Little Mercies (19 page)

“That’s okay. Nothing I can’t reschedule,” Joe says charitably. We both know this isn’t true. Since his divorce Joe does two things—work and sleep. He has gained a little weight, his skin has the unhealthy pallor of someone who doesn’t get outside or exercise as much as he needs to, but still he has a sweet, boyish face.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she dies,” I blurt out. “I don’t think I could live through it,” I say numbly.

“She’s not going to die,” Joe says.

“You don’t know that,” I say, wishing with all my heart that he did know. “What am I going to do?” I ask him helplessly. “What will I do if Avery dies?”

Chapter 30

J
enny collapsed onto the front porch with the deep satisfaction that only children seem to appreciate after completely and utterly throwing themselves into an activity. Jenny’s French braid was completely unraveled and her hair lay in sweaty strands against her face and neck. Lucas and Leah stumbled to the porch, equally exhausted, but for the first time since Avery’s medical crisis, they were happy. Maudene joined them outside carrying a tray of tall frosty glasses filled with lemonade. Jenny couldn’t remember anything tasting so good sliding down her throat. She almost forgot, for a moment, that she would be leaving soon to find her mother, and her stomach flipped with something she couldn’t find a name for.

“It’s nine-thirty,” Maudene exclaimed. “Time to come inside before we all get eaten up by the mosquitoes.”

“I move too fast for mosquitoes to catch me,” Lucas explained. “Can’t we play some more?”

“Tomorrow’s another day,” Maudene promised, and to Jenny’s surprise Jenny and Leah exchanged knowing glances.
Tomorrow is not always another day. It’s not fair
. “Come on, kiddos,” Maudene cajoled. “Head on inside and shower up.”

“But you promised me you would make Dolly and me friends,” Jenny said, trying to buy time.

“I did, now, didn’t I,” Maudene agreed. “Here, girl.” Dolly got to her feet and stood expectantly in front of Maudene. “Sit.” Dolly sat. “Shake.” Dolly raised one black-and-brown-speckled paw. “Now take her paw,” Maudene said to Jenny. Jenny looked uncertain. “Go ahead. Take it.” Jenny reluctantly reached for the paw. “There. Now you’re friends.”

Jenny spent the next fifteen minutes shaking Dolly’s paw and rubbing her silky back and when it was time for her turn in the shower, she didn’t rush. She turned the water on as cold as it would go and stood beneath the spray until goose bumps erupted on her skin and her teeth clattered. Then she twisted the knob in the opposite direction and steam billowed around her, turned her skin a rosy pink, fogged the mirror. She wondered if her mother still looked the same, wondered if she still smelled the same. Jenny toweled off, slipped on her pajamas and wrapped her wet head, turban-style in a towel.

Jenny repacked her backpack, arranged her Happy Pancake figurines and the manila envelope carefully beneath her father’s shirt. She counted her money, retrieved twenty dollars to leave on the kitchen counter for Maudene. Thanks for all that she had done for Jenny. Maudene had washed and dried Jenny’s clothes and she buried her nose in her clean t-shirt, breathing in deeply the fresh scent. Maudene had made up a bed for Jenny on the sofa in the television room. It wasn’t quite the same as the white room, which Jenny had firmly affixed in her head as the perfect place to sleep, but it would do. Maudene had slipped a robin-egg-blue fitted sheet over the sofa cushions, covered that with a matching sheet and a yellow blanket as soft as the rabbit’s foot her father had given her. Atop it all was the large feather pillow from the white bedroom. Maudene even set a glass of ice water on the coffee table right next to the sofa.

Jenny slid between the cool sheets, settled her head on the pillow but did not switch off the brass lamp that stood next to the sofa. The weak glow reminded her of the fireflies. In her mind she counted the hours since she got on the bus in Benton. It felt like a thousand, so much had happened since she arrived. As she drifted off to sleep she catalogued all the good things that had happened since finding Maudene: the white room, of course, grocery shopping, the shower, lemonade, the feel of Maudene’s hand on her forehead when she was throwing up, fireflies, roast beef, rhubarb crisp. Jenny sighed. It wouldn’t be easy leaving, but the thought of finding her mother sent a charge of electricity through her. Maybe she could come back and visit. After all, Maudene didn’t live far from the house on Hickory Street. A creak of the floorboard startled her from near sleep; her eyes flew open and her feet hit the floor.

“I just needed to get my book,” Leah announced, scanning the room. “I can’t go to sleep without reading for a while.”

Jenny pointed to a book sitting on a chair across the room.

Leah looked as if she wanted to say something but, instead, stomped across the floor, retrieved her book, then turned on Jenny. “She just let you stay here because you had nowhere to go.
Your
grandma died,
your
dad was in jail, your mom is who knows where.”

“I do too know where my mom is,” Jenny interjected softly.

“My grandma feels sorry for you.” Leah’s voice shook with emotion, tears brimmed in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re leaving soon. She’s
my
grandma, you know, not yours.” She stalked out without waiting for Jenny’s response.

“But she’s my...” Jenny struggled to find the right word. “Maudene,” she said to the empty room.

Chapter 31

A
dam calls and says that Avery is doing better and he’ll meet me downstairs in a little while to give me a full update.

“No more seizures,” I tell Joe when I get off the phone. My knees are weak with relief. “She’s sleeping. Adam is coming down in a few minutes.”

“That’s great news,” Joe says. “I should probably get going, call me if you need anything,” he says, not quite looking me in the eye.

“Thanks for sitting with me.” I walk with him to the lobby doors.

“Anytime. I can come back later and bring something for you to eat. I’m sure you’re tired of this hospital food.”

“That’s all right. I’m going to go over to my mom’s—she always seems to have a feast waiting for me.”

“Your mom doing okay? What’s with the little girl staying with her? Who is she?”

“It’s kind of a mess, and I can’t even believe I’m worrying about this right now, but she’s worried that Jenny’s mother was abusive to her at one time and DHS is looking for her next of kin. Can you do some checking on the mother and into her past?”

Joe looks confused. “Isn’t that what DHS does?”

I shake my head. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s important to my mother.”

“Sure, I’ll check things out. What’s the mom’s name?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t know her name. I know the grandmother’s name, though.”

Joe pulls out a little notebook from his pocket. “Give me what you know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“The little girl’s name is Jenny Briard. She’s from Benton, Nebraska, but her grandmother, Margaret Flanagan, used to live over on Hickory Street. She passed away last year and my mom thinks her daughter, Jenny’s mom, lives there now.”

Joe stops writing and glances up at me. “You’re right, this is complicated, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

I thank him for sitting with me and for being such a good friend. Joe gives me a friendly hug and says he’ll call me in the morning.

I wait in the cafeteria until Adam comes down to find me. “She’s doing better,” he reports.

“Oh, thank God,” I exhale heavily, and I cling to Adam with relief.

“The seizure stopped after just a minute, so they’re going to adjust her medicine, continue with the IV and watch her closely.” Adam rubs his eyes as he explains. When he pulls his hands away, the whites of his eyes are pink and watery. As hard as it is for me to be the absent parent, the one who has to hear of her daughter’s medical crises secondhand, I know it is equally heartbreaking to be the one bearing witness to the seizures, the vomiting, the poking and prodding.

We sit next to each other, share a muffin and talk. I tell him about the reporters at our house and how much the kids miss Avery and him. He tells me that his parents say hi and send their love and will plan on seeing me and the kids tomorrow. They’re staying at a hotel near the hospital. Our eyes begin fluttering shut with exhaustion and I insist that he go back upstairs and into Avery’s room where at least he can lie back in the reclining chair and get some sleep. I promise that I will go back to my mother’s house and check in with him later in the morning.

I try to leave. I really do. I even make it to the parking lot, but I can’t leave. I trudge back into the hospital, find a quiet corner and wait for the sun to rise.

I wake at seven Friday morning still sitting in a chair in an empty waiting area with my purse on my lap, cell phone in hand. The television that hangs from the wall is tuned in to a local television station and, even though the volume is on mute, from the graphics it’s plain to see that there is no relief in sight from the heat. I immediately check my cell phone for a message from Adam. There is none. I think about calling him but resist, hoping that that both he and Avery had a restful night’s sleep. I know my mother, an early riser, will be up and I call her instead. As I wait for her to answer, I stand and stretch, my back aching from my few hours of sleeping upright.

When she picks up, her voice is thick with sleep. “I woke you,” I say apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She stifles a yawn. “We stayed up late chasing fireflies. Avery is still doing okay?”

An image on the television screen catches my eye. I lower the phone from my ear and stand transfixed. It’s a picture of me, the same stock photo from the newspaper article. I yank a chair over to the television, step on to it and press the volume button so I can hear what is being said, my nose nearly touching the screen. A young, pretty reporter is standing in front of the hospital in what looks like a live report. “A local Department of Human Services social worker was arrested for Child Endangerment Resulting in Grievous Bodily Harm. On Tuesday morning, Ellen Moore’s daughter was rushed to a local hospital for hyperthermia, or heatstroke, the result of being left in a locked car for an extended amount of time. Temperatures soared to over ninety-five degrees on Tuesday and temperatures continue to climb. The child remains in the Cedar City Hospital. Her condition isn’t being shared publically at this time.”

The camera cuts to the newscasters who are seated behind a large kidney-shaped desk looking duly serious. “What can you tell us about the legal challenges this mother faces, Lindsey?” a woman with a stiff brown bob asks.

Lindsey nods before speaking. “Right now, Ellen Moore surrendered to law enforcement officials yesterday and made her initial court appearance where she posted a ten-thousand-dollar bond and was released. Her next court appearance is slated for mid-August.”

“Thank you, Lindsey. This is a story that we’ll continue to watch very carefully throughout the day.”

“That’s right, Jamie. In fact, in our next half hour, I’ll be talking with a parent who had dealings with Moore through her work as a social worker. This mother calls into question not only Moore’s personal judgment, but her professional record as an employee of the Department of Human Services, as well.”

“We look forward to that report.” Brown bob nods at the camera. “Now we go to health reporter, Darren Scott, who will share tips with us about how to stay cool when temperatures soar.”

I step blindly off the chair and the weight of the day that lies before me sits heavily on my chest. I realize that my phone is still open at my side and the disembodied voice of my mother is calling out to me. I numbly return the phone to my ear. “Ellen, Ellen,” my mother repeats. “Are you okay? Are you still there? Talk to me!”

“Yes, everything is okay. Avery is okay,” I say. “I’m just...” I’m so many things I think to myself,
guilt-ridden, scared, angry, sad.
“Tired,” I finally settle upon.

“Come home,” my mother urges me. “Come home and see Leah and Lucas, take a shower, eat something. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m worried about Adam,” I tell her. “He’s exhausted, he hasn’t been home in days. I know he’s not eating well. I wish he could go home and just sleep for eight hours. It would do him a world of good.”

“I’ll come up,” she immediately offers. “He can come here and spend time with the kids, with you. I will stay with Avery as long as you need me to.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll tell him. His folks are in town and they’re helping, too.”

We disconnect and I immediately call Adam to check on how the rest of Avery’s night went. There is no answer, which is no surprise, since cell phones need to remain off in the unit. I leave him a lengthy message about my mother’s offer to relieve him and how Leah and Lucas would love to see him for a bit. I leave out the piece about him needing to lock himself in a quiet room and take a long nap, but know that he is so exhausted that the minute he finds himself on my mother’s sofa he will fall asleep. I also omit the information about the newscast—I don’t want him worrying about that, too.

I debate whether or not I should just leave for my mother’s right now to give Lucas and Leah a hug, to shower and change my clothes, but then realize that in a few minutes, right in front of the hospital, near to where I parked last night in my desperation to find out what was happening with Avery, a television interview is going to occur. For me to get to my truck I will have to pass right by a reporter and a vengeful former client of mine who wants the world to know that a woman who would leave her child in a hot car certainly should not pass judgment on others. My attorney, Ted Vitolo, advised me to decline any requests for interviews, to avoid the press at all costs, to discuss what happened with no one except my husband and mother and they should, under no circumstances, speak with the press, either. He says that even those with my best interests in mind may make a slip of the tongue, do irreparable damage to my case.

I consider my options. I could call a cab to take me to my mother’s, could call a friend, could walk the three miles to her home; the fresh air, the exercise would do me good. I call Joe. He says he’ll be here in twenty minutes. He will come and get me and then I can thank him again for being there for me last night, for trying to make me feel better. My mother will feed him a real home-cooked breakfast, something that he hasn’t had in years.

My phone vibrates and I see that it’s Adam. “Avery’s night went well,” he says. “She ate some applesauce this morning,” he declares proudly.

“That’s great,” I exclaim. Each step forward is a milestone.

“Are the kids there?” he asks, and I realize that he thinks I went home after he left me in the cafeteria.

“I’m still here.”

“What?”

“I fell asleep in the lobby.”

“Oh, El, you’ve got to get some rest. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“We’re both tired,” I say. “Will you come to my mom’s? She says she will sit with Avery for a while. It will give you a chance to visit with your mom and dad and see Lucas and Leah.” But what I really mean is that I need my husband there with me, holding my hand, telling me that no matter what happens he loves me, he’ll be there for me.

“Later. I’ll come later. Once my parents get here and are settled in,” he says. “Love you, El.”

“Love you, too,” I say, and hang up.

I contemplate finding another television in order to watch exactly what this person being interviewed has to say about me. How my situation compares to hers. How my actions two days ago impact in any way what she chose to subject her children to. My heart thumps loudly in my chest telling me I’m better off not watching the interview.

Joe has agreed to meet me once again by the cafeteria. He said he wanted to bring Avery a little something and stop by her hospital room. My kids love Joe. He loves to ply them with sugar-infused gum and sodas, rile them up and then conveniently take his leave. I don’t complain too loudly though. He and his ex-wife never had children and I know he laments the fact that he may never become a father. I tell him he’s still young, the right girl will come along. He just shakes his head and changes the subject.

I’m pacing the hall just outside the cafeteria when I see Adam’s parents swiftly approaching. “Ellen,” says Adam’s mother, Theresa, drawing me into a tight embrace. “How are you doing?” she asks when she finally releases me.

“I’m okay. Thank you so much for coming,” I tell her as Adam’s father, Hank, kisses me on the cheek in greeting.

“Adam says Avery is doing better this morning,” Hank says cheerfully. “We’re hoping they’ll let us see her...” He trails off apologetically. “It’s crazy that they won’t let you be with her,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief, a gesture that reminds me of Adam.

Before I can reassure them that I’d be thrilled if the hospital personnel let them visit Avery, I see a familiar figure stalking purposefully down the hospital corridor. The woman’s face is twisted into a bitter snarl and it isn’t until she is right in front of me that I recognize her. Lucy Pike.

Hank and Theresa step back in confusion, not sure if they should be alarmed at the sudden appearance of this angry woman.

“How does it feel?” Lucy snarls. “How does it feel to have your kids taken away?”

“Lucy,” I say, trying to keep my voice even and calm. “This isn’t the place...” Before I can finish my thought she hunches her shoulders and throws herself into me. It doesn’t hurt, more like knocks the wind out of me. I stumble and my shoulder strikes a wall. “Bitch,” Lucy growls as I cover my head with my arms to ward off the attack. “I hope they send you to jail! I hope you never see your kids again.”

Hank pulls Theresa out of harm’s way and I briefly see their shocked faces in between Lucy’s blows.

Two men, one in scrubs, the other in street clothes, peel Lucy off me. I touch my fingers to my face. Already my lip is swollen, my nose bleeding.

“Bitch!” she screams again. “You think you can take my kids away from me? You think you’re above the law?”

Lucy is twenty-four years old but looks seventeen. She has long wheat-colored hair, stands about four-nine, weighs ninety pounds, if that. She also has sweet elfin features, a small upturned nose, high cheekbones, big blue eyes, the mouth of a sailor and an addiction to prescription pain medications. Lucy is the single mother of a five-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl that she lost custody of three months ago when, high on drugs, she set her own apartment on fire, severely burning one of the children. Obviously, the children were put into foster care.

Her face is contorted and red with rage. “You think you’re better than me?”

I say nothing though I could say so much. What I don’t say is:
Yes, Lucy, I made a terrible mistake, a mistake I will never, ever forgive myself for.
I bite my swollen lip to keep from speaking, but my shoulders sag with the realization that maybe I am not so different from the Lucy Pikes of the world.

“I hope they send your ass to jail. I hope your kids get put in foster care and you never see them again! See how it feels!” She is struggling against the arms that are holding her back from attacking me again. Her hair is greasy, her skin waxy and pale. Lucy was tiny to begin with but has somehow lost more weight. It’s clear that she is self-medicating again, this time with something that doesn’t dull her senses like hydrocodone. I suspect meth or heroin.

The two men restraining Lucy let her go and just as quickly as she appeared, she is gone. Theresa gently presses a wad of tissues to my face. “Are you okay?”