James Patterson: 10th Anniversary

“Giddyup,” I said.

“Am I okay on the right?”

“Go for it.”

We cleared the worst of the jam at Folsom Street and found an open lane that took us from 3rd to Kearny, a straightaway to an office building in the heart of the financial district.

“Not bad,” I said, looking at my watch. “I’d say we’re actually on time. And you didn’t even need a siren.”

The wind blew through the canyon of office buildings, practically sweeping us past the entrance to the sixteen-story granite structure casting a long shadow over the corner of Sansome and Halleck.

The lawyer’s office was on the eleventh floor, and while the elevator was swift, it took us time to find the right door and to clear reception. An attractive legal secretary in a pencil skirt and a ruffled mauve blouse walked us to a conference room and opened the door to let us in.

Avis Richardson was sitting in the seat closest to the door. She was scrubbed and dressed up, and although she looked grave, she resembled a fifteen-year-old girl more than she had at any other time since I’d met her.

I said hello to her and the Richardsons and introduced Claire, who was moving around the table to hug Toni Burgess and Sandy Wilson, the Devil Girlz we’d met in Taylor Creek, Oregon.

Correction: former Devil Girlz.

There was no sign of leather. Instead Toni was in a dress and had soccer-mom hair, and she said she was going back to teaching school. Sandy just looked sweet.

More people were introduced: lawyers for both sides, and His Honor Marlon Sykes, a judge from Portland who was in town for the ABA convention.

Baby Tyler Richardson’s travel seat was in a chair pulled up to the blond-wood conference table. He was wearing a blue onesie with a duck appliqué on the front. His eyes were open. He was very little, but he was taking everything in.

I smiled at Tyler, thinking about what a very important day this was for this little boy.

CLAIRE AND I sat down at the conference table and the process began.

Lawyers passed papers to Judge Sykes: the report from Child Protective Services giving a green light to the women from Taylor Creek; an annulment of Avis Richardson’s marriage to Jordan Ritter; and the revocation of Ritter’s parental rights in exchange for a couple of years off the twenty-year stretch he was facing for statutory rape and kidnapping.

There was also a revocation of Avis’s parental rights, and adoption papers naming Toni and Sandy, who were beaming from across the table, Tyler’s parents.

Avis signed the adoption papers without hesitation. Toni and Sandy signed the same papers with barely contained glee, and together they got up and hugged Avis. She was stiff at first, but her nose pinked up and she started to cry.

Photos were taken and Claire and I were asked to be in the group shot. People came up to us and thanked us for our part in this wonderful outcome.

Avis was one of them.

She said to me, “I’m sorry for lying to you, Sergeant Boxer. I know you’ve done a good thing for Tyler. It’s legal now.”

The baby was in Sandy Wilson’s arms and he laughed in the excitement. I reached out to him. He wrapped my finger in his little fist and gave me a good solid connection with his big brown eyes.

My heart swelled.

I was eager for this little boy to start his new life.

Back in the car, Claire texted Cindy and Yuki, saying the Women’s Murder Club was on for dinner tonight at Susie’s. She added, “Don’t be late!”

I said, “By the way, I won’t be drinking.”

Claire put the phone in her lap and turned her eyes on me, pursed her lips, and said, “It’s about time you told me, girlfriend.” She reached over and gave my arm a shake. “I can read it all over your face.”

We both cracked up.

Claire knew me that well. I didn’t even have to tell her the news that had irrevocably and fantastically changed my world.

Joe and I were having a baby.