I close my eyes. I don’t think a single soul in the room is breathing now. My knee bounces, and I can’t make it stop.
The spokeswoman says, “Ms. Cook, we are sorry . . .”
Now my eyes fly open. My jiggling knee freezes.
“. . . sorry for the many weeks of delay. This board wishes you and your son the very best. Your parole is granted.”
The cheering is loud. Many voices make it. I jump up and race forward. I leap into Mom’s arms. There is no room for a big swing-around, so we spin tightly together. For several full turns the world is just the two of us. Mom’s face is buried close to my ear. She says, “You were awesome, Perry! Awesome!”
chapter seventy-eight
SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE
There is crying and celebrating. Our Blue River family filters in from behind the glass. Friends from the outside mix with friends from the inside. Fo-Joe tries to stay stern with the crowd. But the rules are suspended—just for a while.
Miss Sashonna circles up Miss Gina and Mrs. DiCoco in her long arms. They pull in Zoey and her mom, and they all collapse into one big extended-contact hug. Mr. Rojas dances the salsa, and Miss Maya shimmies and swings her braids.
Mrs. Buckmueller comes up crying, “Lordy! Extraordinary!” She wraps me in a giant squish. I see Big Ed with both arms around Mom. They cry together while he pats her back. Then Zoey’s mom is reaching for me. I hug her and thank her three times over. She has been my support person for many difficult things. In the din I hear Brian Morris telling anyone who will listen, “It’s the power of video. I’m telling you . . .”
Warden Daugherty has been standing back and watching the celebration. She has a peaceful smile on her face. I take a step toward her. But Desiree Riggs comes up to shake my hand. Miss Sashonna fake-faints, and Desiree speaks. “I like a good story,” she says. Her voice is buttercream. “I like the end of this one the best.” Desiree pushes close to Mom. “Ms. Cook,” she says, “if ever you’d like to tell me your story as a guest on my sh—”
“No, no, no. Respectfully, no. Thank you very much. I’m going home to live a quiet life . . .”
Mom fans her face with her hand. That reminds me I can loosen my tie now. It tightens instead, and Big Ed comes to my rescue. While he is freeing me, I notice Thomas VanLeer standing alone against the far wall. He looks less green now that it’s all over. It takes me a second to see it, but he gives me a firm thumbs-up. I mean to nod to him, but I’m not sure I do. I’m turning back toward Mom and our friends.
“I can’t believe it,” Mom says. “I don’t even know where we’re going to sleep tonight, Perry!” She pipes out a laugh.
“Oh. Right,” I say. It’s an amazing thought.
“You can stay with me!” Miss Maya says. “The fold-out couch for you, Jessica, and cushions on the floor for Perry.” Mom and Miss Maya lean together and begin to make arrangements.
But the warden is still off to one side, still smiling. She bends her head and begins to tap numbers into her phone.
“Gosh, Perry,” says Zoey. “No more camp mat in the closet. You’re leaving,” she says. She blinks, but she also smiles.
“Jessica!” The warden steps forward. She holds a finger in the air and her phone close to her chest. “A slumber party at Maya’s sounds lovely, but there is another option.” She points to her phone. “I have a certain landlord on hold—the owner of a first-floor apartment on Button Lane. She will gladly meet you there. You can sign a lease within the hour if you wish.”
“Button Lane! Really?” Mom clasps her hands together. “Ha! I had forgotten to dream that dream,” she says. “Well, Perry, what do you think?”
“Let’s go!” I say. “Let’s go . . . home!”
“Yeah, yeah, Jessica!” Miss Sashonna is shrieking. She jumps up and down and pulls tiny Miss Gina around with her. “Jessica’s got herself a crib!” They laugh and cry and flick tears away.
Miss Maya touches Mom’s shoulder. “This is wonderful, Jessica. I’d drive you there myself, but let us call you a taxi instead. You and Perry should go to your new home on your own. This is such a special day.”
“Yes, but then please let us help you,” says Zoey’s mom. “We’ll bring Perry’s things by this afternoon. What else will you need?”
“I suppose we need a little bit of everything.” Mom sputters a laugh.
“We have that,” says Zoey.
“Yes we do.” Zoey’s mom winks at me. “And a day off from school tomorrow to help.”
“That’s right. Veterans Day!” says Zoey. “And Tom is off too. So after the parade we’ll bring the car to Button Lane . . .” Zoey Samuels is on a mission. Her mom begins to steer her toward Mr. VanLeer. “See you later, Perry! See you soon!”
Mom tilts her head back and crows. “I can’t believe this. I have no worries!” She tucks me under her arm and squeezes me. “Perry,” she says, “I’m going to go pack!”
chapter seventy-nine
GATED OUT
It happens the same day of the hearing. If the parole board is satisfied, the parole candidate becomes a new release. So it goes with Mom.
She is packed up in twenty minutes. All her belongings fit in five shopping bags. Fo-Joe helps us carry them into the quiet common. The other rezzes have gone back to their jobs after this unusual morning at Blue River—except Big Ed. He’s her support person to the finish.
“I love you so much!” she tells him. “We love you so much. We’ll see you soon. Truly. It won’t be long.”
“Heard about that.” He smiles a broad smile and winks. That tips me off. There’s a new stink in the clink.
“What’s going on?” I say, because all things have changed and I’m Perry Cook who asks questions from now on.
“Something good, my Morning Son.” Big Ed waves, and I choke. I know we will visit. But it’s hard to leave him here. Mom knows it.
She says, “Come on, Perry. I’ll give you the news on the outside.”
We hang her bags on our shoulders. She makes one full turn around the common. She tells Fo-Joe, “Let’s gate me out.” We go through the big glass doors.
On the outside, the warden waits beside our taxi. She turns to Fo-Joe and says, “So it’s all in place?”
“What’s in place?” I ask.
“We’re coming back!” Mom says with a laugh. “That’s the news.”
“What!”
Fo-Joe explains. “We don’t have another social worker to replace your mom. And we don’t particularly want one. She’s the newest Blue River hire. Same job. Way better paycheck,” he says. “It will be a whole different Blue River experience.”
“Mom! This is the best! So you have a good job, and we’ll really be back to see Big Ed and the others?”
“A lot.” Mom beams. “It’s a good plan for us—for right now.”
Fo-Joe gives her a grin and calls her “colleague.” Then he says, “But no moving the furniture into circles. That drives me nuts—”
Mom says, “Yeah, yeah. Try and stop me.”
The warden laughs at what they are saying. She tilts back her head and the sound comes out high and free. I’ve never heard her like this before.
“Warden Daugherty, what about you?” I ask.
“Well, I’m all done,” she says. “Retired. Time for Blue River to move on without me. I’m at peace with it. The place is in good hands. Say hello to Warden Joe Banks,” she says. She pats him on the shoulder.
“I knew it!” I give Fo-Joe a solid high five.
“Speaking of that, I better get back inside,” he says. “Jessica, get yourself settled then I’ll see you next week, okay?” Mom gives him a nod. We watch the big glass doors close behind him.
Mom and I stand on the outside with our Warden Daugherty. Mom lowers her bags to the ground. She puts her arms full around the warden and hugs her hard. The warden hugs her back.
“How funny to think that I’m the one who’s moving on from Blue River,” says the warden. She squeezes
Mom’s shoulders in her hands and looks into her eyes. “You’ll be coming back to your job—at least for a while. I’m so proud.”
“Thank you for raising me up.” Mom can barely whisper the words. “And for always doing your best by Perry.”
“Knowing you and Perry is one of my greatest pleasures, Jessica Cook. You are like family. I’ll still be in town, and I hope you and Perry will think about having Thanksgiving with Maya and me.”
“Oh yes! Thanksgiving!” I say.
“But right now,” says the warden, “you two have someplace else to be.”
We leave her in the big front circle of the Blue River Co-ed Correctional Facility. We climb into our taxi and head for home.
chapter eighty
JESSICA
Jessica Cook did not mind that she couldn’t fall asleep the first night in the new place.
You don’t worry about this, she thought to herself. You savor it.
It is so good to lie on this living room floor on two borrowed camp mats and touch hands with your son across the brown wooden floorboards. Turns out, you just want to listen to him breathe.
You want to remember the feel of the two house keys landing in your palm—one for you, and one for your boy. Tonight you have the heat set where you want it. There was an unearthly-good stew for supper, eaten out of hand-me-down mugs, all delivered by Robyn Samuels, who promises to be back tomorrow with some essentials. The rest can come later.
You don’t worry about not sleeping. In fact, if you do sleep you could miss the moment that morning sun will rise into the long windows of these small rooms. Stay awake and know that you’ll cook your gorgeous kid a perfect egg—a fried tweet on whole wheat—when he opens his eyes in this new place.
chapter eighty-one
BUTTON LANE
Out in back of the house on Button Lane, Zoey Samuels and I sit on a tippy plank that lies across a pair of cinderblocks. The sun is bright but the chill is Novemberish, like it should be. We pull up our hoods and tuck our hands into our pockets. We are taking a break on moving-in day.
We have carried boxfuls and armloads. Zoey’s mom brought us linens and lamps to use, and the last load of my laundry fresh from their dryer. She also brought Thomas VanLeer.
He doesn’t come inside, not even up to the stoop. He stays out there on the street and hands things down from the SUV.
Zoey’s mom is the champion furniture arranger. Mom, the Blue River U-Hauler, runs a close second. It’s not that many pieces. But they keep changing their minds about where things should go. They laugh together, and the sound fills the apartment.
“How’s your new room?” Zoey asks me. She jiggles our plank. “Did you sleep last night?”
“Well, Mom and I moved the camp mats into the living room. Just to be together,” I say. I don’t tell her that we held hands all night, even though Zoey Samuels would never laugh at me for it. “I’m not sure we wanted to sleep. We’ve waited so long for Mom to be on the outside. Now we don’t want to miss a minute.” I blink into the sun, knowing we’ll have to give that up eventually.
“It’s a new place,” Zoey says. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m glad we’re staying in Butler County,” I say.
“Oh yeah!” Zoey says.
“For now,” I add. I feel in my bones that Mom will want to go away from here someday. “Hey, Zoey, can I ask you something?” She gives me a curious look. “What are you doing about your Coming to Butler County project? And don’t say, oh that.”
“I’ve written part of it,” she says. She pushes her hands deeper into her pockets. “The part about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I wrote about how I was miserable when I got here. You know. Mad-Zoe.” She laughs. “But then you came over to talk to me. You told me that story—the one about all the snow and why Surprise is called Surprise,” Zoey says. “I wrote all of that. Then I got stuck.” She twists her heel into the ground. “Because of you.”
“Why me?” I say, and I squint at her.
“The minute we got that assignment you knew what you wanted to write about. And you had the most interesting stories from your Blue River family.”
“Hmm. I guess.”
“But my family is small. We came here because of Tom.” Zoey heaves a sigh. “There’s no way to tell my story and leave him out.” She stops to think. “But he went and messed everything up for you, Perry—and I think he’s sorry now. Anyway, it’s been hard because . . . well . . . I guess I do love Tom.” We both laugh because it sounds funny. “I get mad at him for flubbing up. But he tries. And trying is better than not trying, right?”
I think about it. “That’s kind of hard for me to answer.”
“He made a big mistake with you,” she says. “But his job—there are a lot of hard parts to it.” Zoey scrunches her nose up. “I don’t think district attorneys are very popular.”
“Hmm.” I shrug and give her a small smile.
“My super secret is . . . I’m proud of Tom because he works hard. Seriously hard.”
“Then that’s your story,” I tell her. “Write it just like you told it to me. And Zoey? I need to tell you something . . . and don’t be mad.” She gives me that curious look again. “Surprise, Nebraska, didn’t really get its name because of all the snow.”
“No . . . because of the stuff you find underneath it, right? Everything you lost over the winter?” She is sure she has it right.
I shake my head. “That’s just a story Big Ed tells.”
“What? Perry!” She opens her mouth wide. “You lied? I believed you!” Then she laughs and bumps against my shoulder. I try to hide a grin. “Then how did Surprise really get its name? The whole truth, Perry Cook.” Zoey Samuels sits up straight and stares me down.
“A really long time ago a guy came and built a gristmill on the Big Blue River. When he discovered how much waterpower there was at the river’s headwaters, he was surprised. So he decided to name his mill . . .”
“Surprise?” says Zoey. Her eyebrows arch up.
“Yep.”
“Aw!” Her shoulders drop. She thinks for a second. “I like Big Ed’s story better.”
“Me too,” I say.
“Thanks, Perry.”
“Thanks for what?”
“You told me the story that would be better for me on that day. Friends should do that for friends.”
Suddenly, it hits me—like a wind across a cornfield. Mom is out. I need to be with her. I get to my feet. The plank bounces. Zoey looks up. “I’m going back inside. They might be ready for more help.”
“You think so,” Zoey sings, “but they’re probably still arranging . . . and changing.” She lifts her face into the sun and closes her eyes.
“Take five . . . or ten,” I say. “I saw some cocoa mix in the groceries that Miss Maya dropped off yesterday. I’ll make us some.”
“Oooh, now that sounds good,” says Zoey.
I love this. Zoey Samuels is at my house.
chapter eighty-two
FEED A DOG
From the side yard I see Mom step out the door and onto the stoop. She squats to lift another box. She’s been doing this all morning.
Meanwhile, VanLeer is still out on the street, loafing beside the SUV.
In the night I asked Mom if she minded that he’d be coming with Zoey and her mom today. She squeezed my hand and said, “No. What do I care about old trouble, Perry? It will be my first full day of freedom. Nobody can touch that.”
Now suddenly VanLeer is on the move. He strides up to the front stoop—to where Mom stands. I hear an apology falling out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I—I feel that I screwed up. Badly. I failed to consider the whole picture. But it’s come clearer to me now. I didn’t help—not in the right way.”
There is silence. Mom stares. Then she agrees with him. “You’re right. You didn’t help.”
“I th-thought I was doing the right thing, honestly. I thought Perry n
eeded a home . . .” VanLeer is doing that thing where he talks and talks. He has to fill the quiet spaces. “I was trying to provide—”
“Uttt!” Mom puts both hands out to stop him. “We’re not going to do this,” she says. “Not on the spot like you’re hoping. Forgiveness has two sides, and it takes time.” I see her take a breath. “In the few hours that I have been free . . . I’ve remembered something about living on the outside. It’s about you. Do you want to hear it?”
“Y-yes?” VanLeer looks interested.
“Even if we disagree with our neighbors, it doesn’t mean we won’t feed their dog while they’re on vacation,” Mom says.
“Right.” VanLeer’s eyes are blinking like he might not get it. I’m not sure I do either.
“I don’t like what you did to us.” Mom says it plain. “You put a chokehold on my life, and so much worse, you put severe stress on my kid. I think it was sick and self-serving.” She gazes out at the yard, to the street, and up into the bare November trees. “That’s hard to forgive,” she says. “But you are my neighbor. So I would still feed your dog for you. Understand?”
“Y-yes! I do.”
“Okay then.” Mom turns to go indoors, but then she spins back to face Thomas VanLeer again. “You can still help,” she says.
“Anything.”
“Two things.” She shows him two fingers—it’s like she’s making the peace sign, or a V for victory. “First, if you are really interested in commuting overly long sentences for nonviolent offenders, go look into the case of Edwin Sommers. He’s the guy Perry calls Big Ed,” she says.
All Rise for the Honorable Perry T. Cook Page 24
