Chapter 10: Towards the Future
The addition of a business luncheon proved to make another busy day… chaotic. Thankfully, Remington had volunteered to drop the girls off at preschool on his way to the office, which meant Laura was able to stay home and spend some time with Holt before the demands of the day took over. And, if she managed to get everything done on her list today, after her nine a.m. appointment with Dr. Adams tomorrow, she'd have the remainder of two, glorious days alone with her newborn son… and time to catch up on some much needed sleep. Braking, she pulled the Explorer to a stop in front of Clarissa's apartment building. Cutting the engine, she climbed from the car, scanning the numbers on the buildings as she shut the SUV's door.
Heels clicking against the pavement, she walked in long-legged strides to the apartment, stopping to frown at the door which had been left open a crack.
"Bernard," she called she slowly pushed the door open with her fingertips.
"In the Clarissa's room," a voice from the back of the apartment called.
She stutter-stepped when the door swung all the way open and she saw the chaos in the living room: Furniture was toppled and the bottoms sliced open with a sharp instrument; pictures on the wall lay on the floor, their backs torn away from their frames; and the fireplace was overflowing with soot. Stooping down before it, she picked up the smoky remnants of a corner of a photograph.
"What happened here?" she asked when Bernard stepped into the room.
"It was this way when I got here." Turning on her heels, she looked towards the dining room, which was equally in shambles.
"Looking for any other evidence Clarissa might have gathered, I imagine," she thought, aloud.
"Then why burn photo albums, Sophie's baby book?" Bernard questioned, holding up a cover to the baby book in question, then dropping it to the floor.
"I don't know that we can ever understand how a deranged man's mind works, can we?" she posed. Then, her mind registered the consequences of Castoro's actions. "They're all gone? The pictures?" she asked, in dismay.
"Whoever did this was very thorough," he confirmed. Standing, she glanced down the hallway where the two bedrooms were located.
"And Sophie's belongings?" He held out a hand indicating she should precede him down the hall.
"Her clothing seems undamaged," he answered, providing the only upside that he could.
The room, like the one before it, had been ransacked. Furniture lay broken, the mattress and box springs shredded, dolls and stuffed animals ripped to pieces.
"Oh, Soph," Laura lamented. "Clarissa's room?"
"The same."
"Alright. Don't touch anything else. I need to make a phone call…"
A phone call to Captain Thibodeaux netted a pair of officers who'd already been vetted as 'clean' and a half dozen crime techs to process the house. While Thibodeaux had given permission for her to remove any of Sophie's belongings that were left undamaged, the things that truly mattered – photographs, baby books, anything that might keep Clarissa close for Sophie - were long gone. Better a fresh start than things that might bring painful memories with them. Anything that might have true value to the little girl, Remington had already, thankfully, retrieved.
Clarissa's estate was… sufficient. Her debts had been settled, her cremation paid for. After taxes, the estate would deposit a little over seventeen-thousand into trust for Sophia, thanks, in large part, to Clarissa's modest life insurance policy. The morning had been virtually fruitless, thanks once again to Castoro, and she barely had time enough to go by the house and feed Holt, before she was back out the door to meet Remington for lunch, calling to Melina in parting that they'd pick up the baby after their meeting.
The meeting had gone well, and they'd walked away with a gentleman's agreement for the Agency to provide upgraded security at all nine locations. There was no time for celebration however, as they made a quick trip by the house to pick up the baby, then were on their way to Redondo Beach. They arrive twenty-five minutes late, but Meredith was there, awaiting them patiently.
"The Farrell's moved out two days ago. They asked that I give you a copy of the key and pass along that you're welcome to come and go as you please, and they'll see you at closing next week."
"Thank you," Laura answered, glancing at Remington who didn't seem at all surprised by this turn of events.
"It's my pleasure, as always," Meredith replied. "Congratulations on the baby and if I don't hear from you about putting the Holmby Hills house on the market before closing on this house next week, I'll see you there." With that, the realtor, discrete as always, let herself out.
"Why do I think you had a hand in this?" Laura accused, mildly, as Remington set the infant carrier on the floor and helped her out of her coat.
"It's amazing how an all-cash offer contingent upon a quick closing can inspire sellers," he posited, "Especially when they're eager to begin 'divorced bliss,'" he reminded with a grin. With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head, she removed Holt from his carrier and cradled him in an arm. "So tell me…" he suggested with a sweep of his arm across the expanse of the living room.
"Can you take the baby?" she requested.
"Of course." He easily transferred the baby from her arm to his, then walked the expanse of the living room. This, the less formal of the two living rooms in the home, offered a stunning view of the horizon through an expanse of glass that stretched the length of the room.
While he appreciated the view outside, she appreciated the view of him. Savor this, Laura, she ordered herself. And she did. He walked with a child in his arms as naturally as he walked alone, carrying on an animated conversation with the baby as though Holt understood every word he spoke. Captive audience, she laughed to herself. Giving her head a firm shake, she—
Staggered, as the wave of dizziness swept over her. The fingers of a hand flexed against the nearby wall as she used it for support and focused on her breathing while damn, damn, damn repeated in her head. She was too tired to fight, and if he believed her to be ill, they'd end up doing exactly that because after months of being restricted, she was in no mood to be so again.
"What do you think?" Remington asked, then turned to look at her when she didn't answer. "Laura?" She forced her eyes to meet him and put a smile on her face that she didn't feel.
"I'm sorry, what? I tuned you out about the time you started synopsizing From Here to Eternity for our five-day-old child." He gave her an aggrieved look.
"Really, Laura, if I don't teach him what the true classics are early on, you'll have him watching Gidget and he'll have no idea—"
"Save the sales pitch, Mr. Steele," she cut him off as she found her footing. "The question at hand?"
"I was asking how you envisioned this room," he repeated.
"With its proximity to the kitchen, dining room and the deck, not to mention the height of the ceilings and the view, I imagine as a family we'll spend bulk of our time in here, don't you?"
"I do," he concurred.
"Then I'd like to set it up like we currently have it at home..." she looked at the wide expanse of the room, "…only more spread out. The living set here…" she blocked off an area with her arms "…the seating area here…" then another area, before she traveled to the end of the room, most adjacent to the kitchen, "… and the dining area here," she finished. "Which means we'll need furniture for the more formal of the two living rooms."
They moved from room-to-room downstairs. Furniture from their Holmby Hills home would be utilized in the renamed 'family room', dining room, kitchen, and home office. The room dubbed for their shared studio would require removal of carpeting, installation of wood floors, a mirrored wall and a barre. In the home theatre, they'd remove the built-in seating, and another sofa, matching the one they already owned, would be purchased, along with a couple of comfortable chairs. The game room was repurposed into a playroom, and a pool table, and dart board would need to be purchased for the billiards room.
The length of what they needed to furnish the house only grew, became weighty in Laura's eyes. Furniture for Sophie's room, a guest room, leaving the last of the bedrooms in the main house empty until Holt was ready to move to his own room – for now, the private den in the master would be made into his nursery. The two guest cottages would require living and dining furniture, bedroom furniture, and all kitchen wares.
For someone who enjoyed shopping, such a spree would seem heaven sent. But this was Laura, and shopping was on a short list of things she liked least to do. Also on that short list: interior designers. This was their home, and she wanted it to reflect their tastes, their efforts. With a pained look on her face, which left Remington chuckling, she accepted shopping it was to be.
Determining what, if anything, would be needed out of doors would have to wait, when Holt began squirming and squalling, making it clear he was ready for a change and his midday meal. They sat on a pair of abandoned Adirondack chairs as Laura nursed the baby, listening to the peaceful sound of the gulls above and the crash of the waves against the shore below. After, on the drive to Abernathy's office, Holt slept and Laura dozed, she rousing easily when they reached Abernathy's building. In the waiting room of the attorney's office, he reached for her strikingly cold hand while she vigorously tapped a heel.
"Anxious?" he half-wondered, half-assessed. She turned a quick smile on him.
"No, not at all," she denied. " She leaned down and moved the carrier in front of him. "I'll be right back."
Almost as soon as she returned, a few short minutes later, they were called back to Abernathy's office. After greetings and handshakes all around, Remington and Laura took their seats across from the woman.
"I was waiting on your call, Mrs. Steele," Abernathy began. "The newspapers and evening news have had some remarkable… revelations… in recent days." Ducking her head down, she looked at the couple over the rim of her glasses. "And I have a sneaking suspicion there is far more to it than what the authorities are choosing to share right now."
"That suspicion would be well-founded," Laura smiled. Abernathy lay clasped hands on her desk.
"So, what is it I need to know?"
Laura and Remington took turns sharing the details they'd previously omitted: from Sophie watching her mother's attack, through Castoro's attempt to eliminate his own child. After, they answered all the attorney's questions without qualification. When they concluded, Abernathy sat heavily back in her chair, and removing her glasses, chewed at an earpiece, considering all she'd learned. Dropping the glasses on the desk, she eyed the couple at length.
"What would you like to see happen?" she asked bluntly. Laura reached for Remington's hand.
"We wish to adopt Sophie, as quickly as possible," Remington answered for them both, giving Laura's hand a squeeze. "She deserves to know she has a home… a family that wishes to keep her," he paused, then added vehemently, "And that no one can take that from her."
"I can't imagine the Court won't sever Mr. Castoro's parental rights to the child as soon as we present evidence of his involvement in her mother's murder, not to mention the attempt on the child's life. Given it was the wish of the child's mother that you have guardianship-"
"Sophie," Laura interrupted. "Her name is Sophie." She couldn't say why Abernathy's reference to Sophie as 'the child' annoyed her, but it did.
"Yes, Sophie," Abernathy conceded, with a smile. "Before the Court can sever rights, however, we have to prove Castoro has rights. Where do we stand on the paternity testing?"
"I took Sophie in yesterday." Laura answered as Abernathy thumbed through the file on her desk.
"And Mr. Castoro submitted his sample ten days ago," the attorney provided, as she handed Laura a piece of paper. "According to his attorney's filing last Thursday."
"His filing?" Remington questioned, leaning towards Laura and reading the paper she held. "Good Lord!" he declared, as he skimmed it. "He requested the Court hold Laura and I in contempt?"
"Given the circumstances, I don't see the Court humoring the motion," Abernathy dismissed. "So, once the paternity test results come back, if they confirm Mr. Castoro is Sophie's father, we'll file immediately for permanent custody pending severance of parental rights, requesting expediency by the Court in both matters. In the meantime, we wait."
Laura made a mental note to call Milton when they got home. After verifying with the attorney that she'd be able to assist in setting up the trust for Sophie, the Steele's departed. The drive home centered on Remington's ideas for investments that would see Sophie's trust grow across the years then ideas for dinner that evening.
"Da!" Olivia called out, when her parents walked through the front door. Racing across the living room, she threw herself at her father, who lifted her in his arms with a smile on his lips and blue eyes lit with affection. Olivia cupped his cheeks in her palms to be certain he was paying attention when she spoke again. "Thea Melina is cooking," she reported in a voice that suggested Melina was doing something wrong.
"Is she now?" he asked, assuming a grave face. "Giving you and I the night off, is she?" He heaved a pretend sigh. "I suppose we'll just have to work on your party invitations then, hmmmm?" Olivia's face lit up in excitement at the suggestion.
"Okay!" she agreed happily, then squirmed, indicating she wished to be put down. "Hi, Mommy," she greeted with a wave as she ran from the room. Laura made at face at her husband.
"Well, don't I feel like chopped liver," she muttered, drily, as Remington took her coat and she stooped down to release Holt from his carrier. As she lifted her head to stand, she peered into a pair of bright green eyes. She was left blinking her lashes furiously when Sophie stepped forward and gave her a tentative kiss hello. "Hi, sweetie," Laura managed to greet around the lump in her throat. Sophie's face lit up at the implied approval of her greeting, then skipped out of the room.
"Now who's left feeling like chopped liver?" Remington teased.
"Pate, Mr. Steele, pate," she corrected, patting him on his cheek and giving him a playful lift of her brows. He could help the silly, lopsided grin, thoroughly flattered by her words. "I'm going to change the baby, then I'll be down to help with the invitations."
He couldn't help but admire her graceful form as she ascended the stairs.