Little Mercies

  Chapter 16

  Jenny counted blocks as she walked. One. What would her grandmother say when she opened the door and saw her on the front step? She would be surprised, that was for sure. But would she be happy? Jenny thought of the birthday card nestled in her backpack. Yes, Jenny was certain. Her grandma would be happy.

  Two, three blocks. Seven more to go. Jenny picked up her pace, anticipation propelling her forward. Four, five, six. What if her grandmother had moved away? What if no one answered the door? What would Jenny do then? She wasn’t sure if she could find her way back to Maudene’s house or if she even wanted to. The threat of calling a social worker scared Jenny more than wandering the streets of Cedar City. There was no way she was going to go into foster care.

  Seven, eight blocks. Only two more. Despite the heat, Jenny started to run. Two more blocks and she could be at her grandmother’s house. Someone who had to love her because they were related. Jenny quickly pushed away the thought of her mother. Being related hadn’t mattered much to her. Breathing heavily, Jenny slowed as the green street sign announcing Hickory Street came into view. Jenny wasn’t sure which way to turn. Left or right. She pulled the lavender envelope from her bag, now smudged with sweat and dirt, and committed the address to memory—2574 Hickory Street. Left, she decided. One-thirteen, was scrolled in black letters on the first house she passed, then 111, 109, 107.

  With a sinking heart Jenny realized that she was moving in the wrong direction. And even though she wasn’t very good at math, Jenny understood that it would take a long time to walk from 107 Hickory all the way to 2574. With sagging shoulders, Jenny turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

  Twenty minutes later, Jenny could feel her scalp burning as the afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on top of her head. Knowing that she was already sunburned, Jenny stepped into the slightly cooler shade beneath an enormous oak tree and pulled out a plastic bottle half-filled with tepid water and restrained herself by taking just one drink. Jenny gnawed on her thumbnail as, once again, doubts began to swirl around her head. What would happen if her grandmother no longer lived on Hickory Street? With a sniffle, Jenny hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and stepped out from the leafy branches, squinting into the unyielding sunshine as a familiar round car pulled up next to the curb. Three faces stared out at her from inside the car.

  Maudene rolled down her window and Jenny cringed slightly, awaiting the angry admonishment she expected to follow. Maudene looked kindly at her as her two grandchildren eyed her suspiciously. “At least let me take you to wherever you’re going.”

  “My grandma’s,” Jenny said in a tremulous voice. Saying it out loud to Maudene made it seem even more real, even more possible. Through the window, Jenny handed Maudene the envelope with her grandmother’s address.

  “It’s going to be a tight fit,” Maudene told Jenny as she squeezed into the back of the car with a boy who looked a few years younger than she.

  “This is Jenny,” Maudene said simply. Jenny cut her eyes toward Maudene, waiting to see what she would say next. “Jenny, these are my grandchildren, Leah and Lucas.”

  “Hi,” Jenny said shyly.

  “I want to go see Avery.” Leah barely glanced Jenny’s way. “When can we see her?”

  “Soon,” Maudene promised. “We have one stop to make and then we’ll head over to my house and call your mom and dad to see how Avery’s doing.”

  They drove in silence. Jenny noticed this about Maudene. She didn’t talk much while she drove. Not like her father who talked the entire time, commenting on everything from how the guy in front of them was driving to the number of potholes that pocked the road. Jenny figured this was Maudene’s thinking time. Connie, her father’s old friend-girl, said that everyone needed time to think. Connie said she liked to think in the shower and that Jenny’s dad preferred to act first, think later. Jenny didn’t think this was a compliment, but Connie smiled when she said it and had kissed her father on the cheek. Jenny didn’t have a special thinking place, but thought it could probably be in a cozy bedroom like Maudene had in her house.

  Jenny’s heart knocked uncomfortably within her rib cage. “Maybe you could go to the door first,” Jenny proposed, her voice shaking, “just to make sure it’s the right house.”

  “I can do that,” Maudene answered, surprising Jenny with a quiver in her own voice. Maudene drove slowly down the busy street and peered at each house number before announcing, “This is 2574, the address on the envelope.” The four of them sat and stared across the street at the house where Jenny’s mother grew up. The yellowed lawn was choked by weeds and was dotted with sprightly lawn decorations: plump garden gnomes, a small family of rabbits, an angel knelt in prayer. Jenny’s shoulders dropped slightly in relief. A person who had an angel outside their home couldn’t be all that bad. The small house was painted white but had grown dingy with age and with the extremes of Iowa weather. The two front windows were girded with green shutters and the window boxes were filled with what appeared to be cheap, brightly colored plastic flowers.

  “Can I come with you?” Lucas asked, reaching for the door handle.

  “You three stay here and wait for me to come and get you, okay?” Maudene said as she reached back and retrieved her large, black leather purse from the floor next to Jenny. Seeing Jenny’s wounded expression, Maudene shook her head and smiled wearily. “I don’t think you are going to steal anything from my purse, Jenny. I might need to show your grandmother some identification so she doesn’t think I’m a crazy lady and call the police.”

  “Oh,” Jenny said, taken aback. She hadn’t thought of that. Maudene took a steadying breath and, with purse in hand, pushed open the car door and tripped to the curb to avoid the traffic whizzing past. Maudene looked left and right, then left and right again, until it was safe to cross the street. Jenny mulled over climbing out of the car and joining Maudene on the curb and grabbing her hand so they could cross safely together. Maudene was still looking from left to right, and just as Jenny was reaching for the door handle to go and cross the street with her, Maudene saw a break in the traffic and scurried across the street. Once safely across, Maudene smiled and waved at Jenny, who waved back. Maudene stood for a moment, staring up at the house then pulled herself up to her full height, shoulders back and carefully picked her way up the crumbling cement steps that led to the front door. She watched, holding her breath as Maudene raised her fist and rapped on the front door. Finally the door opened and a figure stepped into sight. Jenny shielded her eyes, but the sun was so bright she couldn’t tell if the person who answered the door was male or female, young or old. Maudene, with her back to Jenny, appeared to be talking with the figure, but Jenny was much too far away and the traffic was too noisy to hear over.

  Though the car windows were down, the heat was suffocating and Jenny thought about Maudene’s granddaughter who nearly died while sitting in a car. She tried to imagine what that would feel like, closed her eyes, held her breath for as long as she could. She lasted about twenty seconds and then gulped in the hot air greedily. When she opened her eyes, both Leah and Lucas were staring at her as if she was crazy.

  Maudene’s conversation seemed to be taking forever and Jenny thought about climbing out to get a better look at the person standing in the doorway. Maybe it was her grandmother. Maybe she was a grandma who baked cookies and knitted scarves. But maybe she was one of those grandmas who smoked long, thin cigarettes, swore and liked to watch TV all day long. And worst of all, maybe she didn’t want anything to do with a granddaughter who unexpectedly showed up at her house. Before Jenny could make up her mind, Maudene turned and quickly made her way back down the steps. Jenny peered between the fast-moving traffic to try and get a glimpse of the shadow that still stood in the doorway watching Maudene’s retreating back, but with no luck. Had she found her grandmother? Jenny scrutinized Maudene’s face, which wore t
he same look that her father’s did when he realized there was no beer in the fridge or the look that Connie had on her face when she received the phone call saying that her mother had a heart attack. Suddenly Jenny realized that while she couldn’t see the person in the house, maybe he or she could see her and hastily slid down in the seat so that her head was hidden just below the window.

  Jenny didn’t sit up in her seat until Maudene got back into the car, fastened her seat belt, started the car and pulled into traffic. “Well?” Jenny finally asked. “What did they say? Does my grandma still live there?”

  Maudene continued to drive in silence, her face a mask of worry. Once they arrived at Maudene’s home, Leah and Lucas leaped from the car and ran into the house. Maudene and Jenny followed slowly behind and, once on the porch, Maudene took Jenny’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry, Jenny,” she finally said. “Your grandmother passed away last year.” Maudene pulled her into a hug. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,” Maudene assured her. “I promise.”

  “Oh,” Jenny whispered. “It doesn’t really matter.” And, staring down at the wooden planks of the porch, she blinked back tears, surprised that she really did think it mattered. It mattered more than anything.

  Chapter 17

  I have seen the damage that parents can inflict upon their children. In my nearly indecipherable scrawl I have documented the atrocities I’ve seen in what my husband has named The Notebook of Seven Sorrows: addicted infants, convulsing, their hearts, no bigger than their tiny trembling fists, pounding in their chests. Three-year-olds who never learned to walk, the whole of their world a three-by-five crib snowing down lead-infused paint flakes. Five-year-olds whose X-rays are an atlas of human suffering. Broken bones, skull fractures, the fissures healed but the beatings not forgotten. The eleven-year-old girl whose nightmares begin when the sun sets, when her mother closes the bedroom door for the night and when her father or stepfather or mother’s boyfriend silently opens her bedroom door and crawls beneath her comforter covered with dancing ballerinas. Cigarette burns, hot water burns, curling iron burns. Black eyes, busted lips, broken ribs, broken hearts. Little girls who supposedly try to fly out of their third-floor window. I have seen these firsthand. But nothing, nothing, can prepare me for the damage my carelessness has inflicted upon my own daughter.

  I am not one of those parents.

  Suddenly, Adam is sitting by my side, his arms around me. I am shaking with fear and rage recalling every word of my conversation with Prieto and Caren. “What’s happening, Ellen?” he asks helplessly. “Did something happen to Avery?”

  I force myself to stop crying. The hallway, for the moment, is empty. “I don’t believe it,” I say, panic flooding my chest.

  “What? What?” Adam says insistently. “What’s going on?”

  “They said that I can’t see Avery until they finish their investigation.” I swallow hard; I’m having trouble forming the words.

  Adam blinks and jerks his head back. “Investigation? What’s to investigate? You told them what happened, right?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I tell them,” I say bitterly. “They are going strictly by the book.”

  “Why would they want to do this?” Adam asks. “You’ve given every spare minute to taking care of the kids you work with. You protect them, for God’s sake! They know what kind of person you are. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know,” I cry. A low growl of frustration emits from my throat and a hospital worker pushing a large cart of dirty laundry eyes us curiously as he passes by. I wait until he is out of earshot before continuing. “If Prieto or Caren treat me differently than anyone else in the same situation, their credibility would be ruined. Every decision they make will be questioned.”

  “But they have some discretion with these things. I know they do.”

  I raise my hands helplessly. “It looks like they’ve already made up their minds.”

  “How long can they keep you away from Avery?” Adam asks in defeat. His face is pinched with fatigue and worry.

  “They have twenty days. They have to finish their investigation in twenty days unless they need more time and request a waiver for more time.” Twenty days seems like an eternity, I can’t imagine having to be away from Avery for more than a few minutes let alone twenty days.

  “It doesn’t seem fair,” Adam says, leaning wearily against a wall. “Avery needs you right now. What happens if you just ignore Prieto and still come up to see Avery?”

  “I could get arrested for violating the order of protection. This is serious,” I say more to myself than to Adam. “They’re looking at convening a grand jury to see if there’s enough evidence to charge me with child endangerment.”

  If possible, Adam’s face becomes even paler. “You could go to jail? Oh, my God, Ellen. What are we going to do?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I cry, “I just don’t know.” I step close to him and lay my head against his chest.

  “The grand jury will indict you, you know,” Adam says quietly. “They always do.”

  I know this is true, but I don’t want to believe it. Parents are on grand juries. Grandparents, too. They know the exact same thing could happen to them at any minute. Or, I think, the mothers and fathers on the grand jury will say to themselves, How could she? How could she be so careless with something so precious? She never deserved this gift of being a parent. Send her to prison, prohibit her from seeing her children. She had her chance.

  “I’ll tell them it was my fault,” he says with more confidence than I know he really feels.

  I rotate my head from side to side, still enveloped in his embrace. “No, don’t do that. They’ll know that you’re just trying to protect me. No sense in you losing your job, too.”

  “They won’t fire you,” he says firmly. “They’ll do their investigation and it will all be over soon.” I lift my chin to look into his eyes, red with exhaustion. I don’t have the heart to tell him. It doesn’t matter what Caren’s investigation unearths or whether Prieto’s grand jury decides that there is enough evidence to send me to jail. My life as I know it is over.

  Hand in hand we slowly make our way back to Avery’s hospital room. I’ll be damned if I don’t at least get to say goodbye to my daughter. I sniffle and move purposefully toward where Avery’s doctor and an unfamiliar nurse are clustered over a clipboard. “Excuse me,” I say. They both look up at me. “With your permission—” I clear my throat “—I’d like to say goodbye to my daughter. It might take a few days for everything to be cleared up.” They both nod, Dr. Campbell with practiced coolness, the nurse with discomfort.

  Dr. Campbell scans the hallway, tilts his head toward Avery’s room and I take that as an invitation to follow him. Once inside the room, Dr. Campbell closes the door behind us. Avery is lying on her back, thumb in her mouth, eyes half-open, but when she sees me they widen. She reaches for me, her arms extended her fingers opening and closing. Her way of saying gimme. I look back at Dr. Campbell for permission and again I am struck by how my life suddenly mirrors those of my clients. They would give me the same looks. Can I go to my son? Can I hold my daughter? Am I worthy? Now it’s Dr. Campbell who wields the power. “Take your time,” he says. “I’ll just sit over here.” He indicates a hard-backed chair in the corner of the tiny room. It’s the farthest away he can go in order to give us privacy, but his message is clear. He can defy the protection order just this once, allowing me to say goodbye to Avery, but he won’t, under any circumstances, allow me to be alone with her.

  “Avery,” I whisper, tears streaming unstaunched down my cheeks. A wisp of a smile greets me. Weakly, Avery raises her arms to me and I look at Dr. Campbell, hoping for his permission to take her into my arms.

  He shakes his head apologetically. “Her condition isn’t stable enough for you to hold her just yet.” Tearfully,
I take her little hand in mine and brush my thumb across her dimpled knuckles trying to memorize the way she looks in this exact moment. I brush her wispy hair away from her forehead. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin is pale, but at least it’s cool to the touch. I will never forget the intensity of heat that rose from my daughter’s pores when she was pulled from the van.

  She makes no sound and I wonder if the trauma of the whole event has caused her to regress in regard to some of her milestones or, worse, if some irreversible cognitive damage has been done. I push those terrible thoughts away and focus on the daughter I have right here. Avery is struggling to keep her eyes open, but when she does her gaze goes right to my face as if making sure I’m still standing over her. I know my time with Avery is short and that I need to say what must be said, understanding that it could be days before I’m allowed to see her, speak to her again, but I am conscious of Dr. Campbell sitting nearby so I lean down into the hospital crib and whisper into her ear. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” I say.

  Avery’s eyelids surrender to exhaustion, her thumb poked securely into her mouth, her chest rising and falling steadily.

  “I’m so sorry.” I beg my daughter for forgiveness. “Mommy didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t know you were in the car.” I go on, knowing that Avery doesn’t care about intentions or accidents, just knows that her mother had left her tethered into the back of a van whose interior reached one hundred and nine degrees in a matter of minutes. Will she remember this forever? An indelible imprint that travels with her the rest of her life? Maybe not the event itself, but the feeling of being abandoned, forgotten? Would she grow up unable to trust, or have post-traumatic stress disorder? A fear of small, enclosed spaces, of hospitals? Of me?

  “Mommy has to go and take care of Lucas and Leah right now, so Daddy is going to stay with you. You’ll see me in a few days...I promise,” I add after a slight hesitation. “I love you, Avery,” I sob, and Avery sleepily reaches up to touch my face. “I love you so, so much,” I say fiercely, and kiss her four times—forehead, left cheek, right cheek, lips. Just like we do every night before bed.