Victoria listened without interrupting. This was, Ethan noticed, unusual. Most people, when presented with this kind of story, interjected with emotion, with, “Oh my, and that’s terrible.” And the social lubrication of sympathy sounds. Victoria did not do this. She watched him with dark, careful eyes and let him finish.
When he stopped talking, she said, “You want to ask me to marry you?” The directness of it briefly knocked the breath out of him. I Yeah, temporarily on paper just to show the court that Sophie would be entering a stable two parent household. I know it’s an insane request. Yes. From a man I’ve met twice. I’m aware of that. She stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the October afternoon was going gray, clouds thickening over the valley. Ethan watched her and waited because there was nothing else to do. “Why me?” she said finally. Dunore isn’t a small town in the sense of there being no other women in it. Because you’re smart enough to understand the legal situation without needing it explained three times, he said.
And because you have resources and standing that would actually make a difference in front of a judge. And because I don’t know, you told me I should charge more for my pairs. That’s not the kind of thing someone says if they don’t pay attention to things. She turned from the window. There was something in her expression that he couldn’t read.
Not quite amusement, not quite something darker, something complicated. “Do you understand?” she said carefully. “What you’re asking me to do with my life, even temporarily?” “Yes, my privacy matters to me more than most things, Mr. Brooks. My business depends on a certain kind of reputation. If this goes wrong, fear, if there are complications, if this becomes a story, I would never let it become a story.
I’m not asking you to perform anything. I’m asking you to help me save a child from the foster system. The room was quiet for a moment. The house settled around them. Tell me about Sophie, Victoria said. Tell me what you know about her. So he did. He told her what Karen Reeves had said.
the seven years, the 4 months, the 8 months of a mother’s illness, a little girl becoming a caregiver, a child who had already lost more than most adults ever lose. He told it plainly without manipulating it because he sensed that manipulation would close the door faster than anything else. When he finished, Victoria sat back down across from him.
“I have conditions,” she said. He exhaled slowly. Okay. Sophie is not a legal strategy. I will not treat her like one and you will not either. Whatever we put in front of that court has to be something we can actually deliver. Agreed. You don’t lie to me about anything. Not about your finances, not about your history with Clare, not about what you’re actually capable of as a father.
If I’m walking into a courtroom with you, I need to know what I’m walking into. Agreed. And Sophie comes first in every decision. everyone. If there’s ever a moment where something would benefit you or benefit me but would not be good for her, Sophie wins. No argument. He looked at her. There was something in the way she said it. Sophie wins.
That went beyond legal strategy. Something that sounded underneath the careful businesswoman precision like a person who knew something about not coming first. Sophie comes first, he said. Always. She nodded once. then I’ll do it. The emergency marriage took place the following morning at the county clerk’s office in Dunour. It was not romantic.
It was not supposed to be. Karen Reeves had provided a list of documentation they would need. And Victoria’s attorney, a man named Gerald Park, who arrived from Portland on approximately 4 hours notice looking like he’d dressed in the car, handled the legal framework. There were forms and signatures and a notary public named Pam, who Ethan was pretty sure recognized him from the Dunore feed and grain and was absolutely going to tell someone about this.
Victoria wore the charcoal sweater again. Ethan had gone home the night before and found the least muddy clothes he owned, which turned out to be dark jeans and a button-down shirt he’d last worn to his father’s funeral. Gerald Park cleared his throat at one point and said, “The court will want to see evidence of cohabitation. That means Ms. Langford.
Mrs. Brooks will need to be physically present at the farm on a regular basis. Victoria didn’t miss a beat. I understand. I have a portable office setup. I can work from anywhere. Ethan looked at her. She didn’t look back. She was signing something. He signed his name next to hers on a document that changed both their lives.
And the notary public Pam stamped it with an expression of admirable professional neutrality. And that was that. They walked out into the thin October sunlight as husband and wife, which was absurd and did not acknowledge the absurdity because there wasn’t time. Gerald Park drove them to the courthouse for the preliminary hearing.
Family court in Lane County was a low ceiling room with fluorescent lighting and chairs that were designed for either punishment or indifference. The judge was a woman in her late 50s named Judge Alderman who had the look of someone who had heard every possible story and was still somehow willing to hear one more. Karen Reeves was there. Sophie’s courtappointed guardian Adlidum was there.
A young woman named Dana Flores who had a file in her lap and a careful expression. Ethan and Victoria sat together at one table. Ethan had never been in a courtroom in his life for anything more serious than a speeding ticket, and the air felt thick with the weight of what was being decided here. Gerald Park made their case. It was concise and well organized.
The paternity documentation, the marriage certificate, the farm property, Victoria’s financial standing, a proposed plan for Sophie’s care and stability. Judge Alderman listened without expression. Then she looked directly at Ethan. Mr. Brooks, she said, “I want to be clear about something. This court is not in the business of assigning children to adults who appear on paper to be appropriate.
