Love You More(76)

When Glenn finishes, silence descends. Time thickens. A floorboard creaks. Someone shifts on the bench behind me—Mick, maybe.

Finally, the judge looks up, clears her throat, and says, “Dr. Wright.”

Glenn nudges me with his elbow. “Stand up,” he whispers.

I rise to my feet, my heart pounding.

“After reviewing your petition and the supporting testimony, the court grants you temporary guardianship of the minor child, Phoebe Callahan, for a period of one hundred eighty days,” the judge says evenly. “This order is contingent upon your establishing residency in the state of Wisconsin for the full duration of that period. Continuity of care and stability are paramount to the court’s decision.”

I nod as Dean’s voice echoes in my head: We’re on a slippery slope.

“Do you agree to that condition, Dr. Wright?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I say.

She glances down at her notes, then gazes back at me. “Additionally, Dr. Wright is appointed temporary guardian of the estate for the limited purpose of managing the child’s financial interests, including authorization to sell or transfer real property held in the name of the decedent, Erin Callahan, subject to court oversight.”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to speak again, but I thank her anyway.

The judge nods and signs the order. “Temporary guardianship is hereby granted for one hundred eighty days. The court will reconvene at the termination of said period to review the matter and determine next steps.”

Glenn shakes my hand, then approaches the clerk and collects the signed order. I glance back and catch Mick exhaling, his shoulders dropping as if he’s been holding his breath since Erin died.

We all turn and walk out of the courtroom.

“Thank you,” I tell Glenn when we’re back in the hall.

“My pleasure,” he says, handing me the order. “And congratulations.”

I thank him again, pressing the paper to my chest.

Glenn says he’ll be in touch about next steps, then disappears down the hall toward another hearing.

As I head for the elevator, Mick falls into step beside me. It opens, and we step inside.

When the doors close, I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look his way. “Congrats,” he says softly.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

The doors slide open, and we walk through the lobby, out of the building, and into the parking lot. A breeze lifts my hair. I smooth it back and meet Mick’s gaze.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with moving back here for six months?”

I give him a half-smile. “Too late now.”

He bites his lip, studying me.

“I’m kidding,” I say, even as worry about Dean tugs at me.

Mick smiles. “Phoebe’s going to be so happy. She really needs you.”

Feeling overcome, I slip on my sunglasses to hide my eyes.

“So what’s the plan?” Mick asks.

“I’ll meet her at the bus today and tell her the news.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“I’m flying back early tomorrow, so I’ll stay at my parents’. Then I’ll be back here in a few days. I’m shooting for Monday.”

“Okay. Just let me know your timing when you figure it out,” he says. “And what you need from me. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Thank you, Mick,” I say, feeling my anger loosen its grip a little more.





Chapter 45


Back at my parents’ house, I find them waiting in the family room, side by side on the sofa. As soon as they see me, my dad closes his book and my mom lowers her needlepoint hoop into her lap.

“Well. It’s done,” I say, placing the court order on the coffee table and smoothing the crease with the palm of my hand.

They glance down at it, then look back at me.

“You got custody?” my mom asks, her voice pitching up.

“Temporary custody. The order is for six months.”

“That’s terrific news, honey!” my dad says, getting up to give me a hug. “My little girl is finally coming home.”

I smile into his shoulder, feeling a brief calm.



* * *



— A short time later, I walk down the street to Joan’s, already thinking of it as my place. As I enter, Hank barrels toward me, frantic and joyful. I rub his ears until he calms down and flops into his bed. I take a deep breath, then call Dean.

He answers with a terse hello.

“Hi,” I say. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s going.” I hear the background hum of the hospital, a page overhead. “How was the hearing?”

I swallow. “The judge granted me temporary custody.”

Silence. I picture him in scrubs at the nurses’ station.

“So six months?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great, Billie,” he says, his voice contained. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you. I think this is a really good result for Phoebe.”

“I know you do. And I know how much this matters to you—to both of you.”