“You okay?” Otter asks as he stands in the doorway.
“I’m fine,” I say, not looking back at him.
“Bear.”
“What?” I snap.
“All right,” he says, holding his hands up like he’s trying to placate me. “Trailer’s out front.”
“Fine. I need you to go into her room. I—I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll do it. Erica Sharp called.”
I freeze.
“She’s already filed a petition with the courts for temporary guardianship,” Otter says. “She wanted to warn us that it’s going to be just like with Ty. A social worker will be assigned, and we’ll be vetted all over again. But since we’re already approved to be foster parents, it’s not going to be as intrusive as it was before. She’s also going to see what she can do about tracking down Izzie’s father. She might need to hire a private investigator if they can’t find anything.”
At one point in time, we’d decided to hedge our bets in case the surrogacy route proved fruitless and went through the process of being approved to be foster parents. We never actually had any kids come stay with us, but it will probably look better to the state.
“Okay,” I say slowly, a little weight lifting from my shoulders. “That’s good.”
“She wants us to see if we can find any of Izzie’s health records while we’re here. And we’re going to need to get her transcripts from school, but we can do that when we get home. Social Services can probably help us with that too if we need it. We’ll probably need some kind of documentation from the courts in order to get the transcripts.”
“Okay.”
“And a will, if possible.”
I snort. “Yeah, because Julie would have had enough foresight for that.”
“You never know, Bear,” Otter says quietly. “People can surprise you, even when you don’t expect them to.” And then he’s gone, footsteps muffled against the carpet.
I wish I could believe him.
GOODWILL COMES and goes the next morning.
The house is mostly empty.
I wonder at the life of this woman, now nothing but selected memories packed into the back of a trailer.
“DO YOU want to see her?” Mr. Sampson of Sampson & Sons asks me.
I gape at him. It’s a question I didn’t expect.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” he says, probably used to reactions like mine. “Whatever will help you during this trying time. It’s what we’re here for. The choice is yours. People often see it as part of the grieving process.”
I wonder if he’s fucking insane. Of course I don’t want to see her. It’s the absolute last thing I want to do. I don’t need—
Validation? it asks. Because what if she’s not really dead? What if this whole thing is a mistake? What if one day, and one day soon, there’s a knock on the door, and she’s there? What if she’s there and she’s coming to take Izzie away from you? What if she comes back and ruins everything all over again? What would you do then, Bear?
“I don’t think that’s—” Otter starts.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I want to see her. Now, please. Take me to her now.”
“Shit,” Otter sighs, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.
IT’S HER.
She’s gone.