Before I Let You Go(29)
No one tells Annie what to do. Not Robert, not Mom, not me, not rehab clinic directors, not boyfriends. Giving her a directive is the fastest way to make her rebel.
But this time will be different, it has to be. This time, she has the baby, and she’s going to make this work.
I saw it in her eyes when she agreed to take the methadone, and I see it even stronger in there now. Brighter than the fear, brighter even than the marked sense of desperation that she wears around herself like a shawl these days, there’s a sense of determination in my sister for the first time in years. I see it in the steely way she holds my gaze, and in the stiffness of her shoulders and the steady, tightly controlled rhythm of her deep breaths.
There’s movement at the door, and I see a man in a suit through the window. He peers in at us, and even at this first glance, there’s no mistaking the clear judgment in his eyes.
Oh God, please don’t let that be the judge.
“I’m going to be right outside.” I modulate my voice—keeping the words low and steady, and as I rise I keep a firm grip on her hand. “The whole time, I’ll be right outside. As soon as it’s over, I’ll come in and we’ll talk about it. Would that be good?”
“Yes. Okay.”
“And we’ll look at the baby clothes. The baby, Annie. Whatever happens in here, just think about the baby. Okay?”
Eliza steps through the door and offers Annie a smile. She closes the door behind her, and she says quietly, “I’ve asked the judge if I can be present for your hearing so I can keep an eye on your BP, Annie. I hope that’s okay.”
Eliza and I exchange a glance, and relief hits me like a wave from my head to my toes. She doesn’t need to be in the room to monitor Annie’s BP—the staff can do it from the ward office, via the electronic monitoring system. The only reason Eliza needs to be in this room is to give Annie some moral support, and I’m so grateful that I could hug her. Maybe I will, later.
Bernie and I wait outside as the officials file into Annie’s room. Four men enter, followed closely by another woman, and Mary Rafferty comes in last. She directs a polite smile to me as she enters, and I force myself to return it. Bernie greets each of them, and once they are inside, she explains, “So, Judge Brown is the man with the beard, the assistant DA was the guy with the purple tie and the young guy with him is his paralegal. The fourth man is Bill Weston—the attorney nominated to be the baby’s guardian ad litem. The first woman was a stenographer to record the proceedings, and I’m guessing that last one was your CPS social worker?”
I nod, then we fall into a terse silence. It quickly becomes too much, and I need to do something to burn off the nervous energy I feel, so I pace the hallway while the hearing takes place. I walk up and down outside Annie’s room, and I stand on my tiptoes as I pass her door, trying to peer through the window. The angles aren’t right, and it’s hard to see what’s going on, but I do manage a glimpse of Annie at one point—and immediately wish I hadn’t. In that momentary glimpse I see only her pale, tear-streaked face, and that means I spend the remaining ten minutes of the hearing with my fists clenched, wondering what the hell they are saying to her.
When the door finally opens, the men file out, but the assistant DA stops to speak quietly with Bernie. I’m torn between staying to listen in on that conversation and racing in to comfort my sister. The second impulse wins, and when I enter the room, I find Eliza sitting on Annie’s bed holding her hand.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“The first part went just like Bernie said,” Annie whispers, but then she is simply overcome. She looks up at me—her blue eyes swimming in tears, her lips thin and her brow furrowed—and then she shakes her head and closes her eyes. I look to Eliza.
“The judge has appointed the guardian ad litem to make decisions about Annie’s care until the birth,” Eliza clarifies quietly.
“That fucking judge hates me,” Annie chokes. “He said if I want to get the baby back, I have to go into rehab as soon as it’s born.”
“Not immediately,” Eliza corrects her carefully. “You’ll have a week to recover.”
“A week?” I gasp, and Annie starts to cry again. I try to imagine how that will work. Seven days to get to know her newborn. Saying goodbye seven days into her newborn’s withdrawal. God, that would mean that Annie would likely be around just long enough to see the baby start to really suffer before she has to drag herself away.
“The judge was concerned that Annie has had so many attempts to get clean,” Eliza explains softly. “He ruled that the baby should go into foster or kinship care until Annie has successfully completed a rehabilitation program. If she can graduate from the ninety-day program at the new facility at Auburn, they’ll review the situation.”
I look to Annie again. She’s a mess, completely distraught. We should have prepared her better for this. I just assumed there’d be more time, and there should be more time. The baby will probably be in the hospital for weeks after the birth. Surely the judge could give Annie at least that long to find her feet and see her child get well before they tear her away.
“What’s the rush?” I say. “Surely they could leave it until the baby has finished withdrawals.”
“Annie isn’t actually the baby’s legal guardian,” Eliza murmurs a little awkwardly. “The CPS lady recommended she be allowed access here in the hospital until we discharge her, but to be honest, I think she’s lucky the judge even granted her that. He was pretty tough on her.”