Somebody's Daughter

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  Rodriguez shuffles papers on her desk. “Mr. Ross, I believe you have something you want to discuss.”

  Bobby stands while I watch Zoe squirm. Hang on, baby doll.

  “Forgive me, Ms. Rodriguez,” he begins, “for disturbing you at home . . . and thank you for contacting everyone and asking them to join us this morning.” He clears his throat. “None of this has been easy. We’ve all had our share of pain and shock, and certainly, time to reflect. But we’ve learned. I have. I’ve learned that we all have the capacity to do things that change us. My daughter taught me that each of us has a pivotal moment that breaks us or shapes us. We are human. And none of us, not one of us in here, is entitled to judge.” He searches the eyes of those surrounding him. “Our actions can teach us, but one mistake shouldn’t define us. It’s not who Zoe is. It’s not Grace.” My hand lands on Zoe’s thigh. I burst inside, knowing this story is nearing its end. “I thought love meant protecting your family at any cost, going after anyone who tried to hurt them. And I justified my actions with laws and retribution and countless other things.

  “I was wrong,” he says.

  His eyes meet mine. A single tear slides down my cheek.

  He looks at Zoe and Price. And then he turns to Grace. “What you did was wrong, Grace. And what Zoe and Price did has implications, too. But you’re young, and I know you’ll learn from this experience. I think we’ve all had enough.” He pauses before starting again. “It took me some time to understand this. We need to accept the mistakes in ourselves and others. And we need to move forward. Without spite. Without anger. Without regret.”

  The silence is different than when we first sat down; it is the kind that means everything has changed. Zoe’s face beams like a summer day. “Does he really mean that?” she asks the room.

  I smile and find her fingers. “Yes, he does.”

  He turns to Carla Rodriguez and says, “My wife and I understand the State has a case with or without Zoe, but she won’t be testifying. We realize there’s plenty of evidence against Grace, but we’re asking you, with all due respect, to please consider dropping the case, to show some leniency to a family we know is hurting, to a young girl who made a mistake.”

  Grace is sobbing. Lisa is comforting her. She removes her glasses and wipes her eyes. She mouths to me, “Thank you,” and I feel a door open inside me that was so recently closed.

  Rodriguez looks momentarily annoyed. “That’s very righteous of you, Mr. Ross,” she says, sitting up taller, “and I was beginning to forgive you for the weekend interruption. The State’s unlikely to back down on this type of crime, however. There’s a lot of evidence implicating Ms. Howard. Without recourse, these virtual lapses continue.”

  Bobby’s eyes are determined. “Ms. Rodriguez, we’ve known the Howards for years. Grace has paid. We all have. Some punishments no court can hand down. The public scrutiny. The humiliation. None of them have ever gotten into trouble before. These kids . . . their lives are forever changed. They’re forever marked. Let’s have them move on from this and learn from it. They can turn it around. Let’s give them a chance.”

  Lisa is openly crying. Drew’s eyes are rimmed with similar gratefulness. I am hugging Zoe.

  Bobby continues, “We’ve watched our daughter suffer, Ms. Rodriguez. We’ve watched her pick herself up off the floor and get back up again.” He turns to look at Zoe. “She’s made us so proud . . . and her sister . . . she stood by her, never once turning her back.” He pauses while the room quiets. Even the unflappable Rodriguez appears touched. “My daughter begged me to step away from this case . . . to let it go. She didn’t want to hurt Grace any more than she’s already hurting. I ask you, Ms. Rodriguez, isn’t that what we need to teach our kids? Compassion? Forgiveness?”

  Zoe gets up and takes the few steps to her father. He grabs her in his arms and hugs her hard. She buries her head in his chest, and he kisses the top of her forehead. And then both cheeks. “I couldn’t love you more than I love you right now, Zoe. You make me so proud to be your father.”

  Lily slides over and whispers in my ear, “Dad just nailed it.”

  Rodriguez doesn’t come out and say they’ll be dropping the charges, but it’s understood what’s happening next. “I’m impressed, Mr. Ross. I don’t typically let emotion get in the way of the law, but your arguments are compelling. I’m wondering if Mr. and Mrs. Hudson concur.”

  Price is nodding and nudging his parents to agree. Monica and I look at each other in kindred forgiveness.

  Mr. Hudson answers, “We agree with Mr. and Mrs. Ross. These kids have been through enough.”

  Rodriguez stands from behind her desk, walks around, and rests her backside against the wood. I’m having trouble sitting still waiting for her response. Jo Jo squeezes my shoulder. “We’ve all been teenagers,” she begins. “Unfortunately, the world is a lot harder on today’s youth. In cases like this, with the relationship between the girls, there’s a possibility the prosecution might back down. Perhaps the girls would be willing to speak about their experience—to safeguard other kids—and Grace can perform applicable community service. It might be beneficial to everyone involved.”

  Zoe and Grace meet each other’s eyes and nod. “We can do that,” says Zoe.

  “I can’t make any guarantees,” Rodriguez adds. “Give me a few days.”

  Relief descends upon the room, and we file out of the office. Lisa approaches us. “I don’t know what to say,” she says, careful not to touch.

  I look into my friend’s eyes. “This was Zoe’s doing.”

  Grace walks over, and her arms come around me. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ross.” I don’t push her away, but I don’t do anything else either. Zoe is nearby and keeps a safe distance. I don’t know if the girls will ever regain what they’ve lost, but like the rest of us, they will have a chance to try.

  Bobby comes up beside me, and I find the space in his arms where I comfortably fit.

  “Don’t start celebrating just yet,” Rodriguez interrupts as she passes us by.

  Jo Jo whispers, “Ignore her. I saw her wiping her eyes.”

  The girls go to school late, and when they return, their moods are lighter. Their burdens have slipped off their shoulders. We are cautiously optimistic, and every time the phone rings, we ask ourselves if it’s finally over. That same night, our family begins to mend. Zoe and Bobby go for a walk along the beach, and I spot them on the shore holding hands. When she looks up at him and he hugs her, I understand the power of love.

  “Did you know Daddy was going to do that?” Zoe asks me before bed.

  “I had an idea,” I say. “But it was because of you, Zoe. He heard you.”

  “Maybe it was you,” she says.

  The memorial service for Kinsley’s mom is lovely. A few of us walk out to the beach behind the hotel, and Kinsley says a few words before scattering her ashes into the crystal blue water. Elle stands sadly by his side. Leaving his mother here means she’ll be at the upcoming wedding, but more than that, always surrounding them with her love.

  “You doing all right?” Bobby asks, as we stare out at the water.

  “Are you?” The gentle breeze caresses my face. “I know how hard this is for you.”

  He pulls me near. “You never get used to them being gone. I think about them every single day. It won’t be easy to leave here. A lot’s about to change.”

  I’m sad to think that our days here are numbered. I’m sad to think this is the one thing we couldn’t fix. But if I had to choose between saving Zoe or the hotel, it’s no contest. I’d gotten used to the idea of a house and our privacy.

  We’ll have a good life. Just a different life.

  CHAPTER 31

  It’s a glorious day for a Thanksgiving wedding.

  The sky is painted in a beautiful blue, and a pinch of crisp air blankets the sand. The sea is quiet and clear, and I take a moment to breathe it all in. Lily and Zoe waltz down the sanded aisle. Their dresses are long and flowing, outlini
ng their tiny waists. Lily’s is strapless with a pale lilac blended through the coral train. Zoe’s is off the shoulder with the same soft accents. They each carry a miniature version of Elle’s flowers: a tight bouquet of classic white peonies.

  The ceremony is simple, with a slight breeze that spreads wishes along the sand. The happiness I feel while witnessing the man I love preside over the people I love multiplies. Kinsley and Elle exchange heartfelt vows beneath a gleaming sun, and their promises to each other erase, for a short time, the endings that are woven into a beginning.

  “I love you,” Kinsley says to his blushing bride. Her long hair falls loosely down her shoulders, brushing the fine lace of the ivory gown. “I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you, when you were cleaning under the bed in room 732 and got yourself stuck on one of the metal coils. We had to lift the bed up to get you out.” Elle is smiling, her turquoise eyes shining with love. “You’re the perfect mix of beautiful. Eyes like the ocean, and your mouth . . .” He rubs a finger along her bottom lip. “You tell me things without words. You do that to me. Even now. Especially now. Knowing you’re about to be my wife, my forever . . .

  “This is my promise to you, Elle, and to the family we’re going to have. Years will pass . . . time will go on . . . and it’ll feel like we want to give up . . . the promises we made to each other will sound old and stupid. Impossible to live up to. But I’ll love you through it. I’ll take the spoiled parts of us and make them shine again. I won’t ever give up. Not ever.”

  I’m no longer listening to Kinsley. I’m focused on Bobby, handsome in his white linen suit, hearing those words as though he’s speaking them to me. Again. Out here. Along our beach. His eyes are filled with joy, and our love connects us deeper and stronger than before.

  Kinsley touches Elle’s face and tells her with his wide smile that the rest of their life is going to be as happy as this day. “I love you. How do you put that into words?” Then he kisses her—for a really long time.

  Lily breathes to Zoe, and I overhear, “Oh my God, I’m in love with him.”

  Bobby finds us, and we collectively gush over his performance. “Marry someone who loves you like that,” he tells them, “or like this,” and he takes me in his arms and warms me with his lips. The girls smile and blush. Perhaps it’s recent events that have changed them, but their faces reflect a maturity that wasn’t there before. I admire the wreaths capping their long, flowing hair. Luz sewed them, using petals from the hotel gardens. Bougainvillea petals. Bobby is admiring the girls, too, and our shared pride laces us back together again.

  We follow the stream of guests and family beneath the private tent our staff erected. Jonny catches the bouquet, but passes it off to Sandra, who blushes from ear to ear. A Thanksgiving spread adorns the perimeter wall, and friends are nibbling on buttery turkey sandwiches and cranberry cocktails. Kinsley and Elle slow dance. There’s our wonderful hotel staff: Heather. Sandra. Tara. Tabitha. Chef Mirielle is gushing over her culinary skills. Bobby is at the piano. It’s Van Morrison’s “Sweet Thing,” and he doesn’t look at the keys while he plays. He stares into my eyes. And I fall in love even deeper than the first time.

  The laughter at the table highlights the shift in our lives. By letting go of mistakes and vengeance, we are free to move forward. I am mostly quiet, observing, as I’ve always loved to do. The girls are giggling with Uncle Jonny, and Alberto is telling them jokes about their father from back in the day. Bobby sneaks up on me with a glass of champagne.

  “We’ve missed a lot of these. Can I make a toast to my wife?”

  I don’t hesitate. We click glasses, and I bring the bubbles to my lips, savoring all that it represents. The Gratitude book sits open on one of the tables. Each year on Thanksgiving, we fill out what we’re most grateful for and leave it on display in the hotel for guests to add to or read through. It’s a gentle reminder of our blessings, and I know what I’ll be writing this year. Before long, the girls are barefoot, skipping along the water’s edge, sinking their toes into the wet sand, chasing the seagulls, and racing from the rushing waves. I want to freeze the moment, though I had one rule for the day: no cell phones.

  He rests his hands on my shoulders, and I bow my head to let him kiss my neck. Years may pass, but Bobby on this beach kissing me . . . the sensation never gets old. He pulls out the chair beside me, and we watch the girls from afar.

  “There’s so much tied to this place,” I say. “I don’t know how to leave her.”

  He grabs something from his jacket pocket. Folded papers. I begin to deflate. And before he can reply, the shape of a blonde is coming into view. As she gets closer, we say together, “Jo Jo.”

  “You two are hard to reach,” she says, out of breath, but not because of her asthma. “I have my opinion about this and about the law. Yet, I’ve never met a family quite like yours. The State decided not to prosecute. The call came in last night. It’s officially over. You can fire me.”

  Endings and beginnings. Bobby hugs Jo Jo first, lifting her up into the air and twirling her like Reese in Sweet Home Alabama. Then he grabs me, his bride, and his lips come down hard on my mouth. I let the joy and excitement lift me higher.

  “They’re at it again,” shouts Lily from across the way, covering her eyes with her hands.

  We insist Jo Jo stay and have some lunch, but she can’t. She has her own family she’s on her way to see. The young woman smiles, and when she turns to leave, she stops and says, “You’re good people, Mr. and Mrs. Ross. You’re doing right by your girls.” Her smile is sincere, and she waves goodbye.

  Jo Jo’s departure feels a little like losing a friend. I sit back down.

  Bobby slips the papers on the table.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I ask.

  He nods. “I’ve been sitting on it for days. Couldn’t bring myself to open it.”

  “We’re having such a good day. Let’s not ruin it.”

  “Go on,” he says, urging me to take a look.

  The papers rustle in the breeze, and I finger them one by one. They’re worn and yellowed with age, the handwriting as familiar as his gaze.

  He begins to explain. “The first and last time I saw the deed to the Ross was when Mom and Dad died. It was a terrible time. I wasn’t thinking long-term, just getting through the day. The deed was in an envelope I never thought about opening. I stuffed it in the vault and moved on.” He is staring at the table while he says all this. His lips hardly move, the words a hush slipping out his mouth.

  “I had no idea there was a letter in the envelope. I opened it this morning. It was from my parents.”

  The discovery sends a line of sensations down my legs. What it must mean to him to have those precious words from all those years ago. I feel my eyes glisten, knowing they found a way to reach him.

  “Go on,” he says. “Read it.”

  My darling boys,

  If you’re reading this, few words will ease your pain. In life, we all experience loss. It’s what we do with it that dictates survival. Please be strong. And please be wise. You’re holding in your hand one of the most precious gifts bestowed upon our family. She has given us more than most experience in a lifetime. And she has taught us just as much. Your father and I have prided ourselves in raising you boys not under the cloak of finer things, but rather beneath the veil of a life lived with exquisite meaning. While this paper gives you power and financial security, it holds something far more valuable.

  We’re telling you this because there will come a time in your life when you are faced with adversity. Your judgment will be skewed by emotions. It won’t be easy to make the right or best decisions. Sometimes they are not the same. There will be changes. Some big, some small. The key is recognizing when things are worth saving. Or letting go.

  Our lives have been enriched by the joy we shared in the Ross’s belly. She gave off more shine and more meaning than any gems. Of course, she gave us you. We know the memories she has provided, and the gentle w
ays in which she has nurtured you and your brother through life will guide you through any difficult time. We know you’ll steer her through transition when destiny speaks and you are forced to make your own decisions.

  Whatever you decide to do with the papers you now hold in your hand, know that your father and I are watching over you, and we are so very proud. We hope the Ross has given you a fraction of the happiness she’s given us.

  We love you, boys.

  With all our hearts. Until eternity. And forevermore.

  Mom and Dad

  My eyes brim with tears. Some escape, sliding down my cheeks. Bobby’s fingers cross the table to softly wipe them off. When he speaks, his voice cracks.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “What do I think? I think you have proof that your parents are with you. I think they’re watching. I think they’re speaking to you. Do you hear what they’re saying?”

  “I do. I’ve been a fool,” he says, “about everything.”

  “You were confused,” I remind him. “The Ross is one of your girls. Just because she doesn’t have a physical heart doesn’t mean you don’t love her and judge her the same way.”

  “I’ve loved her for as many years as I can count,” he says. “Sure, she’s let me down, she’s crumbled when I needed her to be tough, but she’s part of us.”

  “Bobby . . .”

  “This is our home. This is our life. All the good, the bad, and the new. I wasn’t seeing any of you clearly. Or myself. I didn’t know how to manage the different parts.” And then he takes me in his arms. “I’ll have to sell another property to get her out of debt.”

  “I don’t care about other properties,” I say, lingering on his face. “As long as we keep the Ross.”

  The girls are there. They’re laughing and out of breath from running up and down the shore. They are shivering, drying their damp feet with a large, green Ross towel. The neatly embroidered phrase along the trim of this one reads Seas the Day.