reading. Letters can appear out of order or reversed, as if in a mirror.”
She thought back on all the times she’d helped Daisy practice reading, how she’d complained that the letters looked like they were all over.
It made sense. She looked back at Daisy, and Thad.
He glanced up this time, his phone to his ear on a call, brow furrowing.
She waved him off with a smile and turned back to the teacher.
“What can we do to help her? Are there reading programs I can download or classes I can take to better understand?”
Mrs. Rodriguez smiled fondly. “There are lots of resources these days that didn’t exist twenty years ago.
But she’s got the number one ingredient to start with.
Your support. Kids with disabilities thrive far more with parents who get involved.
If we can establish an IEP for her, we can start providing early intervention to better prepare her with the lifelong tools she’ll need so she can better succeed in college when the time comes.
Just review the paperwork, and sign where the arrow is so we can get an IEP meeting established.
If you return it with her next week, we’ll set a meeting date. ”
But when they arrived at Hilltop and walked through the barn doors of the dairy farm turned ice cream parlor, the sweet smell, and Tyler Dixon, greeted her. He stood from a table, his boys at the next one over with their homeschool books open, a notepad in his hand.
“Not that I don’t want to see him, but why’s he here looking like he was expecting us?” Charlie whispered as they got into line and worked their way to the front to order.
“Because I asked him to come.” Thad grabbed a stack of napkins and wiggled them in Daisy’s face before Charlie could ask why. “That’s right, wing girl, I remember the choco disaster yesterday. I’m armed, now.”
Daisy giggled. They placed their orders, Thad gesturing for her to go first, but when she did and then opened her purse, he stepped between her and the register, ordered, and pulled his wallet from his rear pocket, swiping his card.
“Nice lookin’ family, son,” the old man behind the counter said, his nametag saying OWNER.
Thad turned to look at Charlie and Daisy, his eyes unreadable, and muttered, “Yup, can’t complain.”
Warmth, uncertainty, yearning … they wove beneath the surface.
They took their ice creams to the picnic tables lined up in rows, when Stevie jumped up.
“Dad, can me and Daisy go up to the loft?” A refurbished hayloft with more picnic tables and a kids’ area.
Tyler nodded. “Seth, go with ’em.”
Seth huffed like the annoyed older brother that he was and shoved to his feet, pushing aside his homework to saunter away as the kids scampered off.
Tyler looked at her. “Charlie. Tyler Dixon Family Law at your service.”