Pretend She's Here(86)

“They’re going to help you get into the best possible place,” I said.

“A group home, I know,” she said.

“I wish you didn’t have to go to one,” I said.

“It’ll be better than jail,” Chloe said, her hand unconsciously drifting to her bruised cheek.

“I hope so,” I said.

“Do your parents hate me?” she asked, watching them.

“No.”

“Hate is such a weird word,” she said. “I’ve said it more in the last month than in my whole life. You know who I say it about?”

“Who?”

“My parents,” Chloe said, her voice breaking. “For what they did to you.” She threw herself into my arms, and we held each other, the mahogany rail between us, until two uniformed court officers came to pry us apart.

Then a gavel sounded, and a judge with long silver hair falling down the shoulders of her black robe came to take the bench. A brass nameplate said THE HONORABLE REBECCA STORRICK. Chloe turned away from me and sat down, and I hurried to sit between Casey and my mother.

From the minute the judge began speaking, I heard reporters’ pencils scribbling on their notepads, thumbs clicking on keyboards. I stared straight ahead, my jaw set tight. I didn’t want them to see any emotion when the judge assigned Chloe to somewhere in the Maine foster system.

“Couldn’t they at least send her somewhere in Connecticut?” I whispered to my mother. “So we could visit her?”

But my mother didn’t respond because Jane Manwaring had started to speak. She stood at the table, while Chloe remained sitting between her and Millicent.

“Your Honor, I’d like to be heard on the matter of Chloe Porter.”

“Go ahead, Ms. Manwaring,” Judge Storrick said.

“As you know, an order has been filed for the release of Ms. Porter from the Casco Bay Youth Development Center, and today’s hearing is to determine placement through Maine Child and Family Services.” She nodded across the aisle. “Ms. Ling is here to make sure that is carried out.”

A tall woman with shoulder-length black hair stood. She wore a tailored dark gray suit and black boots, a heavy silver necklace at her throat, and my first thought was that Lizzie would have loved her outfit. Chloe half turned, caught my eye. We held back smiles, and I knew she was thinking the same thing—Lizzie’s style.

“Yes, Your Honor,” the woman said. “Daria Ling for the State of Maine.”

“What do you propose, Ms. Ling?”

“Well, here is the release order for Chloe Porter,” she said, striding to the bench, heels ticking on the wood floor, to place a paper before the judge. She also gave a copy to Chloe’s lawyer.

“All right,” the judge said, reading the single page. She glanced up at Chloe. “Chloe, you’re officially free from custody of the Development Center, but our job to care for your welfare is not over. It’s up to this court—with the guidance of Ms. Ling and Ms. Manwaring—to determine where you will live. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Chloe said, standing.

“Because you are a minor.”

“And because my parents are in prison,” Chloe said.

“Yes, they are,” Judge Storrick said.

“I wish they were here right now,” Chloe said. “So they could hear me apologize for them, for what they did.” She turned toward me. “I know you told me not to say it again, Em, but I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t help responding. “You didn’t do anything bad, Chloe,” I said. “You love them, they told you what to do.” I thought maybe the judge would stop me, say “Order in the court” like on TV, but she didn’t. “You helped me get to Casey’s. Without you I wouldn’t have gotten away.”

“Thank you, Emily,” Jane Manwaring said, giving me a smile. “Now, Your Honor, that brings us to the reason we are here today. Chloe’s placement.”

“Yes,” Judge Storrick said. “Ms. Ling, what is your recommendation?”

“We had secured a spot for Chloe at St. Cleran’s, a group home in Yarmouth, but as of this morning, we have a better possibility.”

“What is that?”

“Ms. Manwaring informed me that a family has offered to take Chloe in as a foster child. They are not registered with my office, and we’ll have to do background checks, a thorough investigation, but it is my opinion that this is a much better option.”

“And who is this family?” Judge Storrick asked.

“The Lonergans,” my father said, and both he and my mother stood. “I’m Thomas, and this is Mary. We’re Emily’s parents.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lonergan,” Judge Storrick said. “While I commend your compassion, considering all that has gone on, surely it would be too traumatic for Emily to share her home with Chloe.”

“It was Emily’s idea,” my mother said.

The court was completely silent except for the sound of all the reporters tapping out their tweets.

“We were licensed as foster parents in Connecticut,” my mother explained. “It’s been nearly twenty years since we have taken in a child, and we realize we’ll have to reapply for certification. But we’ve known Chloe since she was born. We understand, probably better than anyone else will, what she has been through. My husband and I consider her to be a victim of her parents, just as our daughter was. We’ll do everything we can to make sure she gets whatever help she needs.”