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grandmother asked, opening the refrigerator.
    â€œWhat? Beer?” Britt’s thoughts zipped in a completely different direction.
    â€œMama, you’re not drinking beer this early in the day,” Carin snapped.
    â€œIt’s not for me. It’s for Enzo.” Onnie stopped snooping in the refrigerator and faced her daughter.
    â€œEnzo!” Carin’s voice rose a notch.
    Britt closed the front door with a sigh. She didn’t need this today.
    â€œYeah. His assisted living facility is not far away. I told him he can catch the bus and come visit.”
    â€œNo, no.” Carin shook her head. “Not today.”
    Onnie placed her hands on her hips. “You may be my daughter but you can’t boss me around.”
    â€œPlease, could we not argue?” Britt asked. “I’m nervous enough.”
    Onnie hugged her. “Don’t worry. That sleazebag is not taking sweet Dillon.” She shot a glance at her daughter. “But we’re visiting Enzo before we go home.”
    â€œFine,” Carin replied through tight lips.
    Britt picked up her purse. “I really have to run. The hearing is at two.”
    â€œI’m ready,” her mother said, and Britt knew there was no way to dissuade her.
    She turned to her grandmother. “Dillon is down for his nap. When he wakes up…”
    â€œI know the drill, my pretty.” Onnie pinched her cheek and reached for the TV remote control. “We’ll be just dandy. Go stick it to the bastard.”
    Â 
    T HE RIDE TO FAMILY COURT was done mostly in silence. Britt was nervous and she couldn’t shake it. Mona met them outside the courtroom. In her forties, with a blond bob, the lawyer was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and heels. Britt liked her confident attitude.
    â€œThis shouldn’t take long,” Mona said. “Your ex has to show just cause to remove Dillon from your care, and he simply doesn’t have any grounds.” She touched Britt’s forearm. “Relax.”
    â€œI’m trying to,” she replied, feeling her face muscles stretch into tight lines of worry. But she knew Phil well enough to know he was up to something. She wouldn’t re lax until this was over.
    Footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. Britt looked up to see Phil strolling toward her, a tall man blocked by Phil’s frame behind him. Blond and green-eyed, Phil was suave, handsome, a man who had once turned her head with his charm and words of love. His attraction and phony words had been exposed for what they really were, and now he just turned her stomach.
    â€œGood afternoon, Roslyn,” he said in a voice that slid across her nerves with the sharpness of a nail. He always called her by her first name. At first it had been charming. Now it was insulting.
    â€œThere is nothing good about any meeting with you,” she managed to say.
    â€œTut-tut. You need to keep that temper in check.”
    Temper? What was he talking about?
    â€œPhil, I don’t think…”
    That voice! It resonated in Britt’s head with sweet memories as she gaped at the man who stepped forward. No. It couldn’t be.
    But it was.
    Her hero from the creek stood staring at her with the same look of shock she was sure was on her face.
    â€œRoslyn, this is my lawyer, Quentin Ross.”
    Quentin Ross.
    In the stunned silence no one spoke. The sturdy, efficient clock on the wall ticked away seconds like a time bomb. Voices echoed down the hall. A faint scent of aftershave filled her nostrils. Behind Britt a door opened, the turning of the door handle sounding like cymbals in her ears.
    â€œThe judge will see you now,” a lady said.
    Mona nudged her. “Let’s go inside.”
    â€œAre you okay?” her mother asked. “You’re as white as a sheet.”
    â€œI’m fine,” she muttered, but somewhere deep inside her she knew she was never going to be the same again.
    They took