Pretend She's Here(87)

“We love her,” I said.

Chloe turned to look at me, and our eyes met and held.

“She’s like my sister,” I went on. “Please let her live with us. Please don’t send her anywhere else. She needs us. And I need her.”

“I need you, too,” Chloe whispered.

The judge was silent, gazing at Chloe, then me.

“Well, that’s compelling,” the judge said after a few minutes.

“I would like to request that Your Honor give us a week to work with the Department of Children and Families in Connecticut,” Ms. Ling said. “Perform home visits, determine whether the Lonergans’ license can be renewed, and, if warranted, transfer the case from Maine.”

“A week?” the judge asked. “And where would Chloe live during that time?”

“St. Cleran’s is ready to take her today,” Jane Manwaring said. “We agree with that as a temporary measure.”

“This is a very unusual case,” Judge Storrick said. “I can’t think of another like it, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a good solution. I’m hoping you can resolve this expeditiously—not only for Chloe, but for Emily.”

“So, she can come live with us?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

My mother’s arm slid around my shoulder, holding me tight. Casey squeezed my hand on the other side.

“If everything works out the way we all hope it will,” the judge said, “yes. She can live with you.”

I nodded, so choked up I couldn’t say a word. My parents hugged me hard. They had taken in foster kids, after all. They had taught my brothers and sisters and me to care about people, to not let them suffer when we could do something about it. And they had named us after saints; that had to count for something.

“Ms. Ling, report to me your findings in one week’s time,” the judge said. She banged her gavel. “Court is dismissed.”

We all went to Chloe. My parents, Mr. Donoghue, Casey, and I. We reached for her across the rail, and then a court officer unlocked a gate so she could come through and we could give her real hugs.

“I can’t believe this,” Chloe said.

“Way to come through, Mom and Dad,” I said.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” my mom said. “Chloe, are you sure you want to do this?”

Chloe’s lower lip wobbled. I saw her eyes flood with tears again. “I wish, more than anything, that I could go back in time. Before everything fell apart. That Lizzie could be alive, that our family could still be together. But since I can’t have that … yes, I’m so happy you want me.”

“We do,” I said.

Then my parents talked to her quietly, saying they understood it wouldn’t always be easy for her, that they knew how much she’d miss her mother and father.

“Can we come live with you, too?” Casey asked me in a low voice.

“I wish,” I said.

“I’m only kidding,” he said. “Sort of. I think.”

“Where will you go?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure, but don’t worry. My dad will figure something out. He has one guitar in the shop, getting the neck repaired. And I can work after school. I can probably get a job at Mark’s tree farm.”

“It’s not Christmas anymore,” I said.

“No, but they have to take care of the trees, right?” He smiled. “I’ll get a new mandolin, and I’ll write songs and sing them to the baby trees. It will make them grow.”

I was listening to Casey, but my heart was starting to pound with a new idea. I grabbed Casey’s hand and pulled him toward the back of the courtroom. It was basically empty except for a few reporters, including Marcela.

“Emily, I want to warn you,” she said, stepping toward me. “Everyone will be waiting on the steps with cameras—they’re allowed to photograph you there. If you speak to the officer, he can take you and your family out the back way.”

“Actually, I came to talk to you, to ask a question,” I said.

“Anything,” she said.

“My parents said news organizations would pay for my story,” I said bluntly.

“Em!” Casey said, sounding shocked.

Marcela studied me, her eyes warm and possibly amused. “Our station doesn’t,” she said. “Because it would compromise our journalistic integrity. But I’d still love to talk to you.”

“I can’t,” I said. “Not without money.”

“Whoa, Em,” Casey said.

“It’s not for me,” I said, clutching his hands. “It’s for you and your dad. I never wanted to talk about what happened, not ever. But if telling my story can help you pay for a place to live, I’ll do it.”

A bunch of the other reporters had crowded around, but Casey pulled me really close. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest.

“I won’t let you,” he said. “You’re the best person in the world, but I know how you feel about your privacy, and you can’t do this.”

“There might be a way,” Marcela said.





We decided to do it in the Apiary.

It was thirty-one days after Chloe’s hearing, the Friday before April vacation. Everyone in school was excited about spring break, but I knew they were also revved/curious/weird about what was happening with me.