Choosing You

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

JeffThe venue contract signed and the menu selections scheduled, Taryn and I dedicated the following day to the next item on our to-do list: finding a local florist.

I marveled at how Taryn kept all the wedding details straight in her mind. She knew precisely where we were on budget and how all the options fit in. The woman could also negotiate like a mob boss. She looked like smiles and sunshine, but she knew how to make offers no vendor could refuse.

The meetings at the two suggested floral shops went smoothly, and by the early afternoon, we had selected a florist in Yountville and picked the boutonnieres, corsages, bouquets, and arrangements. The flurry of activity left me spinning and in need of a break.

Meanwhile, Taryn couldn’t wait to find something else to do, so we stopped in at a coffee shop to regroup. She proclaimed that she was too hyped up to go back to our hotel, and I wanted to make her happy with something to do.

“Why don’t we split the difference and do something low key?” I turned my coffee cup back and forth between my hands. “We could find a tasting room and have some wine.”

“Oh! Good idea. I made a list of the top tasting rooms in the area. It may be too late to get into some of the top ones without an appointment, but we can likely drop in at a few.”

Taryn pulled out her phone and scrolled through her note-taking app for her list of wineries. We settled on Strasburg Winery, a small family-owned vineyard with both still and sparkling wine. Champagne and Taryn went together like chocolate and peanut butter, so I voted yes. After Taryn called to confirm they were open with tours available, we hopped back in the car.

I turned out of the town square and directed us northbound on Highway 29 toward St. Helena. The last-minute booking highlighted one of the advantages of being there in the low season.

The strange winter beauty of the valley featured low clouds threatening rain with sporadic streams of sunlight bursting through. The dance of yellow and gray skipped before us as I drove toward the winery off the main highway and over a small hill. Twists of grapevines, gnarled and bare, lined the road, staked on crosses like martyrs. The inevitable rain finally sprang up from the rolling mist.

We spotted the sign for the winery, and I pulled into a parking spot in front of a yellow Victorian home with an ivy-covered porch stretching the length of the house.

Taryn sighed reverently. “I love these Victorians painted all different colors. It makes me wish we lived somewhere with some older architecture.” Dallas didn’t grow to prominence until the latter half of the twentieth century, and most of the buildings and homes reflected that. The painted wood home reminded her of her grandmother’s house near her childhood hometown of Lawton, Oklahoma.

A carved wooden sign read, “Strasburg Tasting Room.” Taryn bounded up the steps of the vineyard’s estate house with an enthusiasm befitting her stature before turning back as I remotely locking the car and hustled behind her.

Her energy always impressed me. The rain continued to fall in slow, fat drops, matching my growing somnolence. The past couple of days had thrown so many meetings and decisions at me that my mind scrambled. I might need some more coffee before sousing myself with wine. I met Taryn’s crystal blue eyes, and a tiny jolt in my solar plexus propelled me forward.

To be honest, I hadn’t been that stressed about the wedding. All I cared about was being married. The getting married part didn’t matter much to me—except that I knew Taryn had a picture in her head of the perfect wedding day.

The vision had been with her since she’d run through the dusty fields of farmland where she grew up in southwestern Oklahoma. Thus, the venue, the decorations, the ceremony, and the enjoyment of each guest were paramount to her. Taryn’s stress bloomed as we moved into the New Year without every detail beaten into submission.

For me, this weekend was about eliminating my fiancée’s freak out factor and getting her to relax. I followed Taryn through the door and saw a pert, older woman advancing toward us, her shoes thumping on the dark, well-worn hardwood floors.

“Welcome to Strasbourg Winery. You must be the woman I spoke to on the phone.” The attendant shook Taryn’s hand and smiled at me. “You look just like you sounded. Cute as a button! I’m Marina Roberts. I handle our tastings and tours.”

Marina led us into the tasting room and set up our first flight.

I swirled the wine in the glass, more mimicking Marina than knowing what I was doing. I’d done tastings before—mostly with Taryn, who loved any and all things wine. Having our wedding in Napa was practically a given. I didn’t mind.

I had family in Sacramento, friends in Silicon Valley, and no one minded a visit to wine country. I brought the glass of golden liquid to my nose to sniff and comment just as my phone buzzed on my hip. I took a swallow of wine, and it buzzed again. I looked at the screen.

“It’s the lawyer.” I apologized and stepped away from the tasting bar.

I hoped Harold had good news. The only fly in the ointment of starting our life together was the sum of my past mistakes. Not that my daughter was a mistake, but her mother certainly had been one. I made a point never to say as much to Olivia. I told her that her mother was sick. Too sick to visit. Too sick to call. But not too sick to love her.

As she got older, it was getting harder to explain where her mother was. I once thought I’d tell her Shannon was dead. For all the good Shannon did Olivia, the d**g addict might as well be. But she wasn’t, and I didn’t want to lie. She’d pulled a disappearing act before Olivia was even eighteen months old.

My former wife had popped up once since and only because I tracked her down to serve her with divorce and custody papers. What I hadn’t asked for was for Shannon to give up Olivia altogether.

Now, that’s precisely what I wanted.

Before Taryn could adopt, Shannon had to terminate her parental rights. Practically speaking, it made sense for Taryn to have formal responsibility for Olivia after the wedding. My mother helped me out, picking Olivia up from school whenever I couldn’t and staying with her until I got home from work. But, a grandmother isn’t a mother. Taryn would be there every day and was already taking over as a mother figure.

I didn’t want the adoption merely for practicality though. My daughter deserved a real family. Being a single father often filled me with guilt about the ways I couldn’t be all I needed to be for Olivia.

What did I know about being a little girl? I did my best, but my daughter lacked the skills and knowledge only a woman could teach her. When I thought “feminine,” I thought putting bows in her hair and buying her pink clothes. Eventually, throwing random markers of girldom at her wouldn’t be enough. Olivia would need a woman’s advice and influence.

So a few months after I proposed, my attorney and I discussed what I needed to do to terminate Shannon’s parental rights and open the door for a formal adoption. It wouldn’t be easy. On one hand, Shannon had abandoned Olivia and shown no interest. For the first couple of years after she left, I tried to keep track of her, but it was nearly impossible.

As a foster child, Shannon had no contact with biological relatives. Her troubled teen years caused her to wear out her welcome with her foster family. She never had any mooring in the northeast suburb of Richardson, where we finished high school, and once she left, there was no reason for her to return. I didn’t even know where she was.

The last time I found her, she was living in Houston with four other questionable characters in what amounted to a filthy d**g den. I only found her because her name was on the lease. Now, even that modicum of stability was long gone.

My lawyer and I debated what we’d do when we found her. I wanted to just go to court and have her declared unfit. The attorney thought it best to stay out of court if possible. She might give up her rights voluntarily in exchange for escaping child support obligations. But just contacting her might open up a can of worms. The decision wore on me. Another reminder of how immature I’d been to fall for the free-spirited and reckless girl Shannon had been—and likely still was.

I sighed. “Harold? Any news?”

“Some. My investigator Rick found a possible address for Shannon. It turns out she’s been using another name. Instead of Clifton, we’ve found a record of a Shannon Nelson using her Social. We thought maybe she was married in another state, but we searched. There’s no marriage license. However, she has presented herself as being married to a guy named Wayne Nelson. We got a current hit for Shannon Nelson in Mineola.”

“That’s not far.”

“No. It isn’t. Rick is going out there tomorrow to confirm her identity. Shannon Nelson works as a sales clerk at the local Wal-Mart. We’ll check her job and the address we have for her.”

“She’s working. That’s new.”

“Yes. Appears she’s worked at the Wal-Mart for a little over six months.”

“What do you think? This sounds like it’s probably her. Do you still think we should approach her about signing the papers?”

“I know you’re hesitant, but that’s the best way to go. Involving the courts can be a crap shoot. While you think it’s clear that she’s unfit and has abandoned Olivia, judges loathe to terminate a parent’s rights. If she’s steadily employed, that’s a point in her favor. She has been arrested within the past year on d**g offenses, but she completed a ninety-day, court-ordered d**g program. The first time she’s completed one without reoffending.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Taryn. The petite blonde tipped her glass forward, looking at the color and legs of the wine. Taryn had class and culture and regular employment for much longer than six months. She’d never needed rehab. Taryn was the steady female influence Olivia needed.

Maybe Shannon was finally getting her life in order. I hoped so. I never wanted anything bad to happen to my ex-wife. Nothing more than had already happened to her when she lived in abusive home after abusive home growing up. Her parents failed her, as did numerous foster parents who took in kids for the state money.

By the time she’d landed in a good home, she hadn’t known how to manage being somewhere safe and secure. Good people were foreign to her. Always were. She kept testing the limits of people’s goodness.

“What about this quasi-husband? Who is he?”

“He’s trouble is what he is. Rap sheet as long as the Trinity River, but deeper. Pretty serious stuff. Assaults, burglaries, robberies, domestics, s****l misconducts. The list goes on and on. His record indicates some ties to white supremacy as well, but that might be associations during his stints in prison. If he’s in the picture, it’s not a good thing.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, shaking my head. “I don’t want anyone like that anywhere near my family, Harold. Should we file papers on the child support or what?”

“No. I say we don’t file anything yet. Let Rick do his thing. He can look around and get a sense of where she is in her life before we decide what to do. But I would suggest we move fairly quickly. You don’t want this to drag on. With your company close to being sold, you’ll want to get her agreement before the news hits the papers. You don’t want your windfall to muddy the waters.”

I chuckled. Windfall? My partners and I had worked like demons the past few years to build our mobile application platform, demonstrating new applications and attracting investment. The deals we had in the works weren’t serendipitous.

I earned the success I’d found, and now, we were on the precipice of selling the business either to one of the country’s largest tech firms or a private equity firm. Whichever bidder we chose, it would mean millions of dollars for each of the principal partners.

My neck and shoulders tightened. I glanced over at Taryn, who looked back with concern.

“Look, Harold. I’ve got to go. I’m at a winery, and Taryn is giving me the eye. We’re supposed to be having a relaxing afternoon.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know what we’ve found.”

“No. It’s not a problem. I’m glad you called. I’ll think things over. Let me know if you find out anything else,” I commanded. “I appreciate all you’ve done, really.”

“I know, son. And listen, we’ll get this straightened out. There’s no way Shannon is in a position to win a court battle. It’s just better for everyone to avoid that kind of aggravation. Trust me.”

Harold’s advice was likely correct, and I thanked him again before saying goodbye. Rejoining Taryn at the tasting counter, I faced her anxious eyes.

“What’s going on? Something going on with the sale?”

“No. Not the sale. That was Harold. He has a lead on Shannon.” I braced for Taryn’s response. Talking about Shannon tended to make her hyper.

“Did he find her? So where is she this time? Is she out of jail? I thought the last you’d heard she was in jail. I mean, I guess, that was a couple of years ago.” Taryn put her glass down and leaned forward in her seat. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about it. You can fill me in later. I’m having too good a day to talk about that woman.”

Happy to oblige her with a change of subject, I sat down and waved Marina over for the next wine sample.

“Can we taste some champagne? My fiancée loves champagne.”

“Of course, sir. We have a beautiful selection of sparkling wines. These four are available for tasting.” The tasting room host slid over a menu.

“Let’s do the flight and try them all,” I suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Taryn agreed.