the telephone?”
Ernest pushed a few buttons on his desk phone, and we heard the familiar touchtone beeps coming from the speaker. The call connected, and, after passing through a couple of intermediaries, we heard Charles say, “Charles Barnett.”
“Good morning, Charles,” I said. “George Martin here.”
“Hi, George, what’s up?”
“Mike and I are in the office of our Waynesville attorney,” I said. “It turns out that he’s a big fan of yours, and he’d like to ask you to be a part of this adoption process, if you can find the time.”
“I’ll make the time,” Charles said. “Who’s your attorney, and how does he know me?”
“This is Ernest Rodgers,” Ernest said. “I worked as a lawyer in Atlanta when I was fresh out of law school. One of my best friends in those days was a young man who clerked for your grandfather. My old friend is now a judge in the Atlanta suburbs.”
“You’re talking about Judge William Hampton, aren’t you?” Charles said.
“The same. Anyhow, through William, I met your grandfather several times, and greatly admired him. Because of that, I’ve followed your career for a number of years. You have one hell of a track record.”
“Thank you,” Charles said. “How do you think we should proceed with this private adoption?”
The two of them launched into the realm of legal matters, and I was left behind very quickly. Finally, I realized their conversation was ending when I heard Ernest say, “That’s exactly what we’ll do, then.”
“Okay,” Charles said. “If you can schedule the hearing for a Friday or a Monday, I can take a three-day weekend and stay at our place up there.”
Mike and I thanked Charles for his help, and the call ended. Ernest actually rubbed his hands together and said, somewhat gleefully, “This is going to be fun.”
“Fun?” I parroted.
“Going into court with the biggest gun in town is always fun, especially when something goes wrong, and something nearly always goes wrong.”
“We’ll leave that in your capable hands,” I said. “Lucinda Hawkins, a friend of ours, is taking us to see Robbie’s grandmother on Friday, and we’ll need to have papers for her to sign. It’s our understanding that she isn’t well enough to come into town.”
“Give me her name and address,” Ernest said, “and my secretary will have documents ready for you to pick up by the end of the day on Thursday.”
We had come prepared for that, and I handed him a printout containing all the particulars—our names and addresses, Robbie’s name, etcetera.
“That was interesting,” Mike said as we walked back to where the truck was parked.
“I didn’t like the part about things going wrong.”
“Like the man said, ‘We’re going into court with the biggest gun in town.’”
“I certainly hope it doesn’t turn into a shoot-out,” I said. “How are we fixed for salt-rising bread?”
“We could probably use a couple of loaves.”
“Then let’s go down the street to the bakery.”
Robbie was discharged the morning after his surgery, and we took him back to the cabin. We now knew that his full name was Robin Andrew Ward, and that he would be six in mid-July. While he was recovering, we had several long conversations with him, during the course of one of which we told him that his father was dead. We had half-expected him to say “good,” but he didn’t show much of a reaction at all to the news.
Two female deputies had come to the cabin to question him about his mother’s death. They had gotten enough of the story from him to satisfy the sheriff, but when they dug too deeply, it sent him on a crying jag that lasted most of the rest of the day. He woke up screaming with nightmares for the next couple of nights.
It probably didn’t help matters that we took him by his house in the middle of all the upset, but it had to be dealt with. We found a couple of pictures of his mother and several of his favorite toys. We
Elizabeth Amber
Jim Nisbet
Lee Doty
Dick Morris, Eileen McGann
Janelle Stalder
Melinda Di Lorenzo
Angelina Mirabella
Karen Anders
Donald J. Sobol
Gerald Green