“Ninety days.”
Her face opened.
Then Adrian added:
“The handwriting expert says it is a forgery.”
Ivy put both hands on the table.
“And Pope?”
“Harmon found him.”
“What does that mean?”
“He owns part of the company.”
Ivy stared.
Pinnacle Asset Recovery.
The allegedly independent notary.
Same man.
Same operation.
For months Adrian had felt surrounded.
Now he saw a wall cracking.
His eyes burned.
He hated that.
He had not cried in years.
Ivy came around the worktable.
She placed both hands against his face.
She did not kiss him.
That made the gesture more intimate somehow.
“Okay.”
Adrian tried to speak.
Nothing came.
Ivy lowered her hands.
“We keep going.”
He nodded.
“Ninety days is a lot of porch work.”
Adrian laughed despite himself.
That evening, Noah got a bed.
A simple pine frame.
Dinosaur sheets.
He stood with his hands on his hips after Adrian assembled it.
“That is a good bed.”
“It is.”
That night, Adrian read two chapters of a dragon book.
When he stood to leave, Noah caught his sleeve.
“Stay a minute?”
Adrian sat against the bed.
He listened until Noah's breathing changed.
Then stayed longer.
The house improved by inches.
Ivy crossed the street two or three afternoons each week.
They repaired the railing.
Replaced rotten floorboards.
Fixed a section of gutter.
Painted Noah's room the exact dark green he requested.
Adrian learned Ivy could identify the sound of a bent nail before looking at it.
Ivy learned Adrian alphabetized screws when stressed.
Neither mentioned how ridiculous that was.
Adrian did not kiss her.
He wanted to.
That was becoming a problem.
Sometimes she stood too close while they measured lumber. Sometimes she reached past him for a tool and he smelled soap and flowers from the shop. Sometimes she looked at him after Noah said something funny, and their eyes met in that dangerous shared way that made a moment feel larger than it was.
Adrian would step away.
He told himself the reasons were practical.
Divorce.
Custody.
House.
Fraud investigation.
Noah.
Ivy deserved someone who wasn't holding his life together with borrowed nails.
The more honest reason frightened him more.
He had already lost one family.
Wanting another felt reckless.
Megan called on a Tuesday morning.
Adrian was making oatmeal.
Unknown number.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
Then a third time.
He answered.
“Adrian?”
Eight months had passed.
He knew her voice immediately.
“Megan.”
She asked to visit Noah.
Weekend only.
Adrian stepped onto the back porch so Noah could not hear.
His hands began shaking.
Not from anger.
Fear.
He had known this call would come.
Megan had asked him to take Noah when she said she was falling apart. Depression. Work trouble. Debt. A relationship ending badly. She had needed time.
Adrian had taken Noah because that was what fathers did.
Now she sounded better.
That should have been good.
It terrified him.
“Just the weekend?”
“Yes.”
“You stay at a hotel.”