When Jackson’s phone rang on Monday afternoon, we were at the mall trying to find the right comforter for Tony’s bed.
“That must be Heather,” I said, excited. “Answer it!”
Jackson looked at his phone, frowned, put it to his ear.
After exchanging pleasantries, he said, “She what?…Us?…Really?…Um, I don’t know…”
“Who is it?” I asked, beside myself with impatience.
He turned away, annoyed.
“We had pretty much decided against it,” he said after a long pause. “She does? Really? Let me talk to Wiley about it…”
“Well?” I demanded when he finally hung up the phone.
“That was Ruby.”
Where had I heard that name before?
“It’s about Amelia,” Jackson added.
“That little girl we saw a couple of months ago?”
“Ruby said Amelia’s mother wants us to adopt her.”
“She does?”
“She liked us, I gues
