Just Mercy: A Novel (15 page)

TWENTY-SIX

By midafternoon Bernadette was back in Austin, bereft and empty-handed, feeling as stuck and motionless as the blistering Texas air. She exited the freeway but instead of going home found herself at Central Market, clinging to a flickering hope that being there might help her figure out what to do. The smell of hot peppers on a grill out front made her tongue water and her eyes run. That and a sign announcing the annual arrival of New Mexico’s prized pepper crop inspired her to make an apple-jicama salad with Hatch Chile dressing for dinner. She told herself this was a good sign that new ideas were coming to her already.

Cool, almost frigid, air blasted into her face as she pushed her shopping cart into the market’s sprawling produce section. She shivered as she wandered from bin to bin, checking out one piece of fruit after another, all the while urging herself to be open to new possibilities: a new recipe, a solution that had eluded her. An imperfect piece of fruit or vegetable at Central Market was as rare as finding a needle in a haystack, so when she spotted an apple with a small black blemish on it, she felt strangely compelled to place it in her cart. The luscious smell of organic peaches in the next bin brought with it an image of two-and-a-half-year-old Veronica, standing on a chair with juicy, sweet syrup running down her chin, her tiny fingers oozing with warm peaches from a pie that had been cooling on the kitchen counter. Bernadette brushed a tear from her cheek and placed two perfect peaches in her cart.

“How about a hug for your old buddy?”

Bernadette would have recognized that Texas drawl anywhere. Clarissa hadn’t changed one bit in the almost ten years since she’d last seen her. Her peroxide-blonde pageboy was still perfect, her skin still wrinkle-free, and her cheeks still a natural blush. What a contrast the two of them made. Even though they were the same age, Clarissa didn’t look a day over forty-five in skintight blue jeans and a brightly embroidered Mexican-style blouse, while Bernadette looked every bit her sixty years in sensible wash-and-wear slacks with an elastic waistband to accommodate her thick midsection.

“Good lord… it’s been… well, you know.” Bernadette’s eyes welled with tears as she reached out to hug her old friend.

“I know what it’s been, girl,” Clarissa said. “It’s been way too long, that’s what it’s been. I’ll meet you over in the café for coffee, and I will not be taking no for an answer. First one there grabs a table.”

“And we both know who that will be,” Bernadette said with a laugh.

***

Even though the Central Market café was crowded, as usual, Bernadette was still able to secure the table back in the corner that used to be their favorite spot. She left the cloth shopping bag that contained everything she needed for dinner—a plump organic chicken, a large jicama, some hot peppers and apples for the salad, and the two peaches for dessert—on the chair while she went to get something to eat.

After returning to the table with a cup of coffee and piece of chocolate cheesecake, she tried to keep her imagination in check while she waited for Clarissa. She told herself that not finding Maxine Blackwell at any of the hospitals or funeral homes had to be good news, that if she went back to Killeen tomorrow or the next day, she would find her back at home. But what if she didn’t? What if she never found her? How could she hope to find out what happened to Rae’s siblings without her?

“I know, I know, late as usual.” Clarissa pushed a shopping cart up to the table with one hand while balancing her tray with the other.

Bernadette glanced at the pile of plastic grocery bags in her friend’s cart and the cup of tortilla soup, the Southwestern chicken Caesar wrap, and the sweet-potato pie on her tray; she guessed some people must just be born with the skinny gene.

“So what are you sitting here thinking on so hard?“ Clarissa said. “You and me got a lot of catching up to do. So start talking, girl.”

Clarissa had never been one for idle chitchat. She laughed now, the same throaty laugh Bernadette had been drawn to when the two of them bumped into each other at the crowded Pecan Street Festival way back when she and Marty first moved to Austin. It hadn’t been long before the two of them were sharing confidences as if they’d known each other all their lives.

Now, just as then, once Bernadette started talking, she couldn’t stop. She told Clarissa everything: how she had died inside when Veronica was murdered—how hard it had been to work with Regis but how he had helped her move through her grief like no priest ever could, that was for sure—her first confrontation with Raelynn Blackwell—how the aborted execution shattered her trust and how it was restored when she met with Raelynn the second time—Marty’s cancer, which, thank God, wasn’t serious and he was going to be fine—how Annamaria was trapped in her own anger and rage while Fin had a polyannish notion that somehow it was still possible to get Rae’s death sentence commuted—how she found Rae’s mother, Maxine, a few days ago but she was nowhere to be found this morning, and how she hoped the poor thing was okay but now she was stuck and didn’t know what to do next.

Clarissa didn’t say anything, which was not like her at all; she just nodded and looked sympathetic. At times, she got teary-eyed. At other times, her eyes got really big, especially when Bernadette told her about her quest to find out what happened to Rae’s siblings.

“You
what
?” she said. “I just gotta say, honey, no one else on this entire planet would go out of their way like that for the murderer of their child.”

“I have to do what’s right, that’s all,” Bernadette said.

Clarissa plopped back in her chair with a belly laugh. “Please be my friend again, Bernie. I need a saint in my life, heaven knows.”

“Your friend, yes, but a saint, no.” Bernadette laughed along with her but then turned serious. “Sometimes I still want her to pay for what she did. Other times, well, other times I’m not sure.”

“So why help her? What’s that about?”

Bernadette looked down at her hands, unable to even try to explain. “Good lord,” she said, “where are my manners? Tell me about you. What are you doing these days? Are you and Hal still together?”

“I broke up with that boy a few years back, or maybe he broke up with me. Whatever. No way that dog was going to hunt, nohow. I’m still working at the bank, putting in my time until Social Security clicks in so I can live the life of leisure I was meant to live. My love life’s another kettle of fish. I’m built for living alone, but everyone needs a little roll in the hay once in a while, don’t you think, and half a loaf is better than none, as they say. Genealogy’s my big thing these days. I tell you, girl, digging into your family ancestry makes you think you’re related to everyone in the entire universe. You wouldn’t believe what I’m finding. Some people you’re connected to, I tell you, you don’t want to know. Oh, yes, and I’m fixing to trade in my old clunker soon and buy me a new car. I’ll get around to it one of these days. Yup, that’s me in a nutshell. So why are you sitting there looking so anxious?”

“What do I do if I can’t find Maxine Blackwell?”

“Maybe you could ask your old adoption worker for advice.”

That was it. That was the answer. Bernadette leaped from her chair, cupped Clarissa’s cheeks in her palms, and kissed each one in turn.

“You’re a genius, Clar,” she said, “an absolute genius. I’m on it.”

“Like smell on skunk,” she heard Clarissa say as she hurried away.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Talk about missing the obvious even when it’s right in your face, forest for the trees and all that
, Bernadette thought as she rushed away from Central Market. She headed north on MoPac without paying any attention to the speed limit, without giving a thought to how out of character that was for her. Her car squealed onto the freeway and from there seemed to know the way by itself as it turned onto Wells Branch Parkway and then onto Summit Drive. She found a parking space right in front of the Travis County Health and Human Services Department building and ran toward the entrance, pushing against the stream of staff and clients going in the opposite direction. She reached the main intake area just as the receptionist was turning off her computer for the day.

“I need to see Mary Jane Crenshaw,” Bernadette said, out of breath.

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re closed.”

Bernadette frowned and pointed to the clock on the wall. “In five minutes,” she said. “Is Mary Jane here?”

The receptionist’s nails bobbed up and down like ripe red tomatoes on the ends of her arthritically misshapen fingers as she patted her puffed up and obviously dyed black hair as if she was considering whether or not to answer the question.

“Please.” Bernadette would have gotten down on her knees if she’d had to. “It’s important.”

With a roll of her eyes, the receptionist picked up the phone. “There’s someone here to see Mary Jane. Just a minute.” She paused and held her hand over the phone. “And you are?”

“Mrs. Baker. Bernadette.” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet as the receptionist repeated her name into the phone.

“Please, tell her all I need is one minute. That’s all. Just one minute.”

The receptionist mumbled something into the phone that Bernadette couldn’t hear. Then she hung up with a disconcerting nonchalance, locked her desk drawer, and dropped the key into a bulky leather purse draped over her bony shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

“What?”

“I don’t want to say anything, ma’am.”

“Will she see me or not?”

“Maybe you can catch her on her way out,” the receptionist said with a shrug.

Bernadette wondered if Mary Jane had refused to see her. Maybe she didn’t even remember who she was. And it was, after all, the end of a long day, so she would be tired. Bernadette turned to leave, thinking it might be best to come back first thing in the morning.

“Hello? Bernadette?”

Mary Jane Crenshaw’s hair was white now, a perfect match for her stylish linen suit. Her blouse, a pale pink, was the same color as the one she wore twenty-six years ago when she placed Veronica in Bernadette’s arms for the first time. How pink everything had been that day: Veronica’s scrunched up face—those tiny fists, fingers, and fingernails—miniature feet and toes—the soft blanket—Mary Jane’s pink lipstick and rouge, a perfect match with her blouse. Even the clouds in the sky had been tinged with pink.

She gripped Mary Jane’s hand. “I have something to ask you,” she said. “It’s important.”

Mary Jane Crenshaw’s face blanched. She glanced down at the floor, and when she looked back up, her eyebrows were knit together in a tight worry frown and she was biting at her bottom lip.

“Please.”

Mary Jane tipped her head, a gesture so tentative as to be almost imperceptible. Bernadette chose to accept it as an invitation to come with her.

They walked in silence down the familiar hallway, its institutional gray walls covered with black-and-white glossy pictures of smiling children. Bernadette’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered the last time she and Marty were here. At the end of the long hall, a plaque on the door said Adoptions Supervisor. So, Mary Jane Crenshaw had been promoted, which meant she was in a perfect position to help. Her bright, sunny office was meticulous and efficient, further confirmation to Bernadette that she had come to the right place.

They sat down at a round table with a bamboo plant in the middle. When Mary Jane pushed the plant to the side, her hands shook so hard that the vase filled with water and stones almost slipped onto the floor. Bernadette glanced at the stack of boxes in the corner.

“Friday is my last day.”

“But you don’t…” Bernadette stopped, thinking it might be rude to ask why Mary Jane was leaving. She wasn’t old enough to retire, so maybe she was going to a new job. Or maybe she was ill.

After an awkward silence, Mary Jane said, “I feel horrible about Veronica.” Her face crumbled as she spoke, and her voice quivered. “I didn’t know how to… what to tell you.”

“There was nothing you could have said that would have helped back then,” Bernadette said. “But you can help me now. I have to find out what happened to the siblings of the woman who killed Veronica.”

Mary Jane’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, then closed. She looked frightened.

“It’s a long story, but I think you’ll understand once you hear it,” Bernadette said, wanting to reassure her.

When Mary Jane neither encouraged nor discouraged her, Bernadette launched into her story, going into much more detail than she’d intended about what it had been like for her, how she’d found Regis, what it had been like to work with him.

“And then, when I met Raelynn Blackwell,” she said, “I felt sorry for her.”

Mary Jane’s eyes opened wider.

“It surprised me, too,” Bernadette said. “ I was convinced she had conned me, but it turns out she was telling the truth. And there was something about her. I don’t know what it was.”

Mary Jane’s cheeks reddened. She covered her mouth with her hand, but a gasp or a muffled moan—Bernadette couldn’t tell which—escaped nonetheless.

“I know, it amazed me, too,” she said. “I’m sure that’s why I felt I had to help her find her mother.” She went on to describe her visit with Maxine Blackwell and how she was unable to convince her to go see her daughter. As she spoke, Mary Jane seemed to regain some of her composure.

When Bernadette said, “I guess I felt sorry for her mother, too,” she interpreted Mary Jane’s frown as disapproval. “I know she wasn’t a good mother, but she’s still a mother. Here are her children’s birthdates.” She slid the letter and form containing Maxine Blackwell’s request for information about her children across the table. “There was a baby boy, too, that she gave up at birth.”

“These aren’t signed,” Mary Jane said, after a quick glance at the documents. “They need to be signed.” She shoved them back across the table. She looked as if she was about to faint.

“That’s the problem,” Bernadette said. “You see, Maxine Blackwell is very sick. And there’s not enough time left.”

Mary Jane Crenshaw expelled a long breath through her open mouth. “What if things didn’t turn out well?” she asked. “What if you found out something you’d rather not know?”

“I have to find out. It’s for Rae.”

In the silence that followed, Mary Jane stared out the window with an anguished look on her face. Then, with a quick nod of her head, she said, “Come back in a couple of days.”

“I knew you’d help.”

“I’m not promising anything, okay?”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Mary Jane.”

“I feel horrible about what happened to Veronica.”

“I know. I know you do.”