Forgiving Natalie

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  As I walked toward the house, the front door opened. To my relief, Tamara instead of Dash stepped onto the stoop with June. Maybe if I explained everything to Tamara first, she could help me talk to Dash.

  “How’s Natalie?” Tamara asked, propping June on her hip.

  “Okay.” I told Tamara everything I knew, including how I went to Thailand the day Natalie came home from rehab and how I’d filed for divorce without even talking to her. “I’m so ashamed by my behavior. I should’ve tried harder to hold on to my marriage. I just got caught up in my dad, the business, and being angry.”

  Tamara shook her head. “You can’t change what happened. I’m sure Natalie regrets many of the decisions she made.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So, what happens now? Will they let her out on bail?”

  I shook my head. “No, she’s considered a flight risk, so she’ll have to stay in custody.”

  “That breaks my heart.”

  “I know.”

  Tamara set June on the ground, and the little girl squatted to pick up a rock. “Do you think she’ll have to serve longer than the original six years?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like she escaped custody or ran away. The court just forgot about her.”

  Tamara nodded. “Somehow, we have to make the judge understand that everything Natalie did from avoiding jail to coming to San Francisco was out of love and concern for her son.”

  The front door opened, and Dash raced outside. “Dad, where’s Mom?”

  I cringed as Dash looked up and down the street for his mother. “Is she home? Can we go see her?”

  I pushed out a slow breath. “No, she’s not home. She has to stay in jail a little longer.”

  “Why? What did she do?”

  I placed a hand on my son’s shoulder, knowing I was about to have the most difficult conversation of my life. “It’s complicated, Dash.”

  “Why?” Tye asked.

  Tamara scooped up June. “Come on, Tye, let’s go inside so Dash can talk to his dad.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Once this hits the news, everything will be distorted. Natalie would want Tye to know the truth so he can stop the rumors that are sure to come.”

  Tamara nodded. “You’re right. Let’s all go inside where we can talk.”

  Moments later, we were seated in the Murphy’s living room. As clearly as I could, I explained everything to Dash and Tye. I tried not to tone down any of the details, wanting them to hear the truth from me instead of some random kid from school, but it wasn’t easy. During her battle with drugs, Natalie had done some horrible things.

  When I finished, I asked if they had any questions. Dash raised his hand as if we were in a classroom.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “When will she get to come home?”

  I ached for my son because that’s all he cared about. He didn’t care that his mom had once stolen drugs from the hospital or that she’d been found guilty. All he cared about was having her home.

  “I don’t know, Dash. Hopefully soon, but it won’t be until after she goes to Chicago.”

  “Hey,” Dash said, lighting up. “Aren’t we going to Chicago the first week of summer?”

  “We are.”

  Dash smiled. “Good. We can talk to the judge and tell him to let Mom come back to California with us.”

  “We can try, but it might be more difficult than that, son.”

  Tamara jutted out her chin. “Well, I for one am not going to stand aside without doing something. Sending Natalie to jail would be a travesty.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  “What are you going to do, Mom?” Tye asked.

  Tamara shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to come up with some plan to bring her home.”

  “Count me in,” Tye said.

  Dash nodded. “Me, too.”

  “Me, too,” June said.

  I grinned. “You can definitely count me in.”

  Chapter 48

  Natalie – 2017

  As soon as I saw my sweet son in the visitor room, my heart lifted. Thank goodness Gage had ignored my plea to keep Dash away.

  “Mom!” screamed Dash, racing across the room and throwing himself into my arms. I breathed in his scent, overwhelmed with joy to have him here.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you, too.”

  We joined Gage at the table where he and I hugged. “Thank you for not listening to me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He brushed back my hair. “The two of you needed to see each other.”

  I nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

  “When are you coming home?” Dash asked. “I miss you, and Roxy does, too. Roxy says nobody scratches her belly the way you do. She’s not going to be happy until you come home.”

  I gave my son a sad smile. “I want nothing more than to come home, but I have to say here for a while. Will you tell Roxy I love her and I miss her so much?”

  Dash nodded. “Dad said we’re going to visit you when we go to Chicago.”

  I smiled. “Now, I have something to look forward to.”

  Gage placed a protective hand on Dash’s shoulder. “Dash and I had a long talk about why you were arrested.”

  Dash nodded. “Dad said you had a problem with pills.”

  “That’s right.” I stared at my son, remembering that day he was born. “You saved me, Dash.”

  “I did?”

  “You did. I tried really hard to stop taking those pills, but it wasn’t until I found out about you that I stopped. Had you not come along, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. So, thank you, Dash. Thanks for fixing me.”

  He smiled. “I like fixing things.”

  I laughed as Gage winked at me. “I’m glad you do.”

  “And you know what, Mom?”

  “What?”

  “I helped Tye and his mom make a cake.”

  “Really?” I wasn’t surprised that Dash changed the subject. I’m sure talking about his mother’s former life as a drug addict wasn’t easy. “What kind of cake did you bake?”

  Grinning, he shook his head. “We didn’t bake it.”

  “No?”

  “Nope.” Dash laughed. “The cake was made out of ice cream. Do you get it? We didn’t bake it because that would melt the ice cream.”

  I smiled. “An ice-cream cake. I get it now.”

  “It was the best cake ever. Do you think you could make me an ice-cream cake for my next birthday?”

  I held back tears, knowing I’d probably be in jail for his next birthday and the next one after that. How many of Dash’s birthdays would I miss before I was free to live my life in peace?

  “Will you, Mom?”

  I squeezed Dash’s hand. “I’ll make sure you have an ice-cream cake for your next birthday, even if I’m not there, okay?”

  Dash looked away, avoiding my gaze. Like me, he probably didn’t want to think about celebrating his birthday without me.

  *

  Later that week, I was extradited to Chicago. Rain beat down on the police van as we pulled up to Cook County Jail, making me feel even more depressed.

  The next day, I met with my new lawyer, Emerson Putnam. Emerson had an abrasive personality and wasn’t very encouraging about my situation.

  “When we go to court,” he said, “I’m going to ask that the time since your sentencing be counted as time served. Given the prosecutor arguing the case, the judge, and the evidence against you, that’s not going to happen.”

  My stomach tightened. “What do you think will happen?”

  His phone dinged with a text, and he typed in a quick response, not even bothering to hide his smile. I foolishly thought the message might have something to do with me. Then, I caught a glimpse of the text and realized he was making dinner plans with his girlfriend.

  “Eight to ten years,” Emerson said, turning over his phone.

  I stared at him. “You think
I’m going to be sentenced eight to ten years?”

  He nodded, and the room began to spin. In eight years, Dash would be sixteen. In ten years, he’d be eighteen.

  “I’m trying to secure the earliest court date possible,” Emerson said, oblivious to the panic surging through me. “The sooner you appear before the judge, the sooner we’ll know where we stand. I’ll push for minimum security, of course, and emphasize the fact you’ve been sober for some time now.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. For the first time in years, I found myself craving one of my old pills. Would I become one of those addicts who managed to stay sober for years only to relapse during a stressful time?

  No, I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let that happen. No matter what, I wasn’t returning to that way of life.

  Back in my bunk, I put the pillow over my head and tried not to cry. One day this would be a distant memory. One day, when Dash was grown—

  The dam holding back my emotions broke. Who was I kidding? I was going to miss Dash’s entire childhood. By the time my sentence ended, he would be a grown man.

  Just like me, he would have to survive middle school and high school without a mother. My only consolation was that he’d have Gage.

  Trying to be quiet, I sobbed into my pillow. When Gage served me divorce papers all those years ago, I should’ve called his lawyer’s office and demanded to meet with Gage in person.

  I should’ve told him I was pregnant and found a way to serve my time while Dash was a baby. Had I done that, the worst would be behind me. Now I was facing a bleak future without my son.

  Not knowing what else to do or who else to turn to, I broke down and poured out my heart to God.

  *

  In the morning, I awoke exhausted. Although I’d slept hard, my entire body ached and I had a major migraine. One of the guards took pity on me and sent me to sick bay. There, I was offered an over-the-counter pain reliever, which I refused.

  “You don’t want anything for your pain?” the nurse asked.

  “I’m a recovering drug addict. Could I just have a cold compress?”

  The nurse narrowed her eyes as if not believing me. “How long have you been sober?”

  “Almost nine years.”

  “And you never take anything for the pain?”

  “No.”

  She pushed out an exasperated breath, probably trying to figure out what my deal was. I didn’t blame her for being suspicious. Whenever I’d treated a patient in the ER who didn’t want medicine, I’d felt that same sense of mistrust.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “Take the first cot and I’ll get you a cold compress.”

  I lay down and closed my eyes. Instantly, I fell asleep, only to be awoken by sounds of crying. It took me a minute to realize I was the one who was crying.

  “Hey,” a woman softly said, pressing something cold to my forehead. “It’s okay.”

  I wiped my tears and stared up at a familiar face. “Janet?”

  She nodded. “Hi, Natalie.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled sadly. “It’s a long story, but I’ve been working here about a year now.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “I read about your case in the paper. Everyone is so amazed you lived such a normal life for so long. That must’ve been horrible living in fear all those years, waiting for the court to realize their mistake.”

  I gestured at my prison uniform. “Things aren’t exactly great right now.”

  She smiled sadly. “Are you scared?”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I am. Not so much about going to jail but about missing out on seeing my son grow up. He’s eight, and I can’t imagine not seeing him every day.”

  “I know.” She looked away, then brought her gaze back to me. “You just have to have faith that in the end it will be okay.”

  “Faith isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m trying. I actually prayed last night.”

  “Good. Prayer works. You’ll see. You’re a strong woman and—”

  “I’m not,” I protested.

  She smiled. “The newspaper said you gave birth to your son without any help. I think delivering your own baby in the bathtub qualifies as being a strong woman.”

  I smiled at the memory of catching Dash as he came into this world. His birth had been a miracle. His life was a miracle.

  Janet adjusted the cold compress on my head. As she did, I caught a glimpse of the tattoo on her arm. “Psalms 23. That was the verse you wrote in my Bible.”

  She nodded. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—”

  “I will fear no evil, for you are with me,” I finished.

  She smiled. “I’ve leaned heavily on that verse lately. John—” Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head. “John left me for another woman.”

  My heart twisted. “Oh, Janet. I’m so sorry.” Even though I’d been insanely jealous by her anniversary photographs on social media, I felt truly sad for her.

  “I’m doing okay,” she said. “It was really tough at first, but every day gets better.”

  I wanted to talk to Janet longer, but the other nurse said I needed to return to my dorm if I was feeling better.

  “I’ll pray for you, okay?” Janet said.

  “Thank you.” Even though my faith in God was so small you needed a microscope to see it, I said, “I’ll pray for you, too.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Natalie. That means more to me than you can imagine.”

  Chapter 49

  Natalie – 2017

  The day before my court appearance, Gage and Dash came straight from the Chicago airport to visit me. Seeing them was both painful and wonderful. Even though it’d only been a few days, Dash seemed to have grown a foot. It broke my heart to think how much more he’d change during my incarceration.

  In the morning, the bailiff escorted me into the courtroom. Right away, I spotted Dash and Gage sitting in the front row. Beside them sat Charlie and Tamara. I hadn’t expected Charlie and Tamara to come, and I was honored they’d made the trip.

  Dash gave an enthusiastic wave. I waved back, happy to see him. Gage looked handsome and strong, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that concerned me. With my legs shaking, I joined my lawyer at the defense table.

  Emerson was all smiles this morning. He patted my back like I’d won an important sporting event. Maybe he felt hopeful about my case this morning, or maybe this was how he always acted in the courtroom.

  “Good news,” he said. “The judge agreed to take the petition into consideration.”

  “What petition?”

  He showed me a stack of papers filled with signatures. “Your friend, Tamara Murphy, secured over three thousand signatures requesting your immediate release. I was doubtful on whether or not the judge would accept it, but she did.”

  “Seriously?” Glancing down at the petition, I scanned the names, shocked by the third person who’d signed the petition.

  Sheela Murphy.

  I ran a finger over Sheela’s name. Despite everything, she apparently didn’t want me to go to jail. Maybe that was a good sign.

  Looking over my shoulder, I smiled at Tamara and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  She grinned.

  The judge entered the courtroom and we all stood. I stared at her, hoping she would smile at me, but she barely glanced my way. Did that mean she’d already decided my fate? Was accepting the petition just a formality?

  Once seated, I tried to keep calm as the prosecutor presented his case against me. It wasn’t easy listening to his arguments, especially since I agreed with him. I should’ve been more proactive in turning myself in. I should’ve known my past would eventually catch up with me.

  When it was my lawyer’s turn, he began by talking about the mother-child bond. “We all know how beneficial that relationship is for babies,” Emerson said. “My c
lient has shown us that a strong bond can benefit mothers as well. Raising her son allowed Natalie to act as her own parole officer. As a result, she was able to accomplish what the criminal justice system often fails to do—rehabilitation.”

  Emerson took a sip of water before continuing. “Natalie not only ended her battle with drugs, but she became a productive member of society. In addition to supporting herself, she’s paid her taxes, contributed to charity, volunteered her time, and avoided any negative interaction with the law. Sending her to jail now would constitute cruel and unusual punishment.”

  I glanced at the judge who looked a little bored. What was she thinking? Maybe this case wasn’t a big deal to her, but this was my life we were discussing.

  “Ms. Jones and her family shouldn’t be punished because of the court’s clerical error,” Emerson continued. “Before passing away, Natalie’s lawyer said the court would contact her, but they never did. As a result, Natalie simply waited. While the prosecutor might argue Ms. Jones violated bail by leaving Cook County, all evidence shows she intended to return and turn herself in after leaving her son with his father. Once again, we see how she acted in the best interest of her son.”

  My lawyer went on to discuss the events leading to my original arrest, insisting I was no longer the same woman. I unreservedly agreed with that. I had nothing in common with the drug-addicted woman I’d once been. Becoming a mother had truly cured me of that disease.

  When my lawyer finished, I held my breath as the prosecutor stood and shot down every one of our arguments. “What Ms. Jones has accomplished with her life these past nine years is certainly commendable. And while one could express sympathy for what she’s been through, that doesn’t change the fact that she failed to take responsibility. She should’ve been more proactive in bringing the clerical error to light. She should’ve followed up with the law office representing her and checked on the status of her self-surrender date. Therefore, the state is asking that the original sentence be enforced.”

  The prosecutor sat down, and the judge looked to our side of the courtroom. “Does the defense have anything else they’d like to add?”