I flip it open to find printouts for some of the more interesting media coverage we’ve received for some of the drunk and disorderliness over the last ten years. Even while I flip through them, my heart stops when I come across a picture of me and Jed I didn’t know existed beneath an editorial that reads, “Brother/Sister improving Smith’s? To be determined.”
My fingers trace over my brother’s beloved face. “What would you do, Jedidiah?” I ask aloud.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Gustofson asks.
Without answering her, I place the folder on the coffee table and stand. I move to the built-ins that are on either side of the fireplace and pull down three thick albums. “Here. Take a few moments to look through these.” I hand her three photo albums.
She makes an umphh sound under the weight. “What’s this?”
“The part of the story you apparently don’t want to hear.” Moving back over to my chair, I pick up my water as the news articles about how Smith’s closed for six months for renovations is told, the interviews Jed and I gave to tout Smith’s as a family-friendly restaurant first. I can still remember him booming into the camera, “We want Smith’s to grow along with all of the generations of Juneau families. We want to see families, celebrate them, and then watch the next generation come in. That’s what Smith’s was founded on.”
The article Mrs. Gustofson showed me which questioned whether or not Jed and I would make a success of the business was as much to do with Jed’s decision to move permanently to Florida. For all we’d worked to sell the idea of being the next generation of Smith’s, Jed’s decision to move almost derailed the business permanently. But that was something I kept from him. After all, he found something a hell of a lot more precious than the Brewhouse.
He found love.
There were so many things I never got the chance to tell him, I think listlessly. And now, all I can do is write them down as I find scraps of him around this house as I prepare for what I’m certain is his soul trying to come back to me.
“Who would be home with your child while you’re dealing with business needs? You’ll be out all hours while a young boy entrusted to your care is home.” Mrs. Gustofson’s words drag me from my thoughts as she once again puts her pen to paper
I frown. “I’ll engage someone to be with them, of course.” Like I’d leave a stranger with David.
“I need to know who those individuals are, Ms. Smith. It’s important I formally inquire about those individuals.”
“And what if I was a single woman who was a doctor or a nurse? Would you be quite so interested in their future caregivers?” I can’t help the bitterness that seeps into my voice as the blasted woman hasn’t said a single word about the part of my soul I bared that’s sitting on her lap.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Gustofson’s head snaps up, my question catching her off guard.
Sliding to the edge of my seat, I brace my hands on my knees. “I believe you heard me.”
Nothing is said between us, but neither is her pen moving. I continue. “Life will always have emergencies, Mrs. Gustofson. The only thing we can do is prepare for them. And even then, sometimes that just isn’t enough. If what you’re asking me is would I allow anything at the Brewhouse to supersede my child, the answer is an unequivocal no. It didn’t when my parents raised us. But whether I was a doctor, a nurse, a fireman, or a police officer, I have close friends who are the equivalent of my family. I’d lay my life down for their children, and I’m certain they would do the same for mine. Calling them because of an emergency—whether that means sending them to handle it or they stay with my child—is the least of what they would do.”
“It’s good to know you have friends like that.”
“It’s good that the child I want to adopt will be raised by a family that includes people who will love him so unselfishly,” I counter. “A child needs a permanent, loving home, and this state declares it will permit a single parent, unmarried, to adopt a child. For you to try to block this adoption because you hold some sort of grudge against my profession is—in my opinion—frankly discriminatory. I own a successful business. I delegate responsibilities. And I’m ready to do more of that if necessary. In truth, I’m better off in many ways than a doctor, nurse, or anyone else you’re mentally comparing me against because they answer to someone else; I answer to no one but myself and my own conscience.”
I sit back, lace my fingers over my stomach, and wait for her response.
Her expression gives nothing away as she makes a few notes in her file. Long minutes pass where the scratching of the pen against the paper drives me out of my mind.
When Mrs. Gustofson finally asks me the next question, I want to slump in my chair in relief. “Your friends? They would be willing to provide affidavits validating their willingness to support you.”
Having already anticipated this, I reach down and pull out sealed envelopes from Isler. “Brad and Rainey Meyers. Plus Sarah and Hung Li, the existing foster parents. Brad and Rainey said you are welcome to contact them if you need to visit their home as well.”
Nonplussed, it takes Mrs. Gustofson a moment to accept the envelopes. “You’ve done your research,” she comments as the barest hint of a smile crosses her face.
“Yes, I have.”
She makes notes in her file before slipping the sealed envelopes inside. She then tears off a receipt and hands it to me. After scanning it, I see it’s a formal acknowledgment of the receipt of the letters. Placing it on my box of papers next to me, I sit back and cross my legs.
“A friend who went through the process?” she persists.
I tip my head. “From high school. And another friend of my brothers who was fostered in his teens.”
She frowns before flipping back to the front of her file. “I can see where that would make an impact.”
Unfolding myself, I lean forward until my eyes hold hers. “I think you have a better understanding of why I appreciate what it’s like to be raised by someone who loves you. That no matter what, I will be someone who will love my child exactly for who they are.”
I heard similar words from Jed a lot. Especially after the night Nick won the title belt.
Damnit, my brother would have made a great father.
Several hours later, Mrs. Gustofson indicates she’d like to come by Smith’s one night to get an honest feel for the place. “I deeply apologize that my misconceptions put a tarnish on our initial meeting.” Standing in the foyer of my home, she admits, “You have a lovely home, Ms. Smith.”
“Thank you. Up until recently, I wished I didn’t.”
Her head tips to the side. “Why?”
“Because to inherit it, I lost the last member of my family. There is no amount of money worth losing love.” I wave a hand dismissively around. “If I could have one more night to speak with my brother, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t give up, including this home.”
“Even the chance at your future with a child?” she probes quietly.
My jaw falls open, but no words come out. Then the realization strikes me in the chest, and I whisper, “No.” Tears prick my eyes. “Not even for Jed could I give up this chance at love. He wouldn’t want me to.”