Page 13

Chapter

Thirteen

Grace

On Friday morning, Grace stood in the gutted hallway of the Kensington building with her arms crossed. Matthew, her contractor, flipped through his notes, discussing permits, delays, and a structural issue they didn’t recognize until they pulled up the flooring in unit 3C.

His voice droned on, but she barely heard him. She didn’t want to be standing in this freezing, half-finished building when all she could think about was tacos .

After finally receiving a phone call from the therapist working with Amey, Hope’s birth mother, she’d walked back out into the living area to find André gone. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been on the phone for at least ten minutes, though she hadn’t accomplished much.

All week, she’d been trying to get in contact with Elodie Shaw. She hoped they’d be able to set up an in-person meeting, but Elodie skirted the request twice on the phone. She wasn’t interested in discussing anything with her, even off the record. It wasn’t as if Grace was asking her to break therapist-patient confidentiality. She only wanted to encourage Elodie to get written consent from Amey for her to have a conversation and, if this thing did go to court, for her testimony to be included.

Amey’s mental state needed to be determined. Based on the texts and emails she’d read, Amey had consistently desired adoption. So why would she change her mind now?

Surprisingly, the frustration she felt after Elodie ended the call was eclipsed by the disappointment of leaving and finding her living room empty. Which was concerning on multiple levels.

Heat rushed to her middle as she remembered André pulling plates from her cupboard. How he’d pressed his hands against the counter and told her to enjoy the food, and she’d mentally superpositioned herself in the rounded space between his arms.

That wasn’t what she wanted. André was charming, yes, but he was reckless and crass—he was a smoker—and there was no universe where pushing boundaries with another smooth-talking womanizer went well for her. Not to mention, André was young and hadn’t even started to figure out his life yet. He probably ate ramen four days a week and had a healthy amount of credit card debt.

And yet.

She couldn’t stop thinking about those tacos. About André standing in her kitchen. About?—

“Grace?”

She blinked, snapping back to reality. “What?”

Matthew gave her a look. “I was asking if you wanted to hold off on the electrical in unit 3C until we reassess the subflooring.”

She forced herself to focus. Nodded. “Yeah. Hold off. Just keep me updated.”

Twenty minutes later, she was back in her car, heading home. She had to keep in mind the property's resale value. Otherwise, it was starting to feel like a trap.

Everything about Calgary was stifling at the moment. She wanted out. She wanted to go back to Toronto, where things were manageable, predictable, where she could accept cases and ignore the crap she didn’t want to deal with. That was the benefit of seniority, wasn’t it? She never thought she’d yearn for paperwork, but electrical problems? Subfloors? I’ll pass, thanks.

By the time she got home, her brain was already switching gears. She tossed her bag onto the counter, kicked off her heels, and made a beeline for the dining table for her laptop, where she had over fifty tabs open in her browser.

Half of them contained everything Country and Jenna had sent and the records she had on file from the social worker and the adoption agency. Half were references and resources for her caseload at her actual job.

She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, sat down, and started with tab number one, combing through the next twenty plus emails. Message by message. Date by date.

She scanned every conversation, every signed document, every notation that should have covered them. None of it led her to believe the social worker hadn’t followed correct procedure or that Amey was being manipulated or coerced.

Her gut told her she was missing something, but that was more confusing than anything. Why hadn’t her damn gut told her she’d missed something in the first place?

Grace rubbed her temples, then lay back on the couch and let her eyes drop closed. She should have been working on the opposite twenty-five tabs. She had multiple submission deadlines coming up, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. What was more important than keeping a baby in a home?

But all of this was a dead end. Every time she looked for confirmation that Amey had been properly informed of her revocation rights, she found nothing. No notation. No proof.

A vibration on the table made her heart leap into her throat. She scrambled for her phone, adrenaline rushing through her veins. The message on the screen only made her heart beat faster.

Jenna

Running five minutes late. Sorry!!

Five minutes late?—?

Brunch. Shit.

Grace checked the time and cursed again under her breath. She had forgotten entirely.

She closed the laptop, grabbed her coat, shoved her feet into her boots, and rushed out the door.

_____

Calgary’s winter morning air was crisp, a thin mist still clinging to the streets as Grace pulled onto the main road. The car was still warm from her earlier trip, but she blasted the heat regardless. She’d long suspected that she had some kind of circulatory issue since her feet and hands were freezing in the winter and swollen in summer. No doubt something that would require an amputated limb in her sixties.

Grace lamented that she didn’t have a self-driving car that would allow her to work on her drives. Technically, you were supposed to have your hands on the wheel, but she’d seen enough YouTube videos to convince herself her knees were a suitable substitute.

She neared the brunch spot, Elm & Ash. It was one of those trendy-but-cozy places, nestled between an independent bookstore and a boutique coffee shop. From the main picture on their website, it had exposed brick walls, warm pendant lighting, and mismatched vintage tables that looked effortlessly curated.

She’d been legitimately excited when Jenna sent the invitation, which only made her feel more like an idiot as she parked ten minutes late. How often had she silently judged people who couldn’t make the effort to be on time? It seemed karma was calling in all her past dues as of late.

Grace exited the car, locked the doors, and strode through the front glass door. Inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wrapped around her, cutting through the last of the cold. It was already buzzing with conversation, waitstaff weaving between tables, balancing plates piled high with french toast and eggs benedict.

Jenna waved at her from a table by the window. She was bundled in a thick sweater, her blond hair pulled into a high ponytail. Grace exhaled, rolling back her tension as she made her way over.

Jenna grinned as Grace slid into the seat across from her. “You made it.”

Grace gave an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Did you already order?”

Jenna shook her head, quickly peeking under the blanket of the curved car seat nestled beside her on the bench. “Just got us both water with lemon.”

As if on cue, their waitress stopped by and dropped off their water, then took their orders. Black coffee and avocado toast for Grace, a vanilla oat latte for Jenna along with the breakfast hash.

“Okay, before I forget . . .” Jenna took a sip of water. “Thank you for everything you’re doing. I know it’s been a mess.”

Grace waved a hand. “It’s kind of my mess to clean up.”

“Umm, no, it’s not.”

Grace moved her water to the side as the waitress set down her coffee along with a bowl holding small packets of cream and sugar. “I’m not moping about it, I just should’ve caught it.”

“How would you have noticed a tiny detail like that? The social worker said all procedures were followed. Are you supposed to micromanage every last detail? Second-check all their work?”

Ideally, no, but Grace had done more scanning than she would’ve liked to admit. The social worker seemed extremely competent. Easy to communicate with, experienced. She’d had no reason to doubt.

“I don’t know.” Grace sighed. “It still doesn’t make sense to me. Amey never wavered in her decision to adopt. Even after she had Hope, there’s nothing in her notes to indicate she was having second thoughts. In fact, I found a text message between her and her social worker three days later that said, ‘So glad that’s over. I feel like myself again. I can’t wait to get back to my life.’ There were no questions or expressions of conflicting emotions.”

“Maybe she was embarrassed.”

Grace shrugged and emptied cream into her coffee cup. “Maybe. But typically in situations like this you’ll see a slew of questions. About the baby, about procedure, about timing of a first visit if the adoption is open.”

“We were more than willing to have it be open, by the way.”

Grace nodded. “Oh, I know. You’d think that would’ve been her first question since she declined that option earlier.”

Jenna’s eyes dropped. “I wish I understood any of this. It was the best day of our lives when we found out Hope was coming to us. Now—” Her voice broke.

Grace reached out a hand and wrapped it over hers. She wanted to promise her it would be okay. That she’d fix this and guarantee they would never have to give Hope up. But if practicing law had taught her anything, it was the necessity for precise language. “I’ll do everything I can. But Jenna, if you and Country feel like it would be best to find?—”

“We’re not getting a different lawyer.” Jenna gave her a searching look. “Do you think we want a different lawyer?”

“No, but I would understand if you did. I didn’t exactly knock this one out of the park.”

Jenna grabbed her hand with both of hers. “I need you to stop saying things like that, okay? This isn’t your fault, and even if it was, people make mistakes. Who’s to say another lawyer would’ve done better? I know for damn sure no other lawyer would do better now. I trust you. We both do.”

Grace didn’t cry often, and especially not in public, but the corners of her eyes started to sting. She pulled her hand back and reached for her coffee. “Well, I’ll keep searching and pushing—gently—for mediation before we go to a public hearing.”

Jenna leaned back in the booth. “Maybe André will get something from his sister. I doubt she’ll say anything useful, but you never know.”

Grace blinked, then slowly set her coffee cup down on the table. “André’s sister?”

Jenna nodded. “Yeah. The therapist. He and Country were talking at poker night. Somehow he found out that she’s Amey’s therapist. I have no idea how with HIPPA and all that, and honestly, I didn’t think the two of them were close after?—”

“André’s sister is Amey’s therapist? Elodie Shaw?”

Jenna nodded again. “Did you not know that?”

No, she sure as hell did not know that. Her head dropped into a tailspin. Elodie Shaw. André’s sister.

Heat flashed through her, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow. She told him she’d been trying to meet with the therapist, hadn’t she? Maybe not. Now she was second-guessing herself.

He knew? How could André have known this and not said something? Elodie had phoned her while André was at her house with the damn tacos.

Jenna kept talking—something about André being pissed that his sister was involved, how Country had talked him down because it was her job, not a personal vendetta. How she was surprised that Grace wasn’t aware since André had talked with her the other night, which, by the way, Country had nearly decked him for. Apparently, when he gave André Grace’s address, André was under strict orders not to go over there under any circumstances and?—

“It’s fine, sorry, I need to go to the washroom. Hold that thought?” Grace stood with a shaky smile, then stood and beelined for the WC. She needed a second—just a damn second to get her head around this. She wanted to storm out the door and hunt André down, but unlike him, she hadn’t sleuthed out his address ahead of time.

She burst through the door and found an empty stall, then closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. Asshole. He’d seen how stressed she was. And yes, she’d definitely told him she was trying to get in touch with the therapist. That was one of the first things she said to him before he went all taco-dominant on her. Ugh, it was so hot, but now it felt like a slap in the face. He had a potential key to solving one of her problems, and instead he’d chosen tacos?

Grace walked back out to the sinks and washed her hands. She was going to go back out there, plaster on a smile, and enjoy her smashed avocado with spring greens and pickled onions on seeded sourdough.

Then she was going to get André’s effing address.