Somewhere Out There(38)
Ryan put his hands on his hips, shifted his stance, and glared at her. “It’s not just up to you.”
“Yes,” Brooke said, feeling a grief so profound, so heavy, she worried it might sink her to the floor. “It is.”
And with that, she spun around and walked down the hall, making sure her car keys were still in her front pocket. Screw him, she thought as she waited for the elevator. It didn’t matter. Nothing had changed. She’d do this like she’d done everything else in her life. She’d find her way through it on her own.
Jennifer
Five days after getting out of jail, after seeing my mother, I was almost out of money. She had given me just over two hundred dollars, but the cost of the motel room alone took more than half of that, and I spent most of the rest on food and a few pairs of much-needed clean underwear and socks. I thought about her offer to get me more money if she could, but then rejected the idea, the same way my mother had rejected me. I didn’t think I could handle reaching out, only to have her turn me away again. I’d have to find a different way to make some cash.
I passed the hours sleeping and watching TV—shows I’d never seen before, like Greatest American Hero and Dynasty, and others I remembered watching with my mother before I moved out, like The Waltons and M*A*S*H. I lost myself in the silly plots and overdramatic dialogue, trying not to think about the way my mother had closed the door on me. How she’d chosen a man over helping her only child.
I’d left Gina three messages, and she hadn’t called me back. It wasn’t until Thursday—my sixth morning in the motel—that the black phone on the nightstand next to the bed finally rang. I’d been half-asleep, so the shrill sound startled me, and as I reached to answer it, I accidentally knocked the phone to the floor.
“Jennifer?” I heard Gina’s muffled voice say as I lunged over the side of the bed.
“Yes!” I called out, snatching up the receiver and putting it to my ear. “I’m here.” I struggled to right myself again, sitting up against the headboard. Sunlight edged the tattered curtains in a golden halo, and the red numbers on the clock radio told me it was almost ten. I was due to check out at noon, and I had no idea where I would go after that.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to call you back,” Gina said. “I’ve been busy with home visits this week.”
“That’s okay,” I said. Gina didn’t say more, so I forged ahead with the reason I’d called her. “They released me early from Skagit,” I said. “For good behavior. And I just . . . I can’t stop thinking about my girls.”
“I’m sure,” Gina said.
“I miss them so much,” I continued. “I was wondering . . . now that I’m out . . . is there any chance . . . any way I can get them back?”
“I’m sorry, Jennifer,” Gina said in a low, steady voice. “You signed away your rights. The girls are wards of the state now.”
“I know,” I said. A single tear rolled down my cheek, but I didn’t wipe it away. “I just feel like I made the wrong choice.”
“I understand that,” Gina said. “But the fact is, the decision was made. Papers were signed. If you wanted to regain custody, you’d have to hire a lawyer and file a petition with the court. It could take years, and you’d have to prove you were capable of taking care of them.” She paused. “Have your circumstances changed? Do you have a job? A place to live? Appropriate childcare?”
I glanced around the dark, dingy room where I’d spent the last several days. The only change to my circumstances was that they’d gotten worse. Not only did I not have a job or a place to live but I was a felon. “No,” I whispered into the phone, feeling stupid that I’d called. “Not yet.”
“Then there’s nothing you can do,” Gina said, softly.
“Can you at least tell me how they are . . . or who they’re with?”
“I’m sorry,” Gina said again. “I can’t. The terms of the arrangement are closed. You agreed to that, remember? To protect your anonymity and give your girls the freshest start you could?”
“I remember,” I said. “I just didn’t know it would feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I tore out two big chunks of my heart.” My voice shook, and I tried to steady it. “I feel like I’m broken.”
“I’m sorry, Jennifer. I really am,” she said, and a few moments later, we hung up. I curled fetal under the covers, my back to the window, and I began to cry. It was final. There was no way I could have my daughters with me again. I didn’t have money for a lawyer, and even if I did, considering my current situation, there was no way a judge would rule in my favor. I was no better off than I’d been the day I gave them up. Who knew how long it would take me to find a decent job and a place to live? It could take years, and by then, the girls would have been with their new family long enough that my trying to regain custody would only disrupt their lives. It would only cause them pain.
Rolling over, I wiped away my tears and grabbed my notebook and a pen from the nightstand next to the bed, flipping to the next blank page. I wanted to get you back, I wrote. I swear I did. But when I tried, I was told it was better this way. Better for you both to have a new life with a new family instead of with me. I wish things were different. I wish I were a better mother to you both.