Lily Love (27 page)

“My chair broke last week, and I haven’t had time to buy a new one. I needed something in the meantime, so my neighbor let me raid his old storage shed. Isn’t this great?” He laughs.

“Did you bomb it for fleas before you brought it in here?” I tease . . . kind of.

He stands, grinning devilishly as he pulls me toward him. “Are you afraid you’ll get cooties, now that I’ve been contaminated?” He rubs his cheek into my neck, tickling me with his scruff.

“It’s a little late to be worried about that.” I giggle. I glance over his shoulder at the computer screen, catching the time and wishing I hadn’t.

“It’s almost ten o’clock,” I say. I dreaded this moment all day; still, I knew it would catch up with me sooner than I wanted. “I should get going soon.”

Tate halts his tickle attack and sighs against my shoulder. When he leans back, his face looks just as disappointed as I feel.

“I suppose I can’t hold you hostage here forever,” he laments. “I don’t want you to go.”

His confession pulls at my heart, and I want so badly to stay. Still, I know that staying over is something I’m not ready for yet, not until he knows Lily.

“I wish I didn’t have to.” I smile weakly. “We’ll see each other soon, right?” I try my best to sound encouraging.

“Absolutely,” he answers, “and we’ll talk on the phone when we can’t.”

My heart sinks when I realize just how little opportunity there is for us to be alone like this. I’m going to miss it terribly.

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree. Before melancholy has the chance to sweep me under, Tate pulls me tight against his body.

“This sucks,” he says.

I chuckle against his chest. “Yes, it does, but we’ll figure it out.” He looks down at me with a dimpled smile, and I melt.

“Call me when you get home,” he demands. “I want to know my girl is safe.”

Safety is such a relative term. Until I know whether or not he can accept Lily, my heart isn’t safe at all.

change

T
he drive home from Tate’s was a myriad of wildly swinging emotions. Giddy highs when I allowed myself to indulge in the memory of his touch and how wonderfully loved he made me feel. Plummeting lows when the fear of losing my heart in the process became overwhelming.
Kismet
, I repeat on a loop in my mind, until my nerves begin to calm. Now here I am, sitting at my kitchen table, chamomile tea in hand, waiting for divine wisdom to take over and help me figure out what to say when I call Tate. Before I have that chance, my phone lights up next to me.

“Would you think I was crazy if I told you I missed you already?” Tate’s rich voice soothes me.

“Nah. Rumor has it that the feeling’s entirely mutual.”

His deep laughter fills me with warmth, chasing my anxiety farther away. “I thought you were going to call me so I knew you made it back.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.” I dip my pinky finger into my tea to test the temperature. Smiling as I lick it, I marvel at how much influence Tate already has in my life.

“Don’t apologize; I’m glad I get to hear your voice one more time tonight.” He chuckles softly.

“It is pretty nice to hear your voice, too.” Seeing his name light up the screen filled me with more happiness than I’ve felt in long time. It’s amazing how little I missed feeling this way, until I could feel it again. With Peter, I fell in love while I was still learning about myself. We discovered life and grew together, before Lily. Ironically, it took losing Peter to really figure out who I was. Even though it took pain to bring me here, I’m so very grateful that I’m here.

“I’ll let you go get settled in; I know you’ve got a big day tomorrow.” His thoughtfulness amazes me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, and I don’t want to. “Let me know how it goes with the school district?”

“You bet. And you let me know how things are with your mom, and if you or Tarryn need anything, okay?”

“I will,” he replies. “Good night, beautiful girl.”

“Good night, Tate.”

“You
what
?!” Paige shrieks so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Paige, I don’t have time for this. My meeting is in ten minutes.” It’s the second time this morning that I’ve had to remind her that she’ll have to wait until tonight for more of the story. The first time was this morning, when I dropped off Lily so I could meet with Cameron James alone. I had to blow off her questions completely. She was annoyed but had no choice but to back off, considering Lily’s impressionable ears. Apparently, giving her minor details to tide her over until tonight isn’t helping.

“You can’t just lay that on me and then bail,” she complains. “You spent the day at his house doing what? Playing pinochle?”

“If you don’t like my answers, then you shouldn’t press me for the story when you know I don’t have time to tell it,” I snap. I love Paige, but this isn’t about her. “I’ll see you tonight and you can pick
my carcass like the vulture you’re acting like.” I swing open the heavy door leading to the lobby of the school district’s building. I scan the list of departments until I find Exceptional Children on the third floor.

“I’m sorry,” she grumbles. “I just want to know you’re all right.”

“I’m fine, Paige,” I promise. “In fact, I’m great, so stop worrying. I’ll see you tonight.” I spin around until I find the elevator and press the Up button.

“Okay.”

“I love you,” I tell her as I get on the elevator. “I’ve got to go.” I hit End before she can say goodbye. I just want a few uninterrupted minutes before my meeting. This morning has already been a whirlwind. I woke up early to give myself a few hours of writing time. When I called Cameron James’s office, he encouraged me to come meet with him sooner rather than later.

“There are several appointments we’ll need to make for Lily, and the sooner we can meet and get those scheduled, the better,” he had said. When he asked if we could meet this morning, I didn’t hesitate. Peter couldn’t make it out of his meetings, so we agreed I’d go alone. We both want Lily to have as much time as possible to be evaluated and considered for placement. This morning that meant getting showered, dressed, and downtown in under thirty minutes. Combined with Paige’s prying, it’s been one heck of a morning. The bell chimes for the third floor, and my moment of peace is over.

“Caroline Hunter for Cameron James,” I tell the receptionist behind the glass. She signs me in and then motions for me to sit in the adjoining waiting room. Pamphlets for every kind of disability line the wall. Down syndrome, autism, PDD-NOS, ADHD, the list goes on and on—but none of them are for unspecified developmental disabilities. I guess that spectrum is too broad for one pamphlet. Still, it frustrates me. How can anyone help her if they don’t understand what’s wrong?

“Ms. Hunter?” An older man with salt-and-pepper hair waves me back. I follow him to a small office and wait to hear how our world will change once Lily starts school.

“Cameron James.” He holds out his hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

We shake and sit across the desk from each other. Having forgone my sling, I pick at the frayed edges of Velcro on my cast. I’m hoping he doesn’t ask about my wrist, because I have a terrible feeling it will influence his opinion of Lily.

“So, we have your daughter, Lily, as entering kindergarten this fall?” He opens a file folder on his desk.

“Yes,” I answer. Well, that was easy enough. It would be great if all of the questions could be answered with a simple yes or no.

“Can you confirm her birthdate for me?” He smiles at me over his readers and looks back over Lily’s file.

“January twenty-four oh-eight,” I reply. I sincerely hope he isn’t trying to lull me into a false sense of security before blindsiding me with the tough stuff.

“And she has an unspecified developmental disability with global developmental delays, and epilepsy. Is that also correct?”

“Yes,” I say. “She’s a trouper, though.”

“I see,” he mutters as he studies the file. “She scored extremely low on the Wechsler Preschool and Primary Scale of Intelligence at sixty-eight,” he reads. Before he can repeat back the scores from the Developmental Assessment of Young Children and the Vineland Adaptive Behavior Scales, I interrupt.

“Mr. James, you don’t need to go over the results again. I know what they mean,” I say softly. “I just really want to know what they mean for Lily’s placement. I want to prepare my family for what to expect. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” he says. “The district will run their own assessments, though. We can’t use the data provided from private testing.”

“Actually,” I reply, “those tests were run by a school district–appointed psychologist when Lily was three years old. I thought they were valid through second grade.”

“Oh . . . You’re right.” He nods. “It looks like I misfiled Lily’s records with those of some incoming students who haven’t been processed by the district yet. I assumed, because she wasn’t enrolled in the pre-K program for children with disabilities, that she hadn’t been tested by our district. My apologies.”

“It’s all right. We opted out of the pre-K program so Lily would have more time for private therapies. I kept thinking if I got her more help, she’d catch up,” I admit. “Will that affect registering her for school?”

Mr. Cameron gives me a sympathetic smile. “Not at all, Ms. Hunter. We can use these scores to determine services and then test her alongside the rest of her class for placement once school begins.”

I’m sure he thinks this news will make me feel better, but it only makes me more nervous about how he’ll answer my next question.

“What kind of class will she be placed in?” It’s the one thing I know will change everything, but I can’t avoid asking it any longer.

“Oh.” Mr. James’s voice raises in surprise. “Mainstream, of course. We don’t use a self-contained classroom model. Instead we use the coteach method, which brings the special-education instructor into a classroom as a full partner to the general-education teacher. We’ll pull Lily out for speech and occupational therapies, according to her IEP, but she’ll be mainstreamed otherwise.”

I blink back tears I really don’t want to share with Mr. Cameron James. Taking concerted deep breaths, I make sure I’m hearing him correctly.

“You mean Lily will attend our neighborhood school, not a special-education center?” I’m too afraid to hope that I’m right, because it will crush me if I’m wrong.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Two words confirming that my baby will indeed have her first day of school like every other child. That Peter and I will stand with a hundred other parents sending their children to school on the first day, just like everyone else. I want to weep with joy, I want to shout from the rooftops, I want to call Tate and tell him my good news. It’s an automatic reaction, I tell myself. Good news—call Tate. My heart vibrates against my ribs as another thought pops into my head: I want to call him because I want him to know Lily.

“Tell me what school you’re districted to, Ms. Hunter.”

“Gadero Park Elementary,” I reply.

“I will give them a call this morning and set a time next week for an IEP meeting. That way we can figure out how we can best support Lily in the classroom before the school year begins.” He stands and shakes my hand across the desk. “I hope this makes you feel better about the school year.”

“Absolutely, Mr. James. Thank you so much for your time.”

“My pleasure.” A smile lights his face, and I know that he’s sincere. He walks with me down the hallway and opens the door to the waiting room for me. “I’ll give you a call with a meeting time at Gadero Park, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. James. Thank you.”

I feel a little like Dorothy waking up in Oz after being whisked away by a cyclone. The colorless, two-dimensional world I thought would be school for Lily was just swept up by a cyclone named Cameron James, and spit out into a Technicolor wonderland called Gadero Park Elementary School. Tears of joy sting my eyes, but I wait for the safety of my car before I let them flow out of me. I clung for dear life onto a fear that did nothing but hinder progress, all the while convinced that I was steering us in the right direction.

It amazes me, this beauty I found when I finally let it all go.

ungodly hour

T
ell me why we’re doing this again?” Paige whines as we pull into the hospice center. “We could be back at your house eating this.” She lifts the edge of the aluminum foil and sniffs the dish of chicken and noodles she’s holding in her lap.

“We’re doing it so Tate, his family, and other families with loved ones here can have a nice meal tonight,” I scold. I swear, sometimes I wonder who’s the big sister here.

She folds her arms over her chest and sticks her tongue out like a cranky three-year-old. “Well, you could’ve put a little aside for your sister.” She sniffs indignantly.

“Oh shu’up, you brat.” I smack her on the arm playfully. “I’ll buy you dinner; quit whining.”

“Ouch.” She laughs. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

“I know you’re a pain in the ass,” I tease. “Now get out of my car, and carry that in for me.” I take a quick scan of the parking lot while we unload the car. I don’t see Tate’s Highlander. Part of me is disappointed that I won’t run into him, and the other is happy he found some time to get away for a little bit.