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As they left, Bryce kicked herself, vowing to do better in showering June more with her heartfelt compliments.
But at the moment she had two little girls who were racing around the auditorium, playing a game of tag that involved scaling the theater-style seats and riding them down as they went from closed to open.
“Weatherford girls, follow me.” She snapped her fingers but finally had to grab them both to get them to stop surfing the seats.
Bryce guided her nieces to the prep area, where a team of moms were set up, assembly-line fashion, to put up the girls’ hair in identical buns and makeup. She sat Addison down with a mom doing hair, and then had to practically drag Cecily to the makeup station.
“I don’t like makeup,” Cecily grouched. “It’s too girly.”
“It’s so they can see your face under the bright stage lights.” Bryce grunted as she wrestled with her niece. “Have a seat.”
Reluctantly, Cecily sat down in front of Mrs. Foltz, Imani’s grandmother, who all the dancers called Ms. Gigi. The older woman was dressed in a zebra-print shirt, her hair done in orderly gray-blond curls over her head.
“That you, Cecily? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you clean. I like it. Now, let’s put some greasepaint on you, shall we?”
“Greasepaint?” At the phrase, Cecily’s resistance melted away. “I thought it was makeup?”
Gigi snorted. “I call it what it is. This stuff’s the same consistency my late husband used when he’d camouflage his face to hunt turkey. You’ll have a devil of a time getting it off. Tomorrow morning when you get up, it’ll look like you got into a brawl with a pack of wolves.”
Cecily brightened. “Can you put it on extra heavy, Ms. Gigi? I want to be the greasiest, paint-iest one onstage.”
“You got it.” Mrs. Foltz winked, and Bryce escaped before her niece changed her mind.
Since Imani had a bazillion adult helpers, Bryce wasn’t needed until pickup, so she headed back to her apartment.
It was the first free two-hour stretch of time she’d had since the Paynes had taken the girls before Easter, and she found herself wishing Ryker was around. She missed being with him, watching him work on his latest car renovation, or having him help chop veggies in his slow, methodical way. A good hour in bed with him would’ve been amazing as well.
But he’d disappeared, apparently for something therapy related. Did his therapy crisis have something to do with her? What else could it be? Maybe he was getting fitted for a new prosthetic? But why would that be all secret and covert?
Bryce knew she could obsess about it for hours, but luckily she had mountains of distractions. First up was a call with her lawyer in preparation for the guardianship trial soon after she returned from working at Niagara Falls as a guest chef for Cascade.
“Are you sure you’re ready to do this in two weeks?” asked Lillian Goodwin in her no-nonsense court voice. “Because things are bound to get messy with the Paynes. They will come with their guns blazing. I expect they’ll use the babysitter snafu and the girls’ bad grades against you. Also, the Attorney for the Children is getting mixed messages from June as to where she wants to go—with you, or with their grandparents.”
Steeling herself against the sting of betrayal, Bryce spoke with grim determination.
“I don’t doubt it. This transition, coupled with her roller-coaster teen angst, has been hard on June. The girls are still reeling from losing their parents. The counselor says it’s normal for them to lash out and resent me.” Bryce fought against the knot in her throat. “I’ve had a steep learning curve, going from a single woman to a caregiver for three, and I know I’ve made mistakes. But nobody—not even the Paynes—can deny I’ve worked my ass off and tried my best. I love my nieces. And both Bentley and Heather named me as guardian in their will, not the Paynes. That should count for something.”
“Of course,” Lillian replied in her crisp, calm voice. “The burden is on the Paynes to show extraordinary circumstances on why they have a superior right to guardianship, or prove you’re deficient enough to disregard the wishes of the deceased. The goal of the trial is to determine what is in the best interest for the children.”
Bryce winced at the word “deficient” but made sure her voice was calm when she replied. “I know they have a longer history with the girls, as they lived here while I was in Florida, and they’ll use the fact they’re more financially stable against me. But after the funeral, Adele and Harvey have only had the girls a total of…what? Seventeen days, and only two overnights? I’ve been the one shouldering the daily tasks. By myself. We’re going to point that out to the judge, right?”
“By the time of the trial, they’ll have had them while you’re at the Niagara Falls job, so we’ll increase that number of days to twenty-four, but, yes,” her lawyer said, “we will use math to our advantage. However, a good counterargument is that they didn’t feel they could ask for more time with the girls, or that you displayed hostility toward them having their grandchildren.”
Her breath whooshed out as she realized Lillian was right. Theywoulduse that argument. Worse, it was true. Images of arguing with the Paynes at Easter came to mind, and Bryce grimaced at what they could use against her in the trial. She laughed half-heartedly.
“You don’t suppose it would help if I treat the whole Surrogate’s Court to an amazing lunch of homemade soup and sandwiches, do you?”
True to form, Lillian Goodwin, Esquire, never broke character. “No. That won’t help. You’ll catch a charge if you try to bribe the judge.”
Emotions boiled in her chest, and Bryce held it together until she’d finished the call with her lawyer and pulled into the back of PattyCakes.
Then Bryce let out a howl that echoed inside the BMW. “Whyyyy? Why is everything so hard?”
Her phone pinged with a new voicemail message.
Ryker.
“Hey, uh…” He paused, as if wrestling with what to say. “I just wanted to call. If I don’t talk to you before you leave, drive safe. Good luck in Niagara Falls. Knock ’em dead.”
