At Home on Ladybug Farm Read online

  Bridget, in the backseat, squeezed her eyes closed as Lindsay swerved around a tractor that was chugging along the shoulder with a bale of hay. Cici twisted in the passenger seat and waved apologetically at the tractor driver.

  “I mean, here I am, a fifty-year-old woman who’s never had children of her own, with no visible means of support, living in a broken-down house with two other women and a twenty-year-old girl, none of whom has a job—”

  “Hey.”

  “Well, she’s right,” Bridget pointed out.

  “Not to mention a dog, a deer, a flock of sheep—”

  “And two dozen chickens,” added Bridget. Then, in alarm, “Do you see that stop sign?”

  The force of the brakes locked all three seat belts, but Lindsay went on, oblivious. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? What makes me think they’ll even consider letting me adopt a teenage boy? A teenage boy, of all things!”

  “The pickup has the right of way,” Cici broke in.

  Lindsay waited until the truck completed its turn, and then accelerated through the intersection. “But it’s just like when we bought the house. We didn’t think about that, did we?”

  She looked over her shoulder to Bridget for confirmation, as Cici instinctively reached for the wheel. “No! No we didn’t!”

  Lindsay’s eyes returned to the road. “We just”—she searched for the word—“ felt it. And everyone thought we were crazy for doing that, too. But look how that turned out. We were right and everyone else was wrong. Weren’t they?” As she spoke, she turned the steering wheel too sharply, and the car’s left tires skittered on the shoulder before she regained the pavement.

  “Stop the car.”

  “What?”

  “Stop the car,” Cici repeated, with force.

  Lindsay pulled over to the side of the road and got out, a bit sheepishly, as the two women traded places.

  And as Cici pulled carefully back onto the road, Lindsay pressed her head into the headrest. “I am crazy,” she groaned. “What am I doing?”

  Bridget leaned forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Right now,” she said, “you’re just going to talk to Carrie about adopting a great kid who would be the luckiest boy in the world to have you as his mom.”

  Lindsay reached up and squeezed her fingers. “Thanks for coming with me, both of you.”

  “This is probably the most important thing you’ve ever done. Like we’d let you do it alone?”

  “Besides,” added Bridget, “he’s our Noah, too.”

  “But you’re supposed to be building a chicken coop.”

  “Believe me,” Cici said, “I’d rather be here.”

  Lindsay cleared her throat. “Listen, I know this isn’t fair to either of you. I mean, it affects your lives, too. When we moved in together, it was to enjoy our retirement years. No one counted on a teenage boy.”

  “Or a twenty-year-old college dropout,” Cici pointed out.

  “Or a flock of sheep or a crazy sheepdog,” Bridget had to add.

  “Or a deer.”

  “Or two dozen chickens. I still don’t know what you want with two dozen chickens.”

  “Look,” Cici said, glancing over at Lindsay, “I couldn’t have raised Lori after Richard left without the two of you. Even now, I sometimes think you’re better mothers to her than I am, and I know she thinks that more often than I do.” They smiled. “It might not take a village to raise a child, but it for damn sure takes a few good friends. We’re right beside you in this, Lindsay, and we’re in it all the way. You should know that.”

  Lindsay, smiling, sniffing, and blotting moisture from her eyes with her fingertips, said, “I do. But thanks for saying it.”

  They reached out to clasp hands, right there in the car, and closed their fingers together briefly before Cici returned her hand to the steering wheel, and her attention to the road.

  “Ida Mae sent you out here for the chicken boxes half an hour ago.” Lori’s irritation was plain to see.

  Noah straightened up from his slouching position against the barn door, drew on the cigarette in his hand, and deliberately blew smoke in her direction. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  Lori pushed past him into the barn.

  “You can tell if you want,” he said sullenly, following her. “I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, well that’s easy to see.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Noah demanded.

  Shafts of light filtered through the boards of the barn and caught bits of chaff that were stirred up by Lori’s feet. She stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness, then spotted the cardboard boxes in an untidy pile where Noah apparently had tossed them yesterday. She started gathering them up.

  “Is this going to be another lecture about how I don’t know how lucky I am?” Noah pursued. “Because you’re a fine one to be talking, if you ask me.”

  Lori flicked a dark glance his way. “I’m not even going to ask what that’s supposed to mean.”

  “It means you are a spoiled rich kid. You got folks that want to give you stuff—they’re practically throwing four years at a fancy-pants college in your face—and all you can do is screech at your mama about wanting to raise chickens. You’re not only spoiled, you’re stupid.”

  Lori hesitated, then stuffed the lid on one of the boxes with particular force. “I’m exploring my options,” she told him archly. “I’m allowed to do that.”

  “Yeah?” He pinched out the cigarette and tossed it away. “Like I said, you’re lucky.”

  Lori lifted the boxes and turned to him. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to at least act like one of the family. To pretend you appreciate what everyone is doing for you.”

  He returned, “I ain’t one of the family and pretending don’t make it so.”

  Lori elbowed past him with her arms full of boxes. “I really don’t have time for this teenage angst,” she said. “I was supposed to get those chickens back to Jonesie an hour ago, and Ida Mae’s having a fit about them pooping all over the sunroom. But just for your information,” she tossed over her shoulder, “the reason no one is home this morning to catch you smoking is because they all went into town to try to beg that social worker to let you stay here. I heard Aunt Lindsay on the phone making the appointment. Of course, the way you acted to her it probably won’t make a difference, so good thing you don’t want to be part of the family.”

  He stared at her. “Did they really do that? All three of them?”

  “What do you care?” she retorted, and marched on to the house.

  The Department of Family and Children’s Services was housed in a small white clapboard building at the end of Riker Street, between the police department and the library. “Oh, damn,” Bridget said as Cici pulled into one of the three visitor parking spaces. “I left that library book I was supposed to return on the kitchen table. It’s overdue. Do you think I should run in and apologize?”

  “I think the library is like the IRS,” Cici said. “They don’t care about apologies. Just penalties and fines.”

  Lindsay got out of the car and smoothed her skirt. She looked from one to the other of them, trying to mute her anxiety. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? Do I need lipstick?”

  “Your lipstick is fine,” Bridget assured her. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  “Relax,” Cici added. “Carrie likes you, remember? You—we—are the best thing that ever happened to Noah.”

  Lindsay straightened a little, and smiled. “That’s right. We are, aren’t we?”

  “And possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Bridget reminded her, and they all laughed.

  They crossed a small lawn dotted with crepe myrtles, and took the pansy-lined walk to the front door. Just before Cici reached to open it, Lindsay put a hand on each of their wrists. She looked from one to the other of them. “This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Even scarier than the time I had the bad mammogram, remember?”

  Bridget said, �
�We went with you then, too.”

  Lindsay nodded. “I just wanted to say thank you. Really.”

  Cici gave her a smile that was filled with reassurance and understanding, and she opened the door.

  The reception area was small and utilitarian, with cheap wood paneling on the wall and industrial tile on the floor. The receptionist’s desk looked as though it had been reclaimed from a public school, and was piled with untidy manila folders. The entire place had an air of barely managed chaos, even when it was empty, as it was now. Carrie must have seen them drive up, because she came to the door of her office right away and beckoned them in, saving the receptionist the necessity of interrupting her phone call.

  “Hi, ladies, come on in. It’s good to see you. I didn’t expect all three of you to come,” she said, closing the frosted panel door and pulling up an extra chair in front of her desk. “I hope this doesn’t mean there’s a problem?”

  “No, not at all,” Cici assured her.

  “In fact quite the opposite,” Lindsay added. “Of a problem, I mean. At least I think so. I hope you will, too.”

  Carrie’s smile was puzzled as she took her seat behind her desk. There was a potted hyacinth in the center of it, and her inbox looked slightly more manageable than the receptionist’s had, but the room was depressing overall, with its utilitarian shelves stacked with office supplies and its gray metal filing cabinets. The lone window looked out over the parking lot.

  “It’s really a coincidence that you called when you did, because I was about to call you. There’s been a little complication in the case. That’s why it’s taking so long. It’s nothing to do with you,” she assured them quickly. “We’re very pleased with the job you’ve done with Noah. I know that caring for a teenage boy can’t be easy, and we appreciate your level of commitment. But there’s been a change . . .”

  “Yes,” blurted Lindsay, her hands twisted together in her lap. “Change. Yes, that’s exactly what we want to talk to you about. We want to change our level of commitment.”

  Carrie blinked. “Oh. Oh, dear. Well, I can certainly understand that. But maybe I’d better explain what’s going on. You see, the fact of the matter is that this might soon be out of my jurisdiction altogether. You see . . .”

  “No, wait, I think I said that wrong. What I want to do is—”

  Bridget laid a calming hand on Lindsay’s arm. “You do think we’re a good foster home?” she insisted.

  She looked surprised. “Well, of course. As far as I’m concerned, Noah has made excellent progress under your care. His schoolwork has improved dramatically, he attends church regularly, certainly he appears to be healthy and as well groomed as one might expect from a boy his age.” She smiled a little at that. “Until the incident with the traffic ticket—and that was minor, really—he hasn’t been in a bit of trouble. I’m sorry if we made you feel otherwise, but there are rules and standards we have to go by, and the procedures are there for a reason.”

  A small frown had creased Cici’s forehead. “What do you mean, this might soon be out of your jurisdiction?”

  Carrie turned to her to reply, but Lindsay interrupted.

  “As long as it is still in your jurisdiction, and as long as you do think we’re a good foster home . . . what I’m trying to say is, since we’ve been approved as a suitable temporary home, is there any reason we wouldn’t be just as good a permanent home?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Lindsay drew a breath. “I’d like to apply to adopt Noah. Permanently.”

  The silence that followed seemed to go on for eons, although in fact it was only a couple of seconds. Lindsay rushed to fill it.

  “I know I’m a single woman,” she said quickly, “and that will work against me. But I do own my own home—kind of ”—she glanced at Bridget and Cici—“and I’m a responsible member of the community, and I’ve got a good credit score, and I’ve been a teacher for over twenty years—”

  “And we can supply a list of character witnesses as long as your arm, if you need us to,” volunteered Bridget. “There isn’t a person who ever met Lindsay who didn’t love her, and some of her students are lawyers and doctors and—and congressmen now! You can’t ask for better child-raising skills than that.”

  “We’re all behind this decision,” Cici assured her. “Noah will have a place in our home until he reaches adulthood, and we’re committed to doing what it takes to see him through college or whatever avenue he decides to pursue. Now, I know we haven’t lived here all that long, but you’re welcome to do a background check—”

  “Ladies, please.” Carrie held up both hands, her expression a little overwhelmed. “No one is questioning your suitability. I’m sure it would be a lovely placement for Noah, but . . . oh, dear. I don’t know how to say this.”

  She looked at them helplessly. “The fact of the matter is, Noah isn’t available for adoption. That’s what I was going to call you about. It seems that the investigation after the court incident uncovered some errors in the paperwork in this office, and I just received the memo over the weekend. Noah isn’t an orphan. He has a mother, and she’s alive and well and living in Richmond.”

  “I thought you had to take them chickens back.”

  Lori was dressed in mud-spattered overalls and clunky work boots, and she was unwinding an orange extension cord across the backyard toward the outlet on the back porch. Rebel stalked the cord from a low crouch and a safe distance, as though it were a snake. “Are you looking for something to do?” she demanded.

  “I got stuff to do. Them chickens’ll smother in the boxes.”

  “In the first place, you know perfectly well the correct term is those chickens, and you only embarrass yourself and all of us when you talk like a hick.”

  He scowled at her. “I’ll talk whatever way I want to.”

  “It makes it look like Aunt Lindsay doesn’t teach you anything.”

  “You’re nothing but a big-mouth girl. You don’t know jack.”

  Lori noticed with satisfaction that he avoided the double negative with no noticeable effort. “In the second place, the chickens are not going to smother because there are holes in the boxes and Jonesie said they’d be okay in there all day if they had to be.” She plugged the cord into the outlet. “And in the third place, I would have been to town and back already except everybody left in such a hurry this morning they forgot to leave me a car key. Why do you keep following me around?”

  “How about you give me a ride to town when you go?”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Why should I?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Maybe because you’re gonna need some help loading all them cement bags in the car.”

  “What cement?”

  “The cement you need to patch the bottom of the pond before you try to fill it with water again. And the cement it’s gonna take to fill in the cracks and holes in the patio all around it.”

  Her brows drew together, but the expression was more one of uneasiness than annoyance. “That’s not a patio. It’s a path.”

  “Whatever.”

  She glanced up at him as she plugged the extension cord into the outlet on the side of the house. “What do you want to go to town for, anyway?”

  “There’s a fellow there, buys old glass and junk.”

  “Do you mean the antique store at the edge of town? Are you still trying to sell those glass bottles?”

  “I found them didn’t I?”

  “Well, he’ll recognize the pictures of the house if you try to sell Aunt Lindsay’s photographic plates, and the first person he’ll call to buy them is her.”

  He scowled. “I ain’t selling anything that’s not mine. She said I could borrow them to draw from and I gave them back. And if you say different I’ll call you a liar.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s the way to get a ride into town.” She started back toward the pond.

  “How come you’re going to so much trouble to get this thing
running again, anyway?”

  For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer. And then she said, with a nonchalance in her tone that wasn’t entirely convincing, “Mostly because nobody thinks I can.”

  “I can help.”

  She gave him a disparaging look. “I don’t need your help, thank you.”

  “Oh yeah? What do you know about mixing cement?”

  Frowning, Lori traced the orange cord back to the pond, and to the pump that was waiting there. “I don’t have any cement.”

  “Maybe you could trade the chickens for some. And another thing. You’re going to want to—”

  She plugged in the pump and jumped back as a geyser of filthy water shot six feet in the air. She stood watching in dismay as Noah finished, “Hook up a garden hose to that pump before you plug it in.”

  Lori ducked down and jerked the plug out of the extension cord as she watched the geyser sink, and then disappear. She sat back on her heels, eyeing Noah suspiciously. “Why do you want to help?”

  He shrugged, hands in pockets. “Clear to see you can’t do it by yourself. Besides . . .” His eyes shifted away from hers. “I ain’t gonna be here that much longer. It’d be kind of nice to think there was something around here that I’d done. Something that’d be here for a while.”

  Lori regarded him skeptically. “Oh yeah? So where are you going now?”

  “Don’t matter. Maybe wherever the social worker sends me. Maybe somewheres else. But they ain’t gonna let me stay here.”

  “They would if you asked them to.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “Shows what you know. Nobody gives a damn what I have to say.”

  “You’re such an idiot. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘in the best interest of the child’? You hear it all the time on Court TV. That means the only thing the social workers are supposed to care about is what you have to say. If you’d just stand up straight, and be polite, and stop saying ‘ain’t,’ and tell them where you want to live, they’d have to listen to you.”

  He scowled at her. “That’s crazy.”

  “It’s true.”