Julia's Chocolates

  Though several nurses and two doctors had known Aunt Lydia for decades (because of a garden club they all belonged to), and though Stash was close friends with two of the doctors (because they had been on hunting and fishing trips together), the hospital couldn’t simply let us walk off with Shawn and Carrie Lynn.

  I had thought we could—since Shawn’s biological father was a guest in a Texas State Penitentiary for killing a police officer who had had the nerve to raid his crack cooking company, and Carrie Lynn’s father had “disappeared,” according to police reports. Their mother was now also in jail, along with the psycho-violent boyfriend, and there was no other family we knew of. It should have been a slam dunk. I figured we should have been able to walk out of the hospital with the kids, and that would be that. But the state has to have its piece of the action. A child welfare representative came and informed us that the children would be going to a foster home when they were released.

  When Aunt Lydia heard that, she made a comment about how Shawn and Carrie Lynn were going to a foster home over her dead, rotting, maggot-infested body and then launched into a recitation of her gun collection and her talents as a mother. The welfare worker got a little pissy and walked out.

  The pissy woman came back the next day with a couple of other welfare workers, and we all met in the hospital conference room: Me, Aunt Lydia, Stash, Caroline, Lara and her husband, the nurses and doctors that knew Aunt Lydia and Stash and, in all his intimidating, cool glory, Dean Garrett.

  Although I felt sick at the very thought of losing Shawn and Carrie Lynn to a foster home while I fought for the right to be their legal parent, I took a second to look around. Stash was actually wearing a suit and looked like the affluent, gentleman-farmer he truly is. Aunt Lydia wore a bright purple dress and red heels, her gray hair pulled back into a loose bun. She looked lovely—furious and irritated, but lovely.

  Lara and her husband looked proper and caring—the perfect minister and his holy wife.

  And Caroline? She looked like a tiny fashion model. My mouth actually dropped open when I saw her in a silky beige suit and fine gold jewelry. Her heels looked like they probably cost her a fortune. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was a high-fashion, rich socialite.

  I was wearing a burgundy-colored blouse and a black skirt and black heels, the only nice outfit I had brought with me to Oregon. I had taken care with my curls, and they tumbled to my shoulders. When Dean saw me he did a double-take, then kept staring at me.

  But I couldn’t stop staring at Dean, either. We were quite the staring pair. I had seen Dean only in jeans and cotton shirts, jean coat, and cowboy boots. Casual. Sexy. Wonderful. But in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and dark tie, he was devastating. Intimidating, but devastating.

  We sat together at the table in the conference room, his foot in front of me at the table, so I had to put both my legs around his. If I hadn’t been panicked and worried sick about losing Shawn and Carrie Lynn to a foster home, I would have enjoyed all that sensual stuff.

  He leaned in close as everyone got settled. “You look beautiful, Julia,” he said quietly, his blue eyes crashing like a heat wave into mine.

  I bent my head, tried not to blush. We were here for serious business. I wanted Shawn and Carrie Lynn to come home with us so desperately, so completely, I was ready to dance naked on the table and do a backhand spring to the floor if that’s what it would take, but I couldn’t resist smiling at him.

  And Dean Garrett smiled back, slow and easy. My thighs were hot, and my vagina felt like it was leaking. I wanted that man so bad it was all I could do not to jump him right there on the table.

  He grabbed my hand for just a second, and I felt all hot again. I am such a mess, I thought. Hot flashes, followed by cold freezes, heart palpitations, a frequent feeling that there was no air in this galaxy anymore, and trembling of all sorts. And Dean still seemed to like me.

  The meeting started when the three people from the state walked in. Introductions began, and I couldn’t remember their names. I could only peg them as Miss Tight Ass, because she looked like she thought a lot of herself and was as skinny as a stick, Mr. I Have A Small Penis, so dubbed because he looked like he hated women and the world in general, and then Ms. Cuddly, because she was tiny, like a doll.

  By the end of the meeting, I knew I had named them all wrong.

  Dean introduced himself as my and Aunt Lydia’s lawyer. The three from the state cringed a little as he shook their hands, towering over each of them.

  “Mr. Garrett,” said Ms. Cuddly, smiling, her shock over at seeing Dean Garrett here. “I’ve followed many of your cases through the news. Your most recent victory was stunning, absolutely stunning! Congratulations on your victory.”

  “Thank you,” Dean said, his hands clasped together on the top of the table, his expression serious.

  “I am such an admirer of your work! I am so very impressed!”

  The woman spoke in exclamation points, and it was beginning to annoy me. Plus, she was cute. Sparkling, cheerful, blond-haired, and cute. I started to dislike her.

  “Thank you,” Dean said again, then tried to divert her from the subject of himself. “In regards to the matter of custody of Shawn—”

  “In the case before this last one,” Ms. Cuddly gushed again, “with the sewage companies dumping wastes into the river, I read your closing argument, and it was truly inspiring, a wonderful testament to the freedoms we Americans take for granted!”

  My dislike grew.

  “I appreciate that. Now, if we can discuss Shawn and Carrie Lynn…”

  “I believe I heard that your wife is an attorney, too?” Ms. Cuddly asked.

  The silence in the room almost blew my ears out. His wife? Dean had a wife? My stomach pitched down to my feet, and I felt ill.

  A wife.

  A roll of depression, of despair, so thick, rolled over me, I closed my eyes. I could almost feel the blood leaving my head and pouring south to my toes. When I opened them, I saw Dean.

  “No,” he said, looking straight at me. “I don’t have a wife.”

  The air left my body in a whoosh, and I sagged against the chair. No wife. Dean had no wife. As quick as the despair had caught me up in its thick claws, it was gone again, Ms. Cuddly chattering about still another case.

  “I think we need to get to the business at hand,” Dean said in a clipped voice.

  “About time,” Stash agreed, folding his arms over his chest and looking somewhat intimidating himself. “We can pass out membership cards for The Dean Garrett Admiration Society another day, ma’am. Now, look here, Julia Bennett has known and been a friend to both Shawn and Carrie Lynn for months now. She’s the librarian in town and brings them lunches, dinners, gifts. They know her, they trust her, they love her.”

  Ms. Cuddly had, at first, blushed after Stash’s rebuke, and now, I could tell, she had it in for Stash for his sarcasm.

  She didn’t look so cute anymore when she spoke again, the condescension dripping from each word. “Mr. Hookland, is it? It is? Let’s see, you’re a farmer, aren’t you?” She said it as if she thought being a farmer were one step up from being on welfare. The smile came back but disappeared instantly. “Our job as child welfare workers is to protect children. Just because someone wants to raise someone else’s child doesn’t mean we automatically hand over custody.” She laughed, as if Stash were an immature, stupid child.

  “Ms. Hawthorne,” Dean cut in, his voice harsh and low. “As you know, the state always looks to place children with family and friends during times like these.”

  “Yes, I do know that, Dean,” Ms. Cuddly’s smile was back and she leaned forward, resting her boobs on the table. Oh, please, I thought. Please. “But none of the people here are family, and as I understand it from the mother, none of you are friends, either. In fact, the children’s mother has told us that she does not want any of you to have custody of the children.”

  There was a collective gasp in the ro
om, then Stash swore, stood up, and started pacing the room. Miss Tight Ass looked up, interested, but not afraid, her eyes moving from one person to the other in the room. Mr. I Have A Small Penis looked slightly alarmed.

  Caroline’s mouth fell open, her huge eyes shocked. Aunt Lydia slapped both hands on the table. “This is bullshit! A drug-addicted mother who used her children as punching bags, then lets them lay in their own blood for two days while she gets high and turns her tricks with her boyfriend, who also gets his swings in at the children, gets to say where her children are placed?”

  I was too shocked to say anything. But this is what I thought: That bitch. That heinous, selfish, horrible complete bitch. I hope she rots bone by bone in hell. That bitch!

  “So, it’s your intent to follow the mother’s wishes, is that correct?”

  “Yes, Dean, it is,” Ms. Cuddly said, her voice like honey. “I take the law very seriously, as I know you do, too. The mother has not been convicted yet—”

  “Have you read the police reports?”

  “Well, yes, Dean, I have, but the mother of Shawn and Carrie Lynn has expressly asked, in no uncertain terms, Dean, that this family not raise the children while she is in jail.” Ms. Cuddly smiled again, cocked her head to look at Dean, as if she was beckoning him. Her attraction to him was so blatant, so cloying.

  I hated her.

  “More bullshit,” Aunt Lydia said, shaking her head.

  I saw the muscles in Dean’s cheek clench. Ms. Cuddly rattled on about the mother’s rights, that the mother was sorry, that drugs were to blame, etc. etc.

  Stash paced more, Caroline kept making protesting sounds, and Aunt Lydia said again and again, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ms. Cuddly said to Aunt Lydia, her voice high and patronizing. “I’ve forgotten your name already, but please do refrain from using such vulgar language in our presence. We know what we’re doing. And we know the law. I assure you that the welfare of children is our topmost concern. We know what’s best in these cases. We’ve had years, absolutely years of experience….”

  “And your experience has taught you nothing but bullshit,” Aunt Lydia told her.

  “I will have to ask you to leave if you use that abusive language again,” Ms. Cuddly said. She lowered her eyelids and looked at Aunt Lydia as if she were one fine, interesting bug.

  Stash leaned across the table, both hands curled into fists as he addressed Ms. Cuddly, his gaze never wavering. “Do not speak to Lydia Thornburgh in that manner again. Do you understand me? Do not ever, ever speak like that to her.”

  “This meeting will end, here and now, if you people are unable to control yourselves—”

  Dean held up his hand, and everyone stopped talking as if a lightning bolt had crashed through the room. “If I may?” He arched an eyebrow at Ms. Cuddly.

  Pulling several sheets of paper from a folder, he read aloud the children’s history. The past abuse reports, not only in the state of Oregon, but reports he had also managed to get hold of from California, where the children had previously lived.

  “Despite the abuse, the children were not taken from their home,” he said, then waited for Ms. Cuddly to nod her agreement.

  “No, the children were not taken.” Ms. Cuddly smiled. “Because we felt—”

  Dean held up his hand again. “Let me finish, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  He then, in almost a monotone, detailed the concerns that had been expressed to the state by the children’s current school and three of their teachers. “Despite these concerns, and the physical injuries the school and teachers noted, the children were not removed from the home.” He arched his eyebrow at Ms. Cuddly again.

  “That’s correct, but again—”

  “If you’ll let me finish,” he said again.

  He detailed the information I had shared with him about the multitude of phone calls I had made to report the bruising and injuries on the children, and the poor state of their health. “This time a caseworker went to see the children, but, again, the children were not removed from their home, is that correct?”

  Ms. Cuddly rolled her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” Dean said. “The children were not removed from their home, is that correct?”

  Ms. Cuddly said, “That is correct, but—”

  Dean held up a hand. “Is it also correct that no one checked to make sure that the mother’s current boyfriend wasn’t a pedophile or a violent criminal?”

  “That’s not really something we do….”

  “He was both—you do understand that, don’t you?” Dean then listed the injuries that both children had suffered over the last two years in this state, using hospital records and anecdotal evidence from the people who had been in the children’s lives. Then he discussed how over a three-day meth binge the children had been beaten and starved and refused critical medical treatment by their mother and her boyfriend.

  He noted that it was a neighbor who had called the police when he heard Shawn screaming, allegedly at the boyfriend, “Get off of her, get off of Carrie Lynn!”

  Dean quoted the doctors and nurses who had treated Shawn and Carrie Lynn, both their physical injuries and their very frail emotional health. Even Ms. Cuddly was sinking in her seat by the time Dean was done. Mr. I Have a Small Penis held his face in his hands, and Miss Tight Ass just cried. I handed her some Kleenex. When she blew her nose it sounded like a foghorn.

  “So, in conclusion, I would have to say that the state has not, as you have declared today, handled this case with any amount of competence. Your years of experience should have told you that the children were in grave danger. As I read the law, it clearly states that in the condition that Shawn and Carrie Lynn were living in, they should have been removed from their home for their own protection.”

  “We cannot predict the future, Mr. Garrett,” Ms. Cuddly said, her face flushed.

  “No one asked you to. The children’s past clearly foretold a tragedy in their future. At this time I would like to request that you allow Julia Bennett and her aunt, Lydia Thornburgh, to care for the children until we can get adoption papers processed. A home visit can be arranged and the paperwork completed and forwarded to the state immediately.”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” Miss Tight Ass said, blowing her nose again. This time it sounded like it came from a very large foghorn.

  “Perfect,” said Mr. I Have A Small Penis. “Absolutely perfect. I’m sure we can work something out here.”

  “No.” This came from Ms. Cuddly.

  We all sucked in our breaths. Aunt Lydia mentioned something about cursing the woman. Stash grumbled.

  “I’m sorry?” Dean arched that eyebrow at her again, then carefully folded his hands together.

  “I said no. We cannot allow Miss Bennett and Ms. Thornburgh to take the children with them to their home. This is a long process. We must run criminal checks, background checks—”

  “Good,” Dean said. “You mean, like the criminal and background checks you ran on the mother’s boyfriend, who proceeded to nearly kill both Shawn and Carrie Lynn?”

  Ms. Cuddly flinched. “I will not allow you to make a mockery of this state, Mr. Garrett, or the laws that govern them. Truthfully, I am not convinced that Miss Bennett or Mrs. Thornburgh are what the children need in their lives.”

  “You don’t think my aunt and I are what the children need in their lives?” I was so furious I thought my head would blow. “I love those children. I have been with them five days a week, four hours a day for months, I—”

  “You are even meaner than you look,” Aunt Lydia said, “Your womanhood is a shriveled and lifeless thing….”

  “Just a minute!” Dean’s voice cracked through the room. He picked up his cell phone, hit one number on speed-dial. “Hi, Charisse. It’s Dean…. It has been a while.” He smiled at the phone. “Don’t be mad…. I know…. I promise I’ll think about coming to your next party…. Yes, I said I would promise to think ab
out it. You know I don’t like parties. I was out on the ranch…. How’s your mother doing? Good, that’s great to hear…. Can I talk to that useless husband of yours? You, too…. Hi, Marc…. Good to hear from you, too. Say, I have a problem…. Yeah, you do owe me a favor, big guy, so here it is….”

  Now, I could not figure out why in the world Dean was making a call on his cell phone in the midst of this conversation, especially when he could tell I was an inch from throwing myself at Ms. Cuddly and permanently removing that smirk from her face by way of tearing off her lips, but there it was.

  But then the unusual name, “Charisse,” came to mind, and the only Charisse I knew of was the governor’s wife. And his name was Marcus. And then everything fell into place as Dean succinctly explained the problem, including who the children were, the crime, and who was sitting at the table with us from Children’s Services.

  “Thanks, buddy. Yeah, I already promised Charisse that I’ll think about your party…. We’ll hit the slopes then…. you’ll just have to force the legislature to take a break. Tell them you need to go and be a ski bum. That’ll sit well with the voters. I’ll call you back.”

  Dean hung up. Laced his fingers together.

  “Was that…?” Ms. Cuddly looked like she’d swallowed a canary, I thought with great glee. “Was that the governor?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Dean answered. “It’ll be a few minutes. So, how ’bout those University of Oregon Ducks?”

  Stash leaned back in his chair, understanding real quick what had happened. “Well, I’m real proud of them. The quarterback isn’t half bad this year. What do you think?” he asked I Have A Small Penis.

  I Have A Small Penis, still looking flushed and upset at the children’s abuse report, nodded at Stash. I got the impression that he did not like Ms. Cuddly, for he launched into a full discussion about the Ducks’ offense.

  “Excuse me,” Ms. Cuddly cut in. “Can I ask why on earth we’re talking about football, Mr. Garrett?” Her cheeks were flushed, red as cherries.