Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  Hope looked a question at Kate.

  “I don’t think we can,” Kate said. “Hope is persona non grata at the prison right now. It might be possible for me to go and ask a few questions, but I doubt it would turn up much. But maybe . . .” Kate looked at Hope, her expression brightening. “Maybe I could get in touch with somebody who could ask questions? Somebody who knows everybody’s business?”

  “Deedee?” Hope asked.

  “It’s worth a try,” Kate said.

  “Good,” Diane said. “Now we’re getting somewhere. But even if you can prove that Mandy didn’t instigate the fight or provide the weapon, there’s still no guarantee that a judge won’t terminate her parental rights. She’s been convicted of a felony.

  “Plus, the child has been in the custody of the grandparents for the last five years. If I was the attorney for the other side, I’d argue that being separated from the grandparents who, at this point, are the only parents she really remembers, and being placed into the care of a woman she barely knows, would cause the child to suffer irreparable psychological and emotional damage.”

  “But Talia does know her mother,” Hope said. “She’s crazy about her. Talia and Mandy have been participating in a program designed to maintain the mother-child bond so that family reunification will be easier once the parent is released. Until Mandy’s father got the court involved, they saw each other every two weeks. And Mandy has taken a ton of parenting classes, every course the prison offers. Besides, I thought that courts were supposed to lean toward family reunification whenever possible.”

  “They are,” Diane said. “But ‘whenever possible’ is open to interpretation. Judges can also take the best interests of the child into consideration. And they should.”

  Diane leaned forward, resting both elbows on her desk, looking Hope squarely in the eye.

  “I do think Mandy is being treated unfairly; that’s why I’ve agreed to represent her on a pro bono basis. But the least powerful person in this situation is Talia. When families start to battle, children often get used as pawns. So, before we go any further down this road, are you sure Mandy will be a fit parent?”

  “I’m sure she will,” Hope said. “I’m not saying she’ll be a perfect parent, because there’s no such thing. But I know she’ll devote every ounce of energy and effort she has to being the best possible mother for Talia. The reason I know that is because she’s already spent the last five years doing exactly that.”

  “I agree with Hope,” Kate said. “Everything Mandy does she does with Talia in mind. She’s been a model prisoner. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a model mother, but if there is, I’d bet my last dollar that Mandy would be it.”

  Diane shifted her weight back in her chair.

  “All right, then. If the two of you are sure, then so am I. I’ll do everything I can to help Mandy regain custody of her daughter. Even so, I can’t guarantee the outcome. There are so many things that can go wrong. The best thing would be if this case never got in front of a judge at all. Any chance you can talk the family into changing their minds about bringing the suit?”

  “From what I hear,” Hope said, “Mandy’s father is adamant. He threw Mandy out of the house when she was sixteen, something about her using the car without permission and staying out after curfew. I’m sure there was more to it than that, but that’s when Mandy started getting into serious trouble. She didn’t have anywhere to go, ended up living with a boyfriend, who was older and a drug dealer. She got pregnant with Talia at age eighteen, was arrested at twenty and incarcerated at twenty-one.

  “I guess I could try to talk to Mandy’s dad, but he doesn’t know me at all. And he doesn’t sound like the sort of person who listens to reason.”

  Diane glanced at her watch and got to her feet. “You never know. As a teacher, you might carry some kind of influence with him. And if not? Well, maybe you can find someone who does.”

  Chapter 40

  Rick and Hope parked just down the street from a small but tidy ranch-style home with blue siding, a gray front door, and a well-tended lawn. The bushes were neatly trimmed and the flower beds newly mulched, with green shoots of soon-to-bloom daffodils.

  “Maybe I should go in with you,” Rick said as he set the parking brake.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Hope said. “Mandy’s mother seems kind of shy. I think she’ll be much more likely to open up in a one-on-one conversation, and to another woman.”

  “You’re sure the dad isn’t in there? I don’t like the idea of you being around that guy.”

  “He should be at work by now,” Hope said. “And Talia will be at school. Anyway, from what Mandy told me, he’s not violent. He never hit her, or her mother.”

  “Yeah, well. Some guys can hit without throwing a punch,” Rick groused. “Mandy’s dad sounds like one of them. I hate a bully. What kind of father tosses his daughter out into the woods and then blames her for getting eaten by wolves? I kind of wish he was home. I’d like about five minutes alone with him.”

  “Be right back.” Hope leaned across the seat, kissed him on the lips, and then hopped out of the truck. Before closing the door, she turned back toward him and said, “By the way, I am very, very happy that I picked you to be the father of my children.”

  “Well, okay. Me too,” Rick said, and gave Hope a lopsided sort of grin. “Good luck. If you need anything, I’ll be right here.”

  “I know you will.”

  Hope passed a couple of lawns and climbed the front steps of the blue rancher. A few moments after she rang the bell Lola, Mandy’s mother, opened the door.

  “Mrs. Lopez? My name is Hope Carpenter.” Lola frowned but said nothing. “I was Mandy’s teacher.”

  “Is my Mandy in trouble? I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

  “None that you don’t already know about,” Hope said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Lola looked left and right, as if she was checking to see who might be watching, then opened the screen door that separated them.

  “Okay,” she said. “I have to go pick Talia up for a dentist appointment in about half an hour. But please. Come inside.”

  * * *

  Rick sat in his truck, his eyes glued to the gray door his wife had disappeared through, waiting.

  Doing nothing had never been his strong suit. He had always been a man of action, a doer. Even though Mandy’s father wasn’t home, he didn’t like the idea of Hope being in a stranger’s house alone. But worse than that was the idea that he had no role to play here, no way to help his wife deal with a problem that she very much wanted resolved. It was a situation he found himself in a lot of late, or at least far more often than he would have liked, which would have been never.

  This thing with Mandy really mattered to Hope. It mattered to Rick too, but for different reasons. He never could stand by and do nothing when somebody was being bullied. As a kid, he’d spent a lot of time in the principal’s office, but only for defending the rights of other kids who were getting picked on by those who were stronger, or bigger, or just plain meaner. But Rick didn’t have a dog in this hunt, not the way Hope did. As much as he felt bad for Mandy, he’d never met her. The wronged party Rick most wanted to avenge in this situation was his wife, but there was little, perhaps nothing, he could do to help her.

  Rick stared at the door, waiting for it to open. After about twenty minutes, he turned on the radio, found an eighties rock station, and slumped against the seat with his arms crossed over his chest, feeling useless and guilty.

  He wished he’d been more supportive about Hope taking the job at the prison. More supportive? He sniffed and shifted in his seat. He hadn’t even been tolerant. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to make her life miserable. Yes, it was at least partly because his own life had been so miserable at the time, but that was no excuse. The truth was, he’d bullied her. Or tried to.

  Luckily for those women at the prison, and
for him, Hope wasn’t the kind of woman who could be pushed around. Certainly not by the likes of him. He’d always loved that about Hope, the feisty core of her. Not everybody got to see that side of her, but Rick did. That was what made it so special. He knew that she felt safe enough with him so she could always be herself. More than anything in the world, Rick wanted Hope to feel safe. To be safe.

  That was the other part of why he hadn’t wanted her to work in the prison, or to go into that house without him.

  Hope said that Mandy’s father wasn’t home, said she’d be fine on her own. Probably she would. But with her in there and him sitting out here, being useless, there was no way to know for sure. The prison was even worse because the danger there was real and more prevalent.

  Yes, there were safety procedures and precautions, lots of them. Hope told him about all that. And when David was at the house for Christmas, Rick had cornered him when Hope wasn’t looking, quizzed him about the safety systems and incidences of violence between inmates and staff. According to David, it almost never happened. Violent altercations were almost always between inmates. Also, they were at an all-time low since he’d become superintendent. That was reassuring. But, still, if something did happen, Hope would be on the other side of that wall, alone.

  That was what had really bothered him, the walls. The physical walls, of course, but also the emotional walls that had come between Hope and himself. Until he lost his job, he hadn’t even known they were there. He’d always thought that he and Hope were on the same side, teammates. Getting fired had forced him to face the truth.

  With the distraction of his work removed and his sense of power and purpose defeated, Rick had begun to see how he and Hope had built parallel but separate lives for themselves, each running along their own personal track, rarely conflicting but also rarely intersecting. He blamed himself, for so many things.

  He’d been such an ass.

  Miserable as it had been for both of them, a part of him was grateful. Sometimes you have to lose everything you think is important before you realize that none of it was. But Hope was important to him; so were his kids, his community, the opportunity to get up in the morning, work hard, and come home tired but satisfied because you knew what you’d accomplished that day and that it would make life at least a little bit better for somebody.

  He’d always been so proud of his engineering work, of putting his stamp on the city skyline. He still was. But he understood now that there are all kinds of ways to have an impact. The imprint we leave on the lives of others can be deeper, more meaningful, and more lasting than any edifice. Buildings can be torn down but not what you do for other people, especially the people you love.

  He was glad he’d learned that lesson, grateful that Hope had stood by while he did, regretful that he’d made them both so miserable in the process. He wished he could make it up to her. She said there was nothing to make up for, but still . . . He was a doer. That piece of him never had and never would change. Neither would the need to protect his wife and champion her cause, especially when she was in the right.

  The work she’d done in the prison lit her up in a way that he’d never seen before. It was difficult, and frustrating, and pioneering, and risky, and she was passionate about it. She had pushed through every obstacle, including him, to make it happen, building something from nothing, something that mattered. He was no more enthusiastic about her working at the prison than he’d ever been, but he knew that what she was doing was important and necessary.

  Rick had always loved Hope. Now he was impressed with her.

  At long last, the gray door opened.

  Hope stepped through. She wasn’t smiling. A woman with gray hair and a slight build followed her. They stood on the walkway talking for a moment; then the woman climbed into a blue sedan that had been parked in the driveway and drove off. Hope retraced her path past the neighboring yards toward the truck.

  “Well?” he asked after she climbed inside and closed the door. “How’d it go?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. . . .” Hope paused, gazing sightlessly up the street toward the corner where the blue sedan had turned right and disappeared. “She was cautious about opening up to me, especially at first. She’s got perfectly reasonable concerns about how this will impact Talia; she was so little when Mandy was sentenced that she doesn’t remember another home. And, of course, Lola loves Talia. It must be hard to think about letting her go.

  “Still, though she didn’t come right out and say so, I think she’s worried about what will happen when Talia gets older. Apparently, everything was fine between Mandy and her dad until Mandy hit puberty, but then . . . I don’t know. Something changed. It sounds like he suddenly didn’t trust her; everything she said or did made him suspicious. Maybe he thought he was protecting her?”

  Rick sputtered, “Maybe he was being a jealous jerk. I’m telling you, babe. The guy’s a bully.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I do think he’s the one driving this, not Lola. She knows that Mandy has changed and would move heaven and earth to make a good home for Talia. But I think she’s afraid to stand up to her husband. He sounds like the kind of man who doesn’t budge once he’s turned against someone. He’s certainly proven that with his daughter. I think Lola’s afraid the same rule applies to wives.”

  Rick reached across the seat, grabbed Hope’s hand, and then pulled it to his lips, placing a smacking kiss on the ridge of her knuckles.

  “You’re an amazing woman, do you know that?”

  Hope let out an unconvinced little laugh. “Thanks. But if I was really amazing I’d have walked out of that house knowing that Lola was going to stand up to her husband.”

  “How about formidable then? Or at least determined? You never know; things still might work out.”

  “They might,” Hope said, though her tone made her doubts clear. “I appealed to her as a woman and a mother. That’s really all I can do. The rest is up to her.”

  “Well. Maybe,” Rick said. “I’ve been sitting here thinking and I’m not so sure about that.”

  Hope tilted her head to one side, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

  “When it comes to helping Mandy regain custody, I do think you’ve done everything you can. But the other inmates still need you. You didn’t do anything wrong and neither did they. I think you should try to get your job back.”

  “Hang on,” Hope said, shaking her head hard, as if she were trying to clear water out of her ears. “Did you just say you wanted me to go back to work at the prison? I thought you hated me working there.”

  “I did,” he admitted. “And the truth is, I still do in a way. But that was before I saw how much it meant to you and what a difference you’re making by being there. Besides, even if you lose, sometimes you’ve got to stand up for what’s right.”

  “But how? David wouldn’t budge. He said he didn’t have a choice. The truth is: I’m not sure he did. Policy.”

  “So go over his head.”

  “How? It’s not like I can complain to the supervisor; he is the supervisor. Of everything.”

  “Go way over his head. David enforces policy. Appeal to the person who actually makes it.”

  “Okay,” Hope said slowly. “Sounds good to me, but once again, I ask the obvious question—how? Do you have a plan?”

  Rick sniffed and turned the key in the ignition. The old truck sputtered and complained for a moment, then roared to life.

  “Not a plan exactly. More of an idea.”

  “An idea. Uh-huh. Are explosives and pickaxes involved? Spies? Superhero capes? Because that’s what I think it would take.”

  Rick looked over his shoulder to check for traffic and then gave the gearshift a shove. The old truck groaned in protest, then slipped into first.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of you, Kate, and a quilt,” he said, pressing his foot onto the gas pedal. “But capes would be a nice touch.”

  Chapter 41

  The steady drizzl
e did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd that was standing shoulder to shoulder in Seattle’s Waterfront Park, waiting for the rally to begin.

  “Four more years! Four more years!” they chanted, and clapped their hands and sang along to the recording of “We Take Care of Our Own” that played over the loudspeakers. When three older women carrying blue and green pompoms began shaking them and started shouting, “We love Norma! Yes, we do! We love Norma! How ’bout you?” the crowd took up the answering cheer, shouting that yes, they, too, loved Norma.

  While all this was going on, Hope and Kate, who had been delayed by traffic on the drive from Olympia to Seattle and then had to park eight blocks away because several streets had been blocked off for the rally, tried to push and squeeze and sweet-talk their way to the front of the crowd. It was very slow going.

  “Now I know how salmon feel,” Kate said, calling over her shoulder to Hope as they inched forward. “It’s like trying to swim upstream to the spawning grounds.”

  “Just keep moving!” Hope replied, shouting to make herself heard over the cheering and music and chaos. “We’ll get there. Good thing they started late.”

  When her progress forward was blocked by a man with a huge, almost mountainous body, Kate tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, sir. Can my friend and I get by? We’re trying to get up front to see the governor.”

  The man turned around, scowling. His beard hung almost to his belt. He wore a plaid shirt and a gray and red WSU Cougars baseball cap. When he looked down at petite little Kate, water dripped from the brim of his hat and onto Kate’s nose. She swiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “Lady, we’re all trying to see the governor. I’ve been standing out here for two solid hours waiting to see the governor. You should have shown up earlier.”

  “Yes,” Kate said, smiling, “but there was terrible traffic. We drove all the way up from Olympia because we want to deliver a quilt to the governor.”

  “A quilt?” The mountainous man scowled again and looked at Hope, who was holding the quilt, wrapped in a clear plastic bag to keep it from getting wet. “Why would you come up here to give the governor a quilt? You were already in Olympia. Why not just drop it off at the capitol? Or mail it?”