Page 97 of When Wildflowers Bloom

“I see,” she says, pausing, studying us both. “But you are listed in the will to get custody of him should Ms. Hawkins pass. Which, I’ll be honest, I’ve never been given something quite so”—she clicks her tongue, eyes lingering on me—“thorough.”

Bo laughs softly beside me. “I am,” he says. “Birdie here likes to bethorough. I told her if it would make her more comfortable to adopt him knowing he had somewhere to go should something ever happen to her, I’d be happy to do it.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding, looking back at her papers. “And you have a child of your own?”

He nods. “I do. A daughter, Lucy. She’s seven.”

“And you’re not married to the mother?” she asks, looking at him over the lenses of her glasses and through the tops of her eyes.

My body stills.

Because yes, Bo is married.

“I am,” he responds, jaw clenching, not looking at me.

With palpable tension, I scoot a fraction of an inch away from him, Sharon watching the movement.

“I see,” she says, taking her glasses off, setting the packet of papers down.

“I have the BRCA1 genetic mutation,” I blurt like a confession, not wanting her toseewhatever it is she thinks she sees. “It’s more likely I’ll get cancer than most people. I didn’t want to put Huck in a situation, should I get cancer and die, where he would have to go back into foster care. I know I’m at a disadvantage because I’m not married, but I trust Bo to take care of him.” I swallow the panic that’s crawling up my throat, and then add, “He knows how to see people.”

Bo sears the side of my face with his gaze, but my eyes stay locked on Sharon.

She puts the stack of papers on the table, flipping through the ones on her clipboard instead.

Clearing her throat, glasses perched back on her nose, she says, “Everything on your application looked good, but at one question, you crossed out ‘Why do you want to adopt a child?’ and wrote, ‘Why do you want to adopt Huck?’ Care to explain? Not to be harsh, but with his…condition, we typically don’t see this kind of conviction.”

I smile, relieved it’s an easy question at least.

“I know what it’s like to want to do things a certain way and be ridiculed for it,” I say easily. “My hardwiring for cancer has made me cautious. Huck doesn’t like certain foods for how they make him feel, I don’t like certain foods because of what they might do to my body. Huck doesn’t like to ask questions a normal way, I like lists.” I shrug. “To most people these might not seem like anything, but to us—they matter. Finding someone who can see that is a monumentally difficult task. I don’t know how to be a mom—yet—but I know how to sit with him. Sometimes, I think that might be more important.”

Bo’s hand finds mine and squeezes tightly. A tethering.

Emotion drips through my body, but my shoulders stay square, voice strong, and eyes locked on Sharon.

She nods, taking her glasses off again. When she sighs, for the first time, she softens.

“Let’s see the house then,” she says, standing up.

As I lead the tour, I relax as I talk her through every room. The bedroom that will be Huck’s I’ve painted green and decorated withinsect posters. There’s also an accurately scaled map of the house showing an emergency exit route in bright markers, laminated, hanging by the light switch.

I show her the three fire extinguishers I purchased—above and beyond the one that’s required—for different locations of the house, ignoring how Bo stifles a laugh at this revelation.

In the bathroom I show her the ingredients on the toothpaste, all non-toxic and free of artificial dyes.

I show her the non-slip mats I put under my rugs, so Huck won’t fall.

I explain that George Strait is hypoallergenic.

I point out the air purifier that keeps the air free of dust particles and mold spores.

In the kitchen I don’t have any medication, but I have my magnesium supplements in a locked container for safety.

Again, Bo poorly hides his amusement as Sharon—eyes wide—repeatedly says, “How thorough.”

Standing on the porch again, she looks at me for a long time. As desperately as I want to run inside and slam the door on her, I hold her gaze.

“I’m sorry for how I acted the first time we met,” I say. “When you took him from Miss Alice.”

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