Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Porter clicks her pen. “Residence verified,” she says out loud, scribbling notes on the clipboard. “Two bedrooms?”
“Three,” Maddie replies. “I can show—”
“Later.” Porter peers at me over the glasses like a stern librarian. “You are Mr. Karolak.”
“Atlas,” I say, offering a hand. She looks at it like it’s optional.
Okay. Cool.
“And Ms. St. James.” Porter glances at Maddie. “You indicated prior experience in child welfare.”
“Yes,” Maddie says, relief sparking as she’s found her opening to connect with this woman. “Casework for—”
Porter raises a palm. “Noted.” She flips a page after licking her finger for traction. “We’ll begin with the child’s living environment.”
She moves slowly, walking the downstairs layout. She notes the outlet covers, cabinet locks, the gate at the bottom of the stairs. She squints at the bookshelf like misalphabetized board books might prove us unfit parents. She takes in the framed photo of Gray at the beach with Grayce on his shoulders and gives nothing back to us.
I attempt charm. “Do you give extra credit for parallel vacuum lines?”
Maddie winces, but Ms. Porter offers only more pen scratches. I’m wondering if lame humor is a disqualifier.
The social worker heads up the stairs with Maddie following, nervously wringing her hands. I stay behind with Grayce, taking the time to whisper about the stern woman behind her back as I wipe the baby clean of oatmeal.
By the time they’re back downstairs, I’m sitting on the couch with Grayce on the floor, playing with her blocks.
Maddie takes a seat beside me and Porter perches on the edge of an armchair, staring at us over the rim of her glasses.
I swallow hard and sweat dampens the back of my neck.
“Legal documents are in order,” she says. “Guardianship fully executed prior to Mr. Donovan’s passing. I have the duly notarized consent to adoption, but as you know, that’s not a guarantee the court will approve you. My task is to validate suitability and make a recommendation to the judge.”
Her pen hovers, expectant. I’m starting to feel some of the panic that had Maddie running around like a lunatic. Grayce discovers she can make one of her teething rings squeak by vigorously running her bottom teeth over it.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
“Mr. Karolak,” Porter begins, and my eyes snap over to her. “Your employment requires travel approximately fifty percent of your season.”
“Yes,” I say. “Road trips from October through April, more if we go into the playoffs. Never more than five days at a time though.”
“How do you propose to provide adequate day-to-day care during those absences?”
She says adequate like a line we’ll fail to reach. The response forms in my mouth—about schedules and FaceTime and the way I’ve learned to prep bottles at two a.m. in the dark without waking the baby—but Maddie beats me to it.
“We share responsibilities,” she says, her voice belying a tiny nervous stammer. “When Atlas is home, he is fully engaged—mornings, baths, bedtime. When he’s away, I take point, and we maintain routines. We have backup support if needed.” Her chin lifts a fraction. “Consistency is our priority.”
Porter’s eyes remain flat. “Backup support?”
“Team spouses and partners,” I say, “plus a vetted babysitter. Also, my off-season is a lot of at-home time. I’ll be Grayce’s primary daytime caretaker then.”
Porter makes a note, then another note.
So many notes.
I resist the urge to lean over and see if she’s writing an actual report or just “Man wore snug T-shirt” fifty times.
She turns a page. “Describe the child’s daily routine,” she says. “Be precise.”
Maddie answers like she’s briefing a command post. “Up at six thirty to seven. Diaper, play, breakfast around eight—we rotate oatmeal, scrambled eggs, yogurt and her formula. She has a short nap around nine thirty, although she’s not seeming to need that as much, which I believe is age appropriate. We take an outdoor walk or play in the park if the weather cooperates. Lunch at noon. Free play. Developmental exercises—stacking, pull-to-stand, books. Second nap at two thirty. Dinner at five thirty. Bath. Books. Asleep by seven thirty if the gods are kind.”
“And when Mr. Karolak is home?” Porter asks.
“We do it together,” I say. “We both read to her every night. I’ll handle bathing if Maddie cooks, or we swap. I’m there for bedtime most nights I’m in town.”
Porter’s pen clicks quietly. She moves on without praise.
“Discipline philosophy?” she asks.
What the fuck?
“She’s a baby,” I say, before I can temper it. “What’s to discipline?”
Maddie places a steadying hand on my knee, her touch an electrical ground. “We use positive reinforcement, routine and clear limits as appropriate for her developmental stage.”
Ooh… that’s a good answer.
“Financial stability,” Porter continues. “Savings, insurance, provision for the child if either of you is incapacitated.”
“She has a moderate trust from her father, and I’ve started another that will vest on adoption. We have life insurance policies, of course.”
“Do you have a doctor for her yet?” Porter asks without looking up from her clipboard.