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But then the fear crept in, shattering her euphoria like a wrecking ball slamming a stained-glass window. So many things could still go wrong. After coming so close, the odds of finding the boy, let alone reclaiming him, were still against them.
“You’re so quiet. What is it?” Casey asked.
“I’m just scared. So many wonderful dreams of mine have turned into nightmares. Anything could go wrong tomorrow.”
“I know. I’m scared, too—scared that if things don’t work out, I could lose our son and lose you, too.” He led her to a nearby bench, sat, and pulled her down beside him. “Marry me, Val. If we get our boy back, he’s going to need both of us. If something goes wrong, and we lose him, we’re going to need each other.”
Val gazed down at her hands. “Haven’t I already said yes?”
“In so many words. But we need to make it happen. As soon as we get home. We can work out the details afterward.”
“But that’s just the trouble—the details. I’d have the choice of following you around the circuit with a suitcase, climbing the walls alone in your ugly condo, or staying on the ranch, which I’m already doing. And every time you stepped into the arena, I would die a little. I’m not brave and selfless like Lexie. I want my man in one fully operational piece—or no man at all, damn it.”
Casey sighed and pushed to his feet. “Fine. We’ll put it on hold for now. But I’ve laid all my cards on the table, Val. For now, they’re still there. I can’t promise they’ll be there forever.”
That night they ate takeout in their motel room and watched a succession of old movies until they were too tired to keep their eyes open. The strain was getting to both of them. For tonight, all they could do was get some rest.
When the county offices opened at 9:00 the next morning, Val and Casey were waiting at the entrance. Making an appointment with a social worker involved filling out another request and waiting to be called in. While they sat on hard-backed chairs and watched the clock creep from one minute to the next, Val’s hand crept into Casey’s. They’d had their differences last night, but right now, nothing mattered more than finding their son.
At last, a tall black woman with natural hair, glasses, and a bohemian blouse walked out. She introduced herself as Ms. Janna Michelob and ushered them into her tiny, cluttered office.
Motioning them to two chairs facing the desk, she took her own seat across from them. “So, you’re looking for Matt Peterson. Is that correct?” she asked.
“You know him? You know where he is?” Val could barely contain herself.
“Yes, I handle his case. And if you’re his biological mother, as you claim to be, I can certainly see where he came by that red hair. Would you like to see a recent photograph? Here.”
She opened a manila file and slid it across the desk. Inside, clipped to some papers, was what appeared to be a school photo. The young boy in the picture was pale and thin, with a ghost of a smile that looked as if it had been coaxed from him by the photographer. But the blue eyes and thick, fiery curls were unmistakable. Val felt a hot surge of tears. She was looking at her son. He was alive. He was real.
“But where is he? When can we see him?” Casey demanded.
“He’s in foster care. But don’t get impatient. You can’t just walk into a room, announce that you’re his parents, and take him away. This boy is fragile. He lost both his parents in that terrible accident. Then he went through a painful healing process with nobody to love and support him but the hospital staff. And when we had to take him out of there, that was another separation. He’s like a soldier with PTSD. He’s afraid to trust anybody—afraid of being left alone again.”
“Does he go to school?” Val asked.
“He does. But he’s in Resource. Not because he isn’t bright—he’s actually very smart. But he has issues with communicating.”
“Are you saying he doesn’t speak?” Casey asked.
“He can speak,” Ms. Michelob said. “But he rarely does. It’s as if he’s shut down. He’s had therapy, and it’s helped, but he has a long way to go.”
“He’s our son,” Casey said. “We want him under any conditions. We’ll do whatever it takes to give him a home. So how do we make that happen?”
“First of all, you need to understand what you’d be taking on. To help him heal, Matt needs total stability, with two parents, a home, and ideally, others—friends and family—who’ll be part of his life. Before we let him go, you’ll need to show the court that you can provide those things. If you think you can, you should consult a lawyer who specializes in cases like yours, where a parent has given up their rights. There’s a good one here in Bakersfield. I’ll give you his card. I’ll warn you, this is not going to happen overnight, but it can be done.”
“Please,” Val begged. “Can we see him now?”
“School is on break, so he’s at home. I’ll put in a call. But you’ll have to follow the rules for a first visit. You can tell him your names, but not that you’re his parents or that you might be adopting him. No touching unless the child initiates it. It has to be his idea, and Matt isn’t much of a toucher. Fifteen minutes maximum, less if the child doesn’t want to stay. And of course, I’ll be there the whole time. Got it?”
“Yes,” Val said. The rules seemed excessive, but she understood that they were there to protect the child from people like her who might want to grab him and hug him on sight.
“All right. The place is across town. Just let me call the foster parents. Then you can follow my car over there. I’ll meet you out front.”
They didn’t talk much as Casey drove, following the red Toyota minivan through a maze of streets. Val didn’t have to ask him what he was thinking. Now that they’d found Matt and learned about his special needs, he was faced with a painful choice—the career he loved, or the welfare of his son.
“We’ll do whatever it takes to give him a home.”
That was what Casey had said. Val knew he’d meant it. She knew the love and tenderness inside him, and she had little doubt what that choice would ultimately be. But he would have to get there by himself. This time she couldn’t help him.
