Pru tried to shake her head, but it weighed a thousand pounds. “Not your fault.”
“But if I—”
“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. And we have to face the consequences.” The social worker would carry through on her threat, and a judge could rule to take Ari away. Nothing could be worse than that, and she’d have to find a way to live with it. They all would.
“There has to be something we can do.”
She crawled out of his lap, using the doorknob to haul herself to her feet. Purged of that first wave of grief, she struggled to focus on practical steps, on action. “I need to call Robert.”
“Who’s Robert?”
“Robert Barth. My attorney. I probably should have done that in the first place, but I knew he’d object to what we were doing, and I was afraid of what he might tell me about the alternatives. He needs to know what’s going on. And maybe there’s something to be done to fight it.”
Feeling about a hundred years old, Pru made her way to the kitchen, pouring a tall glass of water she didn’t want and guzzling it down. Then she poured a second to chase some ibuprofen. “I should call Mae, too. She’s still on leave and recovering from back surgery, but maybe she can offer some insight. Or maybe she can talk Lydia Coogan down.” Not that she had much faith in that eventuality. The woman had taken an instant dislike to Pru and seemed determined to punish her for being able to get past any of the red tape of the foster system.
“We have to tell the rest of the family that this is coming.” The idea of having to face that made her want to run. Or maybe just hide in a closet.
Flynn’s expression was grim. “We’ll do it together.”
That didn’t make her feel better, exactly, but she felt a little less alone.
“I have to talk to Ari.”
“Do you want to speak to the attorney first? Find out more information?”
Pru shook her head. “There’s nothing worse as a foster kid than to have adults making decisions about you without including you. It’s why she eavesdrops. We all did it. I don’t want her drawing her own conclusions based on partial information. I have to be honest with her.” She set the glass aside and started for the stairs.
“What? Now?”
“The sooner the better. We don’t know if she came downstairs at any point. I don’t think she overheard the social worker or she’d have been up in the middle of that meeting arguing. But if she saw us in the foyer… She needs to know where she stands. I’ve never lied to her, and I’m not going to start now.”
He started after her.
“I think, maybe, I need to have this conversation with her alone.”
Flynn pulled up short. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “I’m right here if either of you need me.”
“Thank you.” Because they both needed it, Pru laid a hand against his cheek before going upstairs.
Dread ratcheted higher with each step. She tried to find the words, the right thing to say so that this didn’t destroy Ari’s world, but her mind was simply full of static. Too late, it occurred to her that she should probably wash her face. But no amount of scrubbing was going to cover up the crying, so ultimately, she knocked on Ari’s door.
No answer.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep?
Pru knocked again, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. “Ari? Honey?”
Her room looked like a bomb had gone off. Clothes were scattered on every surface. Good lord, they needed to have a chat about the importance of everything in its place. She didn’t realize that she’d expected to see Ari passed out amid the piles until her brain registered that there was no teenager in the room.
“Ari?” She strode to the closet, though the door stood open. Empty.
Pru wandered back into the hall, checking the bathrooms. No Ari. She headed upstair
s. When guests weren’t in residence, sometimes Ari liked to read in the turret room. But that, too, was empty. She trotted back to the landing.
“Flynn, can you run look to see if Ari’s outside or in the barn?”
“Sure.”