Little Mercies (14 page)

Chapter 23

L
eah and Lucas leap into my arms before I even step into the house. “Mommy!” Leah yells, something she hasn’t called me in three years.

“I’m so glad to see you two,” I say, trying to squeeze back tears. Leah grabs my hand and tries to lead me out the doorway.

“Can we go see Dad and Avery now?” she asks hopefully. “When does she get to come home? Let’s go to the hospital right now!” Futilely, Lucas is also trying to chime in with his own questions that I can’t hear over Leah’s pleading.

“Hold on, now,” I say with a smile. “I know that Dad and Avery can’t wait to see you two, either, but kids aren’t allowed in the intensive care unit. You’ll have to wait to see Avery when she’s moved to a regular room. We’ll leave for the hospital in a little bit. Let me talk to Grandma for a few minutes, okay?” Leah and Lucas nod their heads, but Leah refuses to let go of my hand, as if she’s afraid that I will suddenly flee. “Hi, Mom,” I say to my mother as I give her a one-armed hug. “Thanks for watching the kids. Were they good for you?”

“Oh, they were wonderful,” my mother says, waving away my concern, but Leah looks away guiltily. “Do you realize this was the first time they spent the night here in almost a year? We’ll have to have a lot more overnights.”

“With Avery,” Lucas says firmly.

“Of course,” my mother says as if that is a given, which I pray to God will be the truth.

“Are you supposed to go into work today?” I ask her. Her job at the restaurant has been a nice distraction for my mother since my father died.

“Don’t worry about that. I called in and am taking some vacation days,” she assures me. “I have as much time off as I need.”

I notice the rumpled girl hanging back near the kitchen entryway. She has long, messy brown hair and is wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and shorts. Her feet are bare. In one hand she is holding tightly to the same backpack she carried at the hospital last night and in the other is a plate heaped with bacon and eggs. “Ellen, you remember Jenny, don’t you?”

“Hi, Jenny,” I say politely. I am curious about the story behind Jenny’s sudden appearance into my mother’s life, but I’m eager to talk to my mother about the protective order, about witnessing Avery’s seizure yesterday, about my visit with the attorney. But most of all I want to hug Lucas and Leah and get back to the hospital.

“Hi,” she says shyly, stepping forward and handing me the plate of food.

“Thanks,” I say, realizing for the first time that I hadn’t eaten anything since my quick breakfast the day before. I’m famished.

“You go on and sit down and eat,” my mother orders. “Lucas and Leah, why don’t you two go and brush your teeth and find the get-well cards you made for Avery last night.” Lucas immediately rushes up the steps and Leah reluctantly drops my hand before following her brother. I glance around the kitchen. Growing up, this was my favorite room in the house. My parents hadn’t changed a thing over the years except for the addition of a dishwasher and a new refrigerator, an anniversary gift from my father to my mother just before he died. He never even got to see them once they were installed.

I settle into the same breakfast nook that I sat in every single morning that I lived in this house and it is like I never left. The warm summer sun is beating through the windows that surround the nook, making me sleepy. What I wouldn’t give to trudge up the steps to my old bedroom and crawl beneath the sheets of my childhood bed. “What are the doctors saying?” my mother asks as she pours me a cup of coffee. Jenny is at the sink rinsing out a dishrag and wipes it across the kitchen counter.

“She’s stable, thank goodness.” I breathe in the rich aroma of the coffee. “I haven’t even been able to hold her yet,” I say, emotion thickening my voice. “They’re worried about her kidneys and the seizures she’s been having.”

“Doctors can do just about anything these days,” my mother says, patting me on the hand. I smile up at her. With the busyness of our lives, I haven’t seen much of my mom lately. There is always work and the kids’ activities to keep us running. And when we aren’t doing that we are at home trying to catch up on laundry and yard work. It is never ending. I try to remember the last time we had spent time with her. Three months ago, I realize with dismay, at Leah’s birthday. We had gone to a pizza place that specialized in birthday parties and inflatable bouncy houses for the kids to exhaust themselves jumping around in. I was so busy attending to the seven nine-year-olds Leah had invited that I had barely spoken to my mother that night. I remember her appearing particularly thin. She obviously hadn’t been eating much since my father’s death last year, and, despite the smile she kept on her face the entire night, she didn’t seem happy. I remember thinking to myself that I needed to call her, to take her out for lunch, just the two of us spending time together. But I didn’t.

“Thanks for watching the kids,” I tell her again. “It means a lot to Adam and me that they’re here with you. I still can’t believe they won’t let me see Avery. This is a nightmare.” My mother comes over and hugs me. I lay my head on her shoulder and inhale her familiar scent, lily of the valley.

“You know, when your brother was a year old, he very nearly died and it was all my fault.” I raise my head and look at her questioningly. “It’s true,” she says. “I was young and overwhelmed with two boys under the age of three. Plus, I was pregnant with you. I put Craig in one of those baby walkers with the wheels on the bottom and accidently left the basement door open.” I wince at what I know is coming next. “From across the room I saw him scooting along right toward the steps. I couldn’t get to him fast enough and he flipped head over toes down the steps.” My mother frowns at the memory. “It was a miracle, but he landed, still in the walker, upright on his feet. Not a scratch on him.”

“But Avery isn’t fine,” I say. “I don’t think anything will ever be fine again. She could have died, could still die. I think I’ve lost my job for good and I could go to jail.”

Tears well in my mother’s eyes and she grasps both of my hands in hers, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that we all have our moments. We all have those times when we turn our backs, close our eyes, become unguarded. I don’t know why Craig ended up being okay and other children don’t, but I know that no matter what happens you’ll get through this.
We’ll
get through this. You have to look for the little mercies, the small kindnesses and good that come from the terrible.”

I want to argue with her, that there could be no good that comes from any of this but we hear the squeak of a screen door and a thunk before it slams shut again.

“Newspaper’s here,” my mother says. “Can you run and get it?” she asks Jenny, who trots off to the front door. Once she is out of earshot, she says, “I just can’t believe they won’t let you see Avery.”

I shake my head helplessly and put a finger to my lips. I don’t want Lucas and Leah to know I’ve been banned from seeing their sister.

“Mom, who in the world is that little girl? Where did she come from?” I ask, taking Jenny’s leave as an opportunity to find out what is going on.

“She’s just staying with me for a bit. I don’t want you to worry about her, you’ve got too much going on already. I’ll fill you in on everything tonight.”

“No, I want you to tell me right now. Who is she?” I insist.

“I’m not exactly sure, but...”

I exhale loudly. “Mom, I’m on leave from the Department of Human Services. Please call Ruth Johnson, my co-worker at DHS. She’ll be able to help you. Promise me you’ll call her.” I imagine the press getting wind of this and the headline that would follow: Negligent Social Worker Harbors Runaway
.
And if Caren learned of this, my already tenuous career will be irreparably damaged. “Mom, you need to call the police or DHS today, do you understand?” My mother nods silently.

“Hey,” Jenny says, coming back into the room, an impressed look on her face. “Your picture is in the paper.” She holds up the newspaper and sure enough my picture is on the front page. It’s an old photo that was taken several years ago when I had been interviewed for a story about our local Department of Human Services. My heart tumbles. I reach for the newspaper with shaking hands.

Lucas and Leah come into the kitchen and, seeing my stricken face, Leah begins to cry and Lucas quickly follows suit. “No, no,” I soothe her. “Avery is fine. Everything is okay. I didn’t mean to scare you, honey.” I hand the newspaper to my mother, who bites back a gasp. I pull Leah and Lucas into a hug
.
“Let’s go to the hospital. I’ll even ask the nurse if you two can peek in on Avery.” I turn to my mother, who is still reading the front page, her face drawn with worry. “Do you and Jenny want to come with us?”

She bites her lip and I know she wants to ask me about the article but won’t in front of the kids. “You go on and then call me when you want me to come and pick up Lucas and Leah. They can stay here as long as you need them to.” Next to me Leah begins to protest, but I silence her with a stern look.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, and give her another hug. I realize I’ve hugged her more times in the past twenty-four hours than I have in the past two years. “Let’s go, kiddos,” I say. Together we get into the truck. I see the paper carrier plodding up my mother’s street, tossing newspapers onto front steps, sliding them into mailboxes, all with the same terrible headline: Local Social Worker in the Hot Seat
.

For Lucas and Leah, I try to disguise my worry for Avery and the implications of the newspaper article by peppering them with questions about the time they’ve spent with their grandmother and Jenny.

“She’s weird,” Leah says with disgust. “She acts like she’s lived in Grandma’s house forever, but she’s been there for one day.”

“Does she live in town?” I ask. “Do you know her from school?”

“She doesn’t go to my school,” Leah says with a shake of her head. “I’d remember her if she did.”

“I don’t think she lives here,” Lucas pipes up from the backseat. In the rearview mirror I can see that he is rubbing the strap that holds Avery in her car seat between his fingers like a worry stone.

“What makes you think that?”

“She didn’t know where her grandma lived,” Lucas explains.

“How did she end up here then?” I wonder out loud.

“I just wish she’d go back to wherever she came from,” Leah says, and scowls.

“Well, hopefully everything will get settled and back to normal soon in a few days,” I say, knowing that it could take much longer than just a day or two.

Leah squawks in dismay, “I thought you said that Avery was getting better! I’m not staying with Grandma if
she
is there. I won’t. I’ll stay at the Arwoods’ house.” Lucas’s eyes flick between me and his sister as if trying to gauge how upset he should be.

“I’m not staying there,” Leah says again with a finality that I’ve come to dread. I think Leah would rather sleep in a tree then have to spend another night under the same roof as her grandmother’s houseguest. I decide not to argue the point. Maybe Avery will be stable enough so that one of us can go home to be with the kids. My hopes rise at the thought as we turn into the hospital parking lot and then quickly disappear. There is a news van with Eyewitness News Eleven emblazoned in large blue letters across its body and a reporter and a woman with a camera are leaning against a stone pillar near the front entrance. Based on the headline in the newspaper, I have a sick feeling that they are here for me and I know I can’t take my children through these doors. I’ve had several high-profile cases in my work and have learned how to dodge a reporter or two even in this very hospital. I take a quick right and turn into a smaller lot on the west side of the hospital whose entrance leads to an outpatient physical therapy facility. We have to travel across the skywalk and maneuver through a maze of intricate hallways, but anything would be better than having to face those reporters.

Once again we walk through the glass doors of Cedar City Hospital, a hospital I’ve been in countless times in my role as a social worker for the Department of Human Services.

Sometimes, more times than not, I’m the one seen as the villain, the monster who takes these children from what they know, no matter how awful. But my hope has always been that over time, even if it’s years later, the children that I remove from their homes come to understand why I’ve done the things I have. I can’t erase their horrible memories, I can’t renew their trust in the world, but I can give them one thing—a chance at a less broken life.

I see Adam before he sees me. Again I’m reminded why I fell in love with him. There is something absolutely innocent and unguarded about my husband. Every emotion he is feeling can be found on his face, in the tilt of his head, in the slope of his shoulders. He is sitting on a bench in the lobby, his cell phone pressed against his ear. Lucas and Leah have run ahead of me and Adam immediately hangs up the phone and pulls them into his arms. They are leaning so tightly into him they look like they are one entity. I want to go to him, kneel down before him and lay my head in his lap. But I can see how grief and exhaustion are pressing down upon him and wait patiently until he looks up and notices me.

I take a tentative step backward, bumping into a group of young residents moving en masse through the hallway. My startled yelp causes Adam to drag his attention away from the kids and toward me. Immediately his smile widens and I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Hi,” I say once the sea of white coats moves past me.

“Hi.” Adam draws me toward him, closing his arms protectively around my shoulders.

“How’s Avery?” I ask, already knowing the answer. No change. I can see it in his eyes.

“The same. No more seizures since yesterday. It’s her kidneys they are still most worried about.” I nod silently because there are no words. “The nephrologist hasn’t stopped by yet this morning, but is supposed to.”

We sit down on the bench next to each other and Lucas and Leah wander a few feet away to look out the window that overlooks a garden landscaped with brightly colored flowers and whimsical sculptures. “How do the kids seem to you?” he asks. We both worry about Lucas. He is such a particular little boy, lost without his routine.