Listening to them banter, Kerrie Ann found herself marveling at the change in her sister over the past year. Frankly, she wouldn’t have thought this soft, less serious side of Lindsay existed if she weren’t seeing it with her own eyes. If she’d changed, so had Lindsay. And maybe, thought Kerrie Ann, she’d had a small part in that transformation. Just as she herself was a different person partly due to Lindsay. But she still had one last hurdle to clear …
“It’s no use, guys,” she said, cutting through the repartee. “I know you’re only trying to take my mind off what’s ahead, but I won’t be able to think about anything else until it’s over.”
Lindsay shot her a concerned look. “We didn’t want to make it any worse by hashing it out over breakfast.”
“Believe me, you couldn’t make it any worse.” Kerrie Ann’s stomach executed another slow cartwheel and she pushed aside her coffee cup. She was jumpy enough as it was, her system pumping enough adrenaline to power her through the rest of the day without the aid of caffeine. “I just hope the judge doesn’t decide that I’m still a lousy risk.”
“I don’t see how he could,” said Lindsay. “Not after all you’ve accomplished.”
“Anything’s possible,” Kerrie Ann said.
“If that’s true, then he could just as easily decide you’re a good bet,” said Miss Honi more optimistically. She bit into a doughnut—she’d long since given up on Weight Watchers—brushing idly at the powdered sugar scattered over her lapels. Today’s look was more toned down than usual; she was wearing emerald-green slacks with a candy-heart-pink jacket, a plain gold choker, and matching earrings. Fresh from the beauty parlor, with her upsweep firmly in place, she could have been a contestant in the Miss America pageant, senior division.
They finished breakfast, and Randall paid the check while the others fetched their luggage. Then they all headed to their respective cars for the drive to the courthouse. Kerrie Ann was silent on the way over, and for once Ollie didn’t attempt to engage her in conversation; he seemed to sense that not only would it be futile, it might backfire. Whatever she had to say, she was saving it for the judge.
Her lawyer was waiting for her when they arrived.
“Ready?” Abel looked jaunty in a chalk-stripe suit, French cuffs, and a tie patterned with tiny porpoises.
Kerrie Ann managed a small smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good.” He eyed her sternly. “Now, remember, whatever they say, don’t let it get to you. It’s just words.”
Recalling her outburst the last time, she nodded and said, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
He grinned, a dazzling display of white teeth against ebony skin. “Okay, then, let’s go in there and show them what you’re made of.” He added with a chuckle, “Just don’t show too much.”
As the hearing got under way, it became increasingly harder for Kerrie Ann to maintain her composure as she sat listening to the Bartholds’ attorney, Janice Chen, a five-foot-tall firecracker in a red suit and black patent-leather heels as shiny as her blunt-cut hair, go on and on about all the Bartholds had to offer and how Bella was thriving in their care.
“Your Honor, I think the results speak for themselves. Would her mother,” the tiny woman flicked a hand toward Kerrie Ann, “be able to offer the same level of care? A woman with a known history of drug use who’s repeatedly demonstrated a clear lack of judgment when it comes to her child? I think the answer is obvious. We believe the court would be doing this little girl a grave disservice by not awarding custody to my clients.”
George Barthold took the stand next, looking somber and dignified. His face lit up only when speaking of Bella. “She’s just the most amazing child. Bright, sweet-natured, and curious about everything. The pastor at our church was joking the other day that he’s going to have to take a refresher course in order to keep up with all her questions.” He chuckled softly. “Watching her blossom over the past year has brought me and my wife the greatest joy.” He cast a glance at Carol, sitting ramrod-straight in the first row. “It would destroy us to lose her, but this isn’t about us and what we want. It’s about what’s best for Bella. If we were to raise her, she couldn’t have more devoted parents, I can promise you that.”
When it was Carol Barthold’s turn, she was the only one with the guts to raise the topic no one else had dared to mention. “That child belongs with us. Will her white mother be able to give her what we can? I went to the Phillips Exeter Academy on scholarship. I was the only African American girl in my class—the proverbial fly in the milk bucket.” Behind Carol’s haughty facade Kerrie Ann caught a glimpse of the girl who’d been on the outside looking in. “What saved me was the strong sense of identity my parents instilled in me. I want Bella to have that, too, to be proud of her black heritage.”
Kerrie Ann began to tremble, partly in fear and partly in suppressed fury. On top of all her other sins, did she have to be punished because she was white? She silently blessed Abel when it was his turn to address the bench and he responded to Carol’s argument, “Your Honor, I’m not even going to address the question of race—that’s not the issue here. Let’s stick to what matters. Yes, my client, Ms. McAllister, has made some mistakes in the past, but she recognizes those mistakes and has been doing her utmost to rectify them. She still regularly attends twelve-step meetings and has tested clean for drugs for over a year, not to mention she works two jobs. Can the Bartholds offer more in the way of material things? Undoubtedly. But shouldn’t the love of a mother for her child and that of a child for her mother count more than dancing lessons and a shot at the Ivy League?”
The spark of hope in Kerrie Ann’s breast sputtered, then flared. She risked a peek at the judge. He didn’t appear unmoved. A good sign? Maybe, but she still had some heavy convincing of her own to do. And look what had happened the last time she’d spoken up in her own defense.
She broke out in a cold sweat as she approached the witness stand. If there was ever a time for her higher power to come to her aid, it was now. Taking her seat, she caught Lindsay’s eye. Her sister looked tense, as if recalling her own recent ordeal. It was Ollie, beaming at Kerrie Ann with such love that it suffused his whole face as if a spotlight were shining on him, who gave her the extra push she needed.
“Your Honor, I’m not so good with words. I didn’t get straight As in school, like my daughter,” she began haltingly. “But I know one thing: I love that little girl with all my heart. Even at my lowest, I never stopped loving her. I know I messed up, and I also know that if I spend the rest of my life trying to make up for that, it still won’t be enough. But I’m trying my best. They say a leopard doesn’t change its spots, and I used to believe that, but now I know it’s not always true. I have changed. Not just what you see on the outside but on the inside, too. I promise if I get another chance, it’ll be different the next time.”
“The last time you were given that chance,” the judge reminded her, “you left your child in her father’s care—a known addict—and he put her at serious risk. It was lucky she was unharmed, or you would be here under very different circumstances, Ms. McAllister.”
She hung her head. “I know that, Your Honor.”
“And what do you have to say in your defense?”
“I made a mistake,” she said in a small voice unlike that of the old smart-mouthed Kerrie Ann who’d had an excuse for everything. “I trusted him when I shouldn’t have. He told me he was clean, and I believed him. I was wrong. I see that now, and it won’t happen again.”
“How do we know that?” interjected Ms. Chen with cool disdain. “This is a perfect example, Your Honor, of the point I was making earlier. I don’t doubt that Ms. McAllister means well, but how can you expect a person who shows such poor judgment not to keep on making the same mistakes?”
Kerrie Ann became aware of a flurry of movement and looked up to find Lindsay on her feet, leaning across the balustrade to whisper something in Abel’s ear. He nodded, then turned bac
k to the bench, requesting, “Your Honor, if I may, my client’s sister would like to have a word.
The judge gestured in assent, and Lindsay took the stand, saying in a strong, clear voice after she’d been sworn in, “My name is Lindsay Bishop. I’m Ms. McAllister’s sister. I’d like to state for the record that every word she said was true. She has changed. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my sister.” She paused, looking a little uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “You see, we didn’t grow up together—we were put into foster care when Kerrie Ann was just three—and it’s only recently that we’ve become reacquainted. I won’t deny that I had my doubts at first. But over time I came to see what a loyal, good-hearted person she is. Hardworking, too. I don’t know how I’d manage without her. She’s the best friend and sister—and employee—anyone could have.” She smiled at Kerrie Ann. “She’s a good mother, too. I’ve seen how she is with Bella. And I’ve watched her, time and again, deny herself something she wanted so she could put money aside for her daughter. That child means everything to her.”
Kerrie Ann’s eyes filled with tears. In the decade-plus of bouncing from one foster home to the next, followed by her years on the road, no one had ever stood up for her. And now here was her sister—a sister she hadn’t even known existed until a relatively short while ago—saying the things Kerrie Ann had longed all her life to hear. Sticking up for her.
“What happened with Bella’s father,” Lindsay went on, “could’ve happened to anyone. In fact, I’m partly to blame. My sister was so sick that night she could barely lift her head off the pillow, so of course she wasn’t thinking straight. But I was there; I should’ve kept him from taking Bella. The only reason I didn’t was because, like my sister, I thought he was a good dad. So don’t judge her too harshly. It was a mistake, but an honest one.”
The judge frowned, but his expression seemed more pensive than disapproving. His voice was kindly when he spoke. “Thank you, Ms. Bishop. I’ll take that into consideration.”
Next Bella’s court-appointed attorney, the skinny, pop-eyed Ms. Travers, weighed in briefly, mainly to reiterate what was in the psychologist’s report: that Bella appeared happy and well adjusted and showed no signs of any permanent trauma from her ordeal at her father’s hands.
It was Mrs. Silvestre who proved to be the wild card. When it was her turn, she said with her usual crisp, dry delivery, “I, too, had my doubts about Ms. McAllister in the beginning. But the woman I see sitting before me now isn’t the same one I first met over a year ago. Your Honor, I’ve been involved in hundreds of cases like this one, and most times I think the child in question would be better off with someone other than his or her biological parent or parents. But, in this case, I’d have to say the opposite is true. I believe Bella would be best placed with her mother.”
Kerrie Ann was so stunned, it was all she could do to keep her mouth from dropping open. She smiled at Mrs. Silvestre as she stepped down from the stand. Mrs. Silvestre didn’t smile back.
By the time both lawyers had given their closing remarks, Kerrie Ann felt more numb than anything. Gone was her righteous indignation of the past. There were no bad guys here, just ordinary people caught in a bad situation. Besides, she wasn’t the only one who was scared. She’d seen the fear in the Bartholds’ eyes when Mrs. Silvestre was on the stand. Despite everything they had to offer, they had to know they were in a vulnerable position.
The judge, after a brief recess to review, finally delivered his decision. “I’m granting custody to the mother. On a pro-tem basis.” He cast a stern look at Kerrie Ann. “Ms. McAllister, I want to see you back here in six months before anything is finalized.” A gasp went up from the other table, followed by a muffled cry—from Carol Barthold—and he turned to address the couple, saying gently, “I don’t doubt you’d make excellent parents. But this child already has a mother. And while I can’t condone some of Ms. McAllister’s actions in the past, I do recognize that she’s made significant strides since then.” He brought his gaze back to Kerrie Ann. “Ms. McAllister, you realize I’m not giving you carte blanche here?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” She broke into a grin. “I even know what that means—that I’m not getting a free ride,” she said, happy that she’d looked up the term after coming across it in one of her books.
“Quite right,” he said, struggling to suppress a small smile of his own.
Then they were all trooping out of the courtroom. Suddenly Kerrie Ann could breathe again. Lindsay, Randall, Miss Honi, and Abel all took turns hugging and congratulating her before Ollie, not to be outdone, swooped in to give her a kiss that, if it had been in a movie, would have been worthy of a leading man. At the moment he looked even better to her than Brad Pitt.
Kerrie Ann, laughing and crying at the same time, turned to Abel. “Where’s Bella? Can I take her home with me?”
He nodded, saying gravely, “Yes, but I think I should have a word with the Bartholds first.”
“No. Let me talk to them,” she said, surprising herself. Moments ago she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever want to see their faces again, much less speak with them.
Abel gave her a dubious look. “All right. But keep in mind, they’re probably feeling pretty raw right now.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been there, remember?”
She was on her way back into the courtroom when the Bartholds emerged. They looked utterly devastated. She’d been so angry at them for such a long time that it took her a moment to recognize the emotion that welled up in her: sympathy. She knew exactly what they were going through.
“I just want you to know there’s no hard feelings,” she said to them.
George Barthold gave a stiff nod. “Thank you,” he said in the dull voice of someone shell-shocked.
Carol Barthold wasn’t so restrained. She glared at Kerrie Ann. “You’re doing her a disservice, you know that, don’t you? She belongs with us.”
George Barthold placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to Kerrie Ann. “We’re both a little upset right now, as you can imagine.”
“I know.” Strangely, she felt no urge to lash out at them. “I … I just wanted to thank you for taking such good care of her. I also want you to know that I’ll be taking good care of her, too, so you shouldn’t worry.”
“Can we still see her? It doesn’t have to be on a regular basis …” His voice caught. “Just so she doesn’t forget us.” Gone was his usual authoritative tone. He was all but begging.
Kerrie Ann paused to consider. She wanted no part of the Bartholds, and she was sure they wanted no part of her. But like it or not, they were a part of her child’s life and had been for some time. She didn’t doubt that Bella cared for them deeply and that over time, if the scales of justice had tipped the other way, she would have come to think of them as her mom and dad. She also thought about what the old Kerrie Ann would have done: She would have used George’s humbling himself to dig the knife in a little deeper.
“I’m sure something could be arranged,” she said.
George Barthold took her hand, squeezing it hard and saying with real emotion, “Thank you.”
Minutes later she was holding Bella on her lap, drinking in her little-girl scent as she sat with chin resting atop Bella’s braided head. “It’s all settled, baby. You’re coming home with me, just like I promised.” Bella wriggled closer, as if not quite ready to take her mother at her word. “We’ll be staying at Aunt Lindsay’s, but only for a little while—just until we get our own place.”
Bella lifted her head to say, “I like it at Aunt Lindsay’s. Why can’t we live there?”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Lindsay assured her, reaching down to stroke Bella’s cheek. “And after that you and your mom will be over all the time.”
At the plaintive look Bella gave her, Kerrie Ann pointed out, “When your aunt Lindsay gets married, it would be kind of tight with all of us living under one
roof. We wouldn’t want poor old Uncle Randall to have to sleep in the doghouse, would we?”
“No, thanks,” laughed Randall, casting a wry glance at Lindsay. “I’ve already been there once and don’t plan on going back.”
Randall had been a good sport about the unusual living arrangements he was entering into. Having Miss Honi around was no problem—he adored her, and vice versa. But with Kerrie Ann and now her daughter on board, quarters would be cramped. It’s time, she thought once again.
The only question was, would they move in with Ollie or strike out on their own?
As if echoing her thoughts, Bella asked, “But where will we go, Mommy?”
Kerrie Ann looked up just then and caught Ollie’s eye. He was gazing at her steadily and a bit worriedly, as if fearful of what her answer would be. She hesitated for a moment, not sure, either.
None of this would have been possible without Ollie, she realized. He hadn’t just rescued Bella—he’d rescued her. In the warmth of his love, she’d blossomed and come into her own. She knew she would never have to worry about Ollie dumping her or cheating on her. And he would be a father to Bella, who adored him. Ever since the night he’d swooped in, like Prince Caspian from the Chronicles of Narnia, and carried her to safety, Bella had looked up to him the way she would a favorite uncle or older brother, tagging after him whenever she came for a visit or they went to visit her.
But while those were all good reasons, there was only one that mattered: Did she love him enough to make it work?
The answer, when it came, was so clear that she wondered why it had taken her so long to arrive at it. Hugging her daughter tightly, she smiled up at Ollie as she spoke. “How would you like to go to a place where there’s always lots of cake to eat?”
Author’s Note
I’ve led a storied life in more ways than one. I’ve gone places and done things that astound me, looking back on it. Where did I ever find the courage? The willpower? Much of it I would advise against, were I to go back in time and have a heart-to-heart with my younger self. But good or bad, it was all grist for the mill, so I regret none of it. (Though I feel fortunate not to be haunted by compromising photos of myself online, having come of age in the pre-Internet era). The beauty of fiction is you can reshape past events however you please. I wasn’t popular in high school but got to hang out with the cool kids when I wrote for the phenomenally successful teen series Sweet Valley High in the early years of my career. Trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to live through some of what I lived through, but hopefully you’ve enjoyed the novels that came of it.
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