Before I Let You Go(23)
“Did she have the baby?”
“No one knows what happened to her, actually. We’re talking about the juvenile court, just like your sister’s hearing tomorrow—so the matter was sealed. The only reason we know about this case at all was that civil rights advocates petitioned a federal court on her behalf to try to get her access to the abortion clinic, but just before the ruling came down, Jane Doe suddenly changed her mind and apparently decided she didn’t want the termination after all. And because we don’t know her name, we don’t know where she ended up.”
“Is this common?” I ask Bernie, shaking my head. “These chemical endangerment charges? CPS taking people’s kids away like this?”
“Well, that’s actually hard to say. Chemical endangerment charges like Annie’s are on the increase, but it’s impossible to say how often families are losing their children as a result of them. Those juvenile court hearings are closed so . . . no public records available.” She snorts and shakes her head. “Awfully convenient, some might say.”
“Why isn’t there an uproar?”
“Pregnant drug addicts, Alexis. Pregnant drug addicts. How much sympathy do you think the general public has for women who use illicit drugs while they’re growing babies?”
I knew Annie was in trouble, but it’s slowly sinking in that this situation is even worse than I’d considered. “What the hell are we going to do?”
“All we can do about this hearing tomorrow is to coach Annie a little in how to deal with the proceedings, and then make sure she understands that she has to precisely complete whatever is required of her after.”
This reminds me of Annie’s other crisis, the situation with her blood pressure. I clear my throat and shuffle forward in my chair. “Well, actually, Annie just can’t leave the hospital, not even for the hearing. It’s not safe.”
“Okay. I’ll call the judge and request a bedside hearing. We’ll need a letter from her obstetrician confirming her condition and quite clearly stating that she can’t leave the hospital.”
I call the hospital, and I speak to Eliza’s secretary, who emails the letter through within minutes, and that’s enough to convince the judge to move the hearing to Annie’s bedside. Bernie high-fives me when this is confirmed, and after making plans to visit Annie with me in the morning, she walks me to the door of her office.
“I know it’s a lot to get your head around, Alexis.”
“You’re not wrong about that.” I laugh weakly, but the sound is hollow and I feel a thundering headache coming on. I press my fingers to my temples and try to calm myself down. Bernie grimaces and pats my shoulder a little awkwardly as she adds, “I know this is frightening, and the custodial sentences for this crime are incredibly tough here in Alabama—but still, there is a way to avoid them. Annie just has to complete whatever treatment the judge mandates. If your sister really wants to raise her baby, this is her last chance to prove she can do the right thing by it.”
8
ANNIE
Dear Luke,
That year with Mom so unwell—
Luke,
The year after Dad’s death—
To Luke,
After a while, we—
Luke,
I can’t fucking do this.
Dear Luke,
This is my fifth attempt at this entry and it’s awful and I’m a mess. But I’m going to keep trying until I make it work. It hurts to do this, and when I hurt, I want to get high. Since I’m in rehab, that’s pretty much off the table, and so instead I get angry. You might have noticed that when I stormed out of your office this morning.
But I need to get better. I need to get back to my baby. So here goes nothing.
As we passed the twelve-month anniversary of Dad’s death, Mom gradually began emerging from her depression. Lexie had been promising me this would happen eventually, and she was quite triumphant when the improvement started to become obvious. There were little indications at first—coming home from school to find Mom reading a book with the curtains open, or Mom actually eating without Lexie nagging her into it, or spontaneously dressing and doing her hair. I had forgotten how pretty my mom was with her hair freshly washed and hanging loose around her shoulder blades, and the first time I walked in the door to find Mom wearing a dress instead of her pajamas, I was so shocked that I actually dropped my school bag.
It took a long time to realize that there was a pattern to these good days—but finally, we figured out that the good days were Wednesdays. Lexie and I racked our brains to try to figure out what it was about Wednesday that made Mom so happy—was one of us born that day? Was it the day she married Dad? Was it a coincidence—or maybe it took so much out of Mom that it took her a full week to get the energy back to do it all again?
Then school break came. The first Wednesday of the break, the three of us were sitting around the table eating breakfast when Mom told us that she was expecting some guests. This was even more shocking than the sight of Mom in her dress. She had been declining most requests to visit with her for a full year, and as far as Lexie and I knew, she’d lost touch with all her friends.
“I have some friends who visit me on a Wednesday,” Mom told us. “I’m excited for you girls to meet them. They’ve been helping me find meaning in what happened.”