Chapter 22

Frances Noonan spoke to Jonathan Martin the very next day. She didn’t want to wake him, so she parked herself in the lobby first thing and waited.

And waited. She had plenty of time to think. Mostly about Chantrelle and Baby Owen. But also about little Ben and Julia and Paul Blackwell. And about her husband, Bill, and Alma Gordon and Mr. Glenn.

Why couldn’t she be happy for Alma? Alma was certainly happy. She deserved this. She was so sweet and kind. She was perfect for Mr. Glenn.

But seeing Mr. Glenn with Alma’s pill bottles was unnerving. Bill used to open Frances’s pill bottles. Now Frances had to keep them in her medicine chest with the tops off because she couldn’t manage them with her arthritis.

Bill used to do so many things for her. He did all the driving, and when he died, she had to learn the streets of San Francisco as if she hadn’t lived in the city most of her life. She’d never paid attention to the roads, never had to. Bill paid all the bills, leaving her blissfully unaware that their car had been purchased with a high-interest loan, or that they paid a large sum for television cable each month. Frances had canceled that as soon as she saw the charge. The cable was for Bill, anyway, for his special sports channels. Bill had his favorite meals that she cooked with joy because he loved them so, pot roast and lamb stew. She hadn’t made them in years. Well, truth to tell, she didn’t really like pot roast. Or lamb stew. Still, it was nice to cook dinner for someone. Now she cooked for Sarah, and the two of them often sat side by side at her kitchen table enjoying the view of the San Francisco Bay just like she and Bill had.

She missed Bill every day, but the pain was less and less as time went on. Now, with a blossoming romance in the building between two people her own age, Bill came flooding back as if he were standing right there in the lobby next to her.

She was jealous of Alma. She might as well admit it to herself.

Jonathan finally stepped out of the elevator at nine. Mrs. Noonan got right to the point and told her story in just a few sentences.

“I wondered about that little fella.” Jonathan adjusted his usual bow tie, yellow polka dot today, in the mirror by the mailboxes. “I actually do some adoption law myself. There are definitely angles we can work. Unfit mother. Abandonment. A court would not look favorably on Chantrelle as a parent, and it would be fairly easy to have her parental rights involuntarily terminated. Unfortunately, there’s only a small chance that the state would grant placement to Mrs. Gordon. They will not like what she’s been up to either. If Chantrelle would assent, we could consider a consensual arrangement, an independent adoption. Short of that, we may not have many options.”

“A formal adoption? Oh, I don’t think Chantrelle would go for that.”

“The law is quite flexible about the arrangement,” Jonathan said. “Chantrelle could have visitation rights, depending on how we set it up.”

“Is there any kind of incentive we can offer her?”

“Do you mean money?” Jonathan asked.

“Well…” Mrs. Noonan shifted her weight. “Yes, money.”

“No, I’m afraid the court is pretty strict about that. You can’t buy a baby.”

“No, no, of course not. This isn’t a car we’re talking about,” Mrs. Noonan said sheepishly. “But…” she persisted, “what’s in it for Chantrelle?”

“Well, first, you don’t know exactly why she’s back. She may have thought of something along these lines herself. In the best interest of the child.”

Mrs. Noonan sighed. “No, I truly doubt it. But I suppose we have to face this. We have to meet her.”

“If you’d like me to be there when you talk with her, I’d be happy to.”

“No, Jonathan, thank you for all your advice. We’ll meet her, then we’ll talk to you again. We’ll have to inquire about your fees as well.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jonathan said. “We’re neighbors. I’m happy I can help you with this.”

“You haven’t met Chantrelle,” said Mrs. Noonan.