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Her father gets to her before she can do any damage. I hadn’t noticed Mayor Malone getting onto the stage.
“Dorothy, that’s enough.” He pulls her from doing any harm to Kellen and turns to us. “I’d like to see that test. How do we know it’s real?”
I hand him the paper, and three town doctors walk out onto the stage.
Each of them echo the same sentiment. “I’ve reviewed the document as well as inquired into the legitimacy and stand by the findings. Kellen Marshall is the father.”
As planned, not too long ago, Dot was served with a court order for a DNA paternity test as well as filings for ownership of the Nest by Oliver’s lawyer. She hasn’t responded to the Nest filing, but she did comply with the test. We figured she was buying herself time and thought she still had several weeks before the details of paternity came out. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
The court had their channels for the DNA test, and unfortunately, they move slower than molasses uphill in January. We couldn’t and didn’t want to wait that long, so Kendall arranged for a private test to also be done and to rush the results.
Normally, we wouldn’t share something like this on such a public stage, but the truth had to come out. We didn’t want to give Dot any more time to find a way out of this. Also, we figured the truth coming out in town about the baby would force Dot’s hand where the Nest was concerned. Just in case she was thinking of fighting Oliver, after the humiliation of this, she wouldn’t want a defamation of character charge and whatever disciplinary action would come with it.
“I-I—” Bill Malone looks to me and Oliver, and without warning, the man seems smaller. Face pale, shoulders sagging, he mumbles, “I don’t know what to say.”
Someone in the crowd shouts, “An apology would be a good start.”
I recognize the woman’s voice and find Percy at the back, expression fiery and a hand still cupping one side of her mouth as if readying to say more.
The mayor turns to face the crowd, Dot still in his grasp. “Yes, of course. I’m truly sorry about all of this. Had I known, I’d have never backed away from this program or fired Ms. Tyler.”
A man in the crowd hollers, “Give her back her job.” Then several more people chant the same words.
Oliver curls his arm around my waist and presses his upturned lips against my cheek. A flurry of nerves or excitement or both ruptures inside of me. This is what I’d hoped would happen, and at the same time, I’m not so sure I want to just take the job back without further negotiation.
“Yes, yes.” The mayor turns to me. “Ms. Tyler, we would love to have you back.”
“We can talk about that later.” I lean into Oliver and he asks the mayor pointedly, “And the program?”
“Yes, we need to definitely talk about the program.”
I nod, not wanting to commit to anything but willing to hear him out. When this all started, I wanted nothing more than the town’s approval. Now that I have private funding and the community seems to want to back Bright Horizons regardless of the town’s approval, I’m not so sure I want to give up all control. But it would also be foolish to turn down additional funding.
The mayor nods and looks out into the crowd. “And Dorothy would like to say something.”
She sneers at her father, then the crowd. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
He shakes her by his hold, gentle but enough to get his unspoken point across. When he places a microphone in front of her, she reluctantly glances at us, then the crowd.
“Sorry.” It’s all she says before she turns her back on everyone.
It isn’t the apology I’d hoped for. In my daydreams, Dot had been remorseful and I was able to sympathize with her at least partially. But at the very least, I would have a small inkling of understanding as to why she went to such wicked lengths. But I suppose the why is never enough and there’s no justification for something like this.
Chapter31
Oliver
Christmas Eve
“You warm enough?” I press my lips to Wren’s hairline, arms wrapping tighter around her, and a low approving hum emanates from where she’s cuddled in my arms.
“I’m perfect.” She tugs the blanket farther up her shoulders.
Scents of wintery pine and fresh snow permeate the air around us as the wind howls. Although we’re protected from the elements, the treehouse isn’t heated, and the frosty wind easily flits through the tiny cracks of the wooden planked walls.
“There’s a little more hot chocolate.” I shake the thermos next to us.
“I’m good.” She shifts to look up at me. “Have you settled on a date for London with MacPherson?”
