by Jenny Wood
Contents
Murphy
Murphy
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
Murphy
Cruz
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, products, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This story is also set in a southern state (Georgia); please keep in mind that accents are different all over the world and I like to use them. It isn’t a typo or a lazy way of typing. It’s how it’s spoken. (Or at least the way I speak it, y'all.) Although I do try to eliminate typo’s and misspellings, they do still happen. Nastiness and negativity do not affect them nor does it affect my love for writing. To everyone who chooses to comment or review, I appreciate you, more than you know!
Enjoy : )
To: My niece, A. You’re my favorite, Snooks <3
Murphy
“Mr. Kinzer, I’d like to hear your findings.” Judge Monroe calls on me last. This is the part of my job that I hate. I gather my packed folder for this case and stand at the podium facing the middle-aged, graying judge. I clear my throat before I begin; really to give me a minute to compose myself after glancing at the young girl in which I am representing. She looks so scared, so I begin.
“Your Honor, over the last three weeks, Ms. McClaren has had six scheduled supervised visitations; only one of which she attended. However, per the court's orders, before Ms. McClaren was able to visit with her daughter she was to pass a drug screen, of which she did not. Ms. McClaren tested positive for THC and amphetamines, neither of which she had a prescription for.” I tell the judge, very well aware but not able to help it, that Ms. McClaren’s seven-year-old daughter Rebecca is hearing every word. I think of her big brown eyes and shy smiles and wonder how any person could put drugs before their children. Sadly, in my profession, I see it happen all too often. I try not to think how this will shape this young girl and the rest of her life, but it’s impossible not to when I see the effects of such things each day and have lived it myself as well.
“Sheriff Nelson was on scene and spoke with Ms. McClaren, and she herself admitted to smoking marijuana before her visitation to, and I quote “calm her nerves.” When Ms. McClaren got denied entry into the elevator, she became combative and belligerent. When asked to leave, she then threw her purse; spilling its contents which included a pocket knife, an empty vial and a small baggie of what Sheriff Nelson tested positive for cocaine. She was booked into Morgan County Jail for four days and released, but is due back in court in August. The Sorenson’s, nor I have heard from Ms. McClaren since.” I finish, knowing that he knows it’s been an additional two weeks since then.
“Thank you, Mr. Kinzer, I’d like a word with you and Rebecca in my chambers, please.” He declares, and without looking back, he exits his stand. Luckily, the room has only a handful of people for today’s proceeding, and Rebecca and her foster mother are sat just behind me. I close my folder and take a seat beside Rebecca and Diane.
“Rebecca, remember how we said that Judge Monroe would probably want to talk to you?” I ask her quietly. She tries to look brave, holding her head high and making direct eye contact with me, but I notice her tiny hands that are bunched up in little fists in her lap and I can see the teeth marks on her lower lip where she’d bitten down so hard, probably to hide her emotion.
“I’ll be with you the whole time, and if at any time you don’t want to answer something, you just tell us, alright? We aren’t going to force you to say anything you don’t feel comfortable saying, okay?” I ask her, and she nods. I tell her foster mother Diane that we’ll be right back and I promise that she’ll be okay with me. Because I’m there for every visitation and often spend the two-hour visit with Rebecca, she and Diane have grown to trust me, even if only a little.
Walking into the Judge’s chambers, I guide Rebecca to a chair and drag mine to sit beside her.
“Hi Rebecca, I’m Judge Monroe, but you can call me Harold, that be okay?” Judge Monroe smiles tentatively at her, trying to put her at ease; I know this isn’t easy on him either, it couldn’t be.
“Okay,” Rebecca whispers.
“Some pretty grown-up stuff going on lately, huh?” He asks her, and she nods. “Probably pretty scary stuff, too, yeah?”
“Am I going back with my mom?” She asks quietly, fidgeting in her chair.
“Well, that’s what we’re here for today; to see what’s best for you. Did Mr. Kinzer explain that to you?” He asks, gaining another nod.
“Do I get to pick?” She asks, hands still bunched up in her lap, eyes not leaving the Judge.
“Well, honey, it’s a bit complicated….you see-“
“I want to stay with Diane!” She blurts, taking Judge Monroe and me both off guard. It’s the loudest she’s spoken since I’ve met her.
“Okay. Can you tell me why you’d rather stay with Diane?” He asks her softly. We both watch her worry her lip and squirm in her seat. I want to pull her into my lap and hug her until she stops shaking; it wouldn’t be professional and I’d likely get taken off the case, but it’s so damn hard to separate your feelings and emotions when children are involved; and because this is my job, children are always involved.
“Honey, this is a safe space here, see? Those doors are closed, and nobody can hear what we talk about in this room, and that means you don’t have to worry about saying something that might hurt someone’s feelings or make someone upset or mad. What we talk about in here is just between us three, okay?” I unfurl her little hand and hold it in mine; they’re freezing but clammy.
“Nobody will know?” She asks me, not sparing the Judge even a glance.
“Nope, not unless it’s something dangerous that we’ll need to look into. Is it something like that?” I ask, hoping so badly that it isn’t. While it’s true that Madison, Georgia is a small little town with the lowest crime rate I’ve ever seen; I came from the big city of Savannah, and this kind of thing was an everyday battle for me and the kids whose reality is this hell and often times even worse than this.
“You said my mom had cocaine, that’s the white stuff you breathe in your nose, right?” She went back to her quiet, soft-spoken voice.
“That’s what it is, yes.” I side step the confirmation that her mother had it, but don’t deny that’s what it is. Children of any age shouldn’t know what cocaine is or what it looks like and this little girl of seven years old had seen it before to know of it.
“She does it all the time.” She confesses, never taking her eyes off me.
“She does?” I ask, hoping my voice is as nonchalant as I try to make it sound. I am not a poker player, and my game face is non-existent; luckily kids aren’t that observant, and when my heart breaks for them, they don’t read it all over my face. Or maybe they do, and they’re just so used to heartbreak, that mine doesn’t seem so out of place. That thought makes me miserable.
“Grant brings it to her; he’s not nice. She makes me go in the bedroom when he comes over because he tries to get me to sit on his lap and mom says that I should never sit on guys laps. Not even when I was real little, and Santa still visited.” She says, talking only to me. Judge Monroe is quiet, but I see him drop his chin to his chest.
“When Grant brings it to your mom, does she keep it or give it to other people?” I ask.
“Both. Sometimes
she calls people to tell them she has it, and then they come over and sometimes she puts it in her lock box under her bed. When people come over, they breathe it in through their noses too.”
“Well that doesn’t sound like very much fun, does it?” I ask her, squeezing her hand gently into mine. She attempts a small smile, but it’s forced. I still want to pick her up and hug her.
“Is that why you’d rather stay with Diane? Do Grant and all that stuff make you scared or sad?” I like that she’s comfortable talking to me about this because, in all our meetings and visitations, we’ve never talked about her mother, other than Rebecca asking if she was coming or not.
“Diane does mom type stuff,” She shrugs it off, but the way in which her voice chances means something completely different to her. It means everything. “She brushes my hair before bedtime, and anytime I ask her to paint my fingernails, she does. She doesn’t get mad when I make a mess, and two nights ago, we went to get pedicures, that’s where they rub your feet and paint your toenails!” She says excitedly. I give her a genuine smile that time because she gave me one first. “I have my own room at Diane’s, and it’s a pretty color. She lets me put pictures up on the walls, even though we don’t know how long I’ll be there. She tucks me in at night, and we both say one good thing that happened that day so we can go to sleep with a happy memory; and when I have bad dreams, she sits with me, sometimes all night, so they don’t come back. I don’t even ask her, she just does it and it works, they don’t come back! I don’t get scared at her house, even though it gets darker faster because of all the trees around blocks the sun; but I don’t even get scared of that.”
“Sounds like Diane is fun to be around,” I say, glancing toward the Judge.
“So, do I get to pick? Can I stay with Diane? Please?” She looks so hopeful. Judge Monroe clears his throat, and we both look to him, though Rebecca is hesitant.
“Rebecca, we’re going to let you go back with Diane, okay?” He tells her, and I know he notices like I do that she visibly relaxes. “We’re going to keep the same schedule you’ve been having with your mom, where she’s supposed to come visit twice a week at the community building. I’m also going to ask her to talk to some people who might help her stop wanting to do some of the things she does that scares you, okay? Sometimes people make mistakes and just need a little push in the right direction to make better choices, you know? So, for now, you’ll go back with Diane, and I’ll keep in touch with her, as will Mr. Kinzer, and he’ll keep in touch with you. Then, when we meet back here in a couple of months, we’ll see how things are for everyone, sound good?” She nods eagerly, a broad smile on her face.
“Thank you.” She tells us both and Judge Monroe excuses us both. I take Rebecca back to Diane and watch as Ms. McClaren glare daggers at the three of us. If I had to wager, I’d bet she knew exactly how this hearing was going to go and I can’t imagine why this would be a surprise to her.
“Ms. McClaren, Judge Monroe would like to see you in his chambers.” The bailiff ushers a still glaring Ms. McClaren back and we all sit and wait. Rebecca’s body jolts in place as we hear faint yelling from behind the closed doors, and it sounds like someone is sobbing though we can’t make out any words. When both the judge and Rebecca’s mom come out of the back room, Ms. McClaren wastes no time in grabbing her purse and storming out the double doors.
“Ms. Sorenson, you have a wonderful young woman there beside you, and I commend you for the wonderful job you’re doing with her. We’ll reconvene in ninety-five days after which Ms. McClaren has hopefully completed an outpatient drug program successfully. Visitation will remain the same, and I urge you to contact Mr. Kinzer if anything should arise that should be brought to our attention, but other than that; you are all dismissed.” He slammed his gavel down, and that was that.
Diane and Rebecca thank me profusely and walk just ahead of me, hand in hand out of the building. Some days, being the one to keep a child away from a parent who genuinely loves and cares for their children but just isn't able to adequately care for them, is too much for me to handle. Days like today where I know I’m keeping the little one in a safe place where she’s happy and being taken care of, well those days almost make up for it.
Getting back to my office takes only minutes on foot, as everything in this town seems within walking distance. Having moved from a big town like Savannah, the small-town feel is much more my speed. Whereas I lived in my third story apartment for five years in the city, I only met one of my neighbors, once. We didn’t have relationships with one another, not even friendly ones and everyone seemed to be in such a hurry to get where they were going, nobody ever stopped just to enjoy the moment. Here, in Madison, I can go to the coffee shop or the deli on the square, and the proprietors will know my order, sometimes even before I do. The grocery store clerks make small talk with me, and the bag boys are twin teenagers that work for their father and both of them are so polite and friendly, they always greet me by name. Same with the courthouse, the library, the hardware store, the tiny mini-mart at the end of my block; the Chinese place I get carry-out from, the Italian joint that delivers my pizza and even a couple of teachers from the elementary school that I’ve gotten to know through work. Everybody knows everybody, and everybody calls you friend. That song was made for this town, I’m certain of it.
“You have a message from Ms. Sanders,” Donetta, my part-time receptionist tells me when I walk back into my office. She schedules herself when I have meetings or hearings, or she can be here to answer the phone and do the administrative work that I so badly hate. She’s been a godsend to me.
“Did she say how she was feeling?” I ask, thinking of the small, tatted up, wild-haired girl that I’d promised to help find the best family for her babies. She was wise beyond her years, and her eyes spoke of a pain I’d seen far too often, and I wanted to do everything that I could to help her. As a victim of sexual assault in the home, she was planning her escape from this town and wanted to start over; who could fault her for that? She’d chosen a local same-sex couple who, if I’m honest, by the looks of them wouldn’t have been many’s first choice. But from the moment she read their files, she’d been convinced that they were perfect.
The first meeting between Haley and her perspective adopters had been an emotional one. Kingsley and his husband Morgan had not had an easy time with adoption. When their last one fell through at the last minute, it left the pair heartbroken and reeling from what I’m sure was a devastating loss. Haley was convinced that they were “it” though and it seemed like she just wasn’t going to let them say no. When both men realized that she was carrying twins and had already told the babies about them, neither one of them could say no.
It was my understanding that they kept in contact daily, and both parties were over the moon about the upcoming delivery. Everything looked perfect, and everything was in order; the only thing we had to do was go over the finalization papers in the hospital after the birth, and I could get a judge to sign off on it the same week. The adoption would take sixty days to finalize, in case anyone changed their minds, but I just knew this one was going to work out.
“She’s in labor,” Donetta springs on me, saying it like she’s told me her shirt is wrinkled or something as mundane as the weather outside.
“She’s in labor? And you didn’t call me?” I say, dropping my briefcase inside my office door and scrambling to find the necessary paperwork for Haley and the Kennedy’s. I pull out my phone and shoot Kingsley a text, asking how everyone is doing. He sends me back two perfect pictures of a tiny pink bundled up baby, and the next one, a tiny blue bundle of fuzzy blonde hair. Wyatt King and Gracie Joy; they look perfect.
Grabbing the papers and everything I’ll need to take home, I tell Donetta that she can take off anytime. I plan to go home myself after stopping in at the hospital, as I’ve got an early morning “surprise” house call, first thing.
The nurse's station is empty when I first arrive at the hospital. I
t was early evening, as I’d stopped for a quick bite before heading over but the labor and delivery ward looked deserted.
“Can I help you find someone?” A smiling woman in pink and purple scrubs asks me as she whipped around the corner and dumped a paper cup in the trashcan and sits behind the desk.
“I’m looking for Haley Sanders,” I tell her and watch her face fall.
“She’s in 202.” She smiles a small smile, and I thank her before turning to find the room numbers that go down to the 200’s, I’m directly in front of 213, now. Her room is easy enough to spot, and it’s the only room with the closed door. Knocking tentatively, I wait to be let in, but Bree, Haley’s partner, meets me at the door and looks relieved before letting me in.
“Hey, how’s everyone feeling?” I ask the room when I’m let in. Haley is silently crying, and Bree rushes back to her side and grabs her hand.
“It’s hard,” Bree whispers, leaning down to kiss a heartbroken Haley. I pull up a chair on her other side and reach for her hand.
“What can I do?” I ask her. My job is to try and make this as painless and easy as possible.
“I don’t know.” She cries. So far, when dealing with her throughout this process, she’s been so strong and sure; right now, she looks every bit of the broken eighteen-year-old that I know she is. This is the hardest thing she’ll likely ever have to do.
“Okay, first things first; are you having second thoughts?” I ask, needing to know.
“No, it’s just hard. I want to see them but I’m afraid that if I do, I won’t want to let them go.” She sobs. Bree looks panicked but pulls her sobbing partner into her body and rocks her while she cries.
“Haley, what you’re doing, is completely up to you. It’s your choice, and I understand it’s hard; so very hard. What you’re doing? Giving them the life you wish you could’ve had, that’s done out of love, honey. You love those babies so much already that you want the absolute best for them. The Kennedy’s, they said you could be as involved as you want to be, if you want to see the babies, they’ll let you. If you want to wait a couple of weeks, a couple of months, hell even a couple years, I believe they’d let you. Whenever you’re ready if you’re ever ready. That’s up to you.” I tell her softly. I can’t imagine being in this position; I can only imagine how terrible it must feel.
