We'll build a house of driftwood and keep it simple 'cause simple is good

Part III: 2011-2012

She turns the pink message slip over in her hand. "Are you sure?"

"She spelled it and everything." Her secretary shrugs.

Debra props her feet on her briefcase, adjusts her reading glasses and dials the number. "This is Debra Cunningham. I'm returning your call."

"Debra - Jarvis?"

"Yes, but I haven't been Jarvis in thirty years. Cunningham's my married name."

"Oh. It's Addison Montgomery," she says, unnecessarily. "Thank you for getting back to me."

"Addison. It's - it's been a long time." Quite an understatement, but what do you say to someone after almost forty years? What if it's someone you used to bathe, and feed? And comfort? Love? "How are you?" she asks.

"I'm fine," Addison responds briskly.

"I saw your mother's obituary in the Times, and - I'm very sorry for your loss, Addison."

"Oh. Thank you. That actually wasn't why I was - but it was kind of you to write. My brother and I appreciated it."

"Of course."

It's remarkable, Debra thinks, that she can still recognize this strong-voiced woman as a product of her younger self. Not that she doesn't sound like a competent, professional doctor - a surgeon, Debra knows, and a highly successful one at that - but she can hear a hint of the anxious five-year-old underneath.

Are you happy? She wishes she could ask. Are you loved?

"I called you because - well, I saw your name on a website. I've read about your firm. Your specialty."

"Oh?"

"You said you wanted to be a lawyer to help people."

"You remember that?" she asks, surprised.

"Yes. And I - I guess I was hoping you could help me."

"Whatever I can do," Debra says immediately.

She's there when they bring the wide-eyed bundle off the plane and place her in her mother's arms for the first time. Debra had been planning to retire in two years but she questions it, again, as she watches the airport reunion. She's handled scores of single-parent adoptions, but this one's special. As usual, of course, no one's eyes stay dry.

Addison invites her to the homecoming party a few months later, once she's had time to settle in, and with Sean's blessing Debra takes a few days and flies out to the west coast. Their youngest, Patrick, is in school at USC so she makes a trip of it.

There's a festive, open quality in the air at the beach house. A huge WELCOME HOME banner. All sorts of people crowd the rooms and spill onto the oceanfront deck.

She doesn't see the Montgomery men, but there's a tall man with a strong, bearded jawline who proffers a baby-sized Yankees cap, jokes with an attractive black couple, their teenager and another baby. There's a lanky gentleman with greying dark curls who she thinks at first glance might be the bridegroom from the Times announcement, with another woman around Addison's age, but he introduces himself as a lawyer and they talk shop for a bit. A ringleted woman and her broad-shouldered companion chase a sandy-haired toddler along the deck. And there's a petite blonde with a slight, but noticeable, pregnancy bump, on the arm of someone who tells Debra he's the baby's pediatrician. And many others.

It's happy, relaxed and noisy, the house filled with sunshine and excited voices.

"This is awesome," grins a brunette in a tee-shirt emblazoned with KICKASS AUNT, as she passes out pink bubblegum cigars and plastic glasses of champagne.

"I'm thrilled for you," Debra says when she finally gets an audience with Addison, who's been whirling from guest to guest, vanishing every once in a while with her daughter to change diapers or soothe fusses.

Addison's eyes are soft, lit up against her simple white shirt. Debra observes that the child she once carried effortlessly is now a predictably statuesque woman, half a head taller than her former nanny.

"You look - this is - well, this is the best part of the job, Addie."

"Thank you," Addison says quietly. "Thank you for everything." She bounces the baby lightly on her hip.

"Bea," she says to her daughter. "This is Debbie, Mommy's...Mommy's friend."

"Hi there, sweetie," Debra coos.

The baby grabs for Debra's glasses and they both chuckle.

"Do you want to hold her?"

"I'd love to."

Debra, a grandmother twice over now, cradles the plump warmth of the baby, admiring her shining cap of dark hair and round pink cheeks. "She's precious."

The child screws her face up slightly with the beginning of tears, reaches for Addison and Debra hands her back.

Addison cradles the little girl in her arms, kisses the top of her head, and the child stops whimpering instantly, smiling up at her. Addison beams down at her daughter, her sea-green eyes shining.

As Debra watches them, a small knot buried deep in her stomach nearly forty years - one she didn't even realize she still carried - melts at last.

She's happy. She's loved.

Author's Note: If you've come this far, thank you for reading. Ry Cuming's moody, haunting song was played on last week's Private Practice, when Addison got the results of her pregnancy test (which was when I decided Addison needed this story). If you haven't listened to the whole song, I highly recommend it.