by T. Greenwood
“You want to maybe give your husband a call?” he asked. “Let him know what’s going on?”
“I don’t…” she said, and felt her heart snag. “We’re … we’re separated,” she said, which made her think of the chasm between them, that growing sinkhole like the one she’d seen advertised on a billboard along the highway.
Ginny carried Lucy, following the nurse who called them.
“I’ll be right here,” the officer said. “We’ll have a little chat when you get out.”
The nurse took them to a small room where she unwrapped Lucy from the blanket, took her temperature, and listened to her heart with a stethoscope. She jotted down notes on her pad and then brusquely said, “We’ll take her for a chest X-ray in a minute.”
* * *
After the X-ray, she and Lucy returned to the ER to wait for the doctor.
When the doctor finally arrived, he examined her briefly and said, “Did she have an accident recently?”
Ginny shook her head, confused, but then thought of the accident back in Virginia. She’d seemed fine.
Ginny nodded, her eyes flooding with tears. “We had a little car accident. I didn’t know…”
“Looks like she broke a couple of ribs at some point. A few months ago? They’re mostly healed, but that’s likely what compromised her.”
Ginny’s eyes widened. She nodded. How on earth had her ribs been broken while she was still at Willowridge?
“Children with Down syndrome are prone to infections. Their immune systems are weakened by the disease, and their muscles are underdeveloped; that’s why her lungs are working so hard to get the phlegm out. We’re going to need to admit her. Get the fever under control.”
Ginny nodded. Anything. She’d do anything at this point.
“Y’all aren’t from around here, are you?”
Ginny shook her head. “No,” she said. “We’re from up north. We came down to go to the new Disney World that’s opening soon. My friend, her sister works at Weeki Wachee?” She didn’t know why she was spilling all of this to the doctor. Maybe because he reminded her of Peyton’s pediatrician, Dr. Little, back in Dover. Friendly and gentle.
“She needs antibiotics, some fluids, and lots of rest. I’d like to admit her, keep her a couple of days, do a few more tests.”
“But she’s okay?”
“She’s in good hands,” he said.
Lucy looked up at Ginny, reached her tiny hand out to touch Ginny’s face. Her fingers were hot.
“Mumma,” she said.
Ginny felt her throat thicken.
“She looks like you, you know,” the doctor said. “Two real beauties.”
* * *
After they had admitted Lucy and gotten her set up in a room shared with a little boy who had apparently broken both of his legs leaping off a garage roof, Officer Marley knocked on the door.
The sun was just coming up, the storm having weakened. Ginny pulled the curtains shut so that Lucy could get some sleep. She’d called Lois collect and let her know that Lucy was okay, but that she’d be at the hospital for a while. Lois told her not to worry. That she’d take care of Peyton for as long as she needed.
“I’m technically off duty now, heading home in a few. But I thought I’d get some breakfast first. The cafeteria here’s got some pretty decent coffee. Can I buy you a cup?”
Ginny looked at Lucy, who had fallen asleep. The IV was dripping medication and fluids into the back of her tiny hand, and her cheeks had lost that red flush of her fever. Ginny was reluctant to leave her in case she woke up, but she was also starving, feeling weak in the knees. Hollow. However, as he stood there in his uniform waiting, she also knew she ultimately didn’t have much say in the matter.
* * *
“Why don’t you start at the beginning and end with me pulling you over,” Marley said as they sat down with their trays. He’d treated her to a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin, and it wasn’t until the sweet smell of the muffin reached her nose that she realized how long it had been since she’d eaten. “I can’t promise anything, of course, but my ear and some advice.”
Ginny nodded, knowing that whatever she said now could seal her fate. Part of her wondered if she should make up some elaborate story, to placate him enough that he would simply go away. But as he sat there, peering at her intently, kindly, even, she knew the jig was up.
She reached into her purse and pulled out the newspaper clippings that had started this whole mess. She smoothed them each out and set them in front of him. She hadn’t looked at them for nearly a week, could hardly bear to recall what she had seen for herself inside the walls of Willowridge.
Officer Marley cocked his head quizzically and began to read. Ginny unwrapped her muffin from its paper cup, but despite being so hungry, she struggled to swallow. She watched him as he scanned each article, each smudgy photo.
“She was taken away from me right after she was born,” Ginny said when he looked up at her. “My husband promised that she would be safe there. That she would be cared for.”
“This is horrifying,” the officer said softly.
“I went to see for myself last week, and it was just as awful as the reporter said. She was being neglected. They are all being mistreated. Ignored. I couldn’t leave her there. I just couldn’t. So I took her out for a visit. I had permission to have her for the weekend. We took her to see the ocean.” She thought of Lucy sitting on the beach, the delight in her eyes at the warm sand, the way she marveled at the waves tickling her tiny feet when Ginny dipped her into the water. “I didn’t know, I didn’t realize that my husband had given up our parental rights.”
One of Marley’s heavy eyebrows shot upward.
“You don’t have custody?”
Ginny shook her head, and as she did, she felt a fat tear roll down her cheek. She wiped it away. She needed to stay strong for this.
“But I never signed anything. It was all my father-in-law’s doing. He’s a big lawyer in Boston. His firm, my husband’s firm, is representing the school in the class-action lawsuit filed by a group of the residents’ parents.”
“Damn,” Marley said.
She nodded. “My husband says he convinced the school to give us a few more days. But his father is threatening to contact law enforcement. Claim I kidnapped her. My own daughter.”
She took a sip of coffee, feeling lighter for finally having gotten all of this off her chest.
“How did you wind up all the way down here? This place, Willowridge? It’s in Massachusetts, right?” he asked, motioning to the Massachusetts newspaper.
Ginny rubbed her temples. “Very long story. My friend’s sister lives down here. She’s a mermaid.” She smiled.
“At Weeki Wachee?” he asked.
Ginny nodded. “She lives at one of her friends’ orchards not far from here. That’s where we are staying. Until I figure out what to do.”
Marley nodded. She waited for him to read her her rights. To take the handcuffs she’d seen dangling from his back pocket earlier and arrest her, right here in the hospital cafeteria.
But instead, he simply took a deep breath and lifted his chin.
“The doctors tried to convince us to send our daughter away, too,” he said.
Ginny caught her breath.
“Cerebral palsy. They told us she wouldn’t walk, talk, use the bathroom. That she’d have the mental capacity of a toddler.”
Ginny thought of the doctor offering her the same grim outlook for Lucy. Through the ether haze, she recalled his prognosis sounding like a death sentence. How any of what he said that night connected to this beautiful, happy child was beyond her.
“We even arranged a tour of a facility in Gainesville. But we couldn’t do it. My wife said she would never be able to look me in the eye again if we sent her away. That she wouldn’t be able to live with herself, either.”
Ginny thought of her pleas to Ab, the same sense of guilt of shame. She nodded.
“Honestly
,” the officer said, “if I were you, I would have done the same thing.” He took a swig of his coffee and set it down on the table. He nodded sharply, and Ginny felt her eyes filling with tears again.
“You said you could give me some advice?” she said, feeling emboldened by his compassion. “Legally?”
Marley nodded. “Well, I think the first thing you need to do is let the school know exactly where you are. The hospital can notify the school, let them know that she cannot be transported while she’s still sick. Then, you need to get your husband to fight like hell to get your custodial rights back.”
Ab. Of course, it would all come down to Ab.
“As for everything that happened on the way over here? Let me see what I can do.” Marley unwrapped his own muffin and took a big bite. A crumb stuck in his mustache, and as she motioned to it to let him know, she got an idea.
* * *
Marsha and Theresa arrived at the hospital with Peyton around 11 A.M. Peyton was carrying a stuffed alligator in one hand and a white balloon in the other. Lucy’s eyes widened at the balloon.
“Moon?” she said, and Ginny smiled.
“No, honey. It’s a balloon.”
“Is that a new stuffy?” Ginny asked Peyton.
He nodded. “Marsha bought it for me because I lost Brownie.”
“Thank you,” she said to Marsha.
“But she can have it,” he said, pushing it toward Lucy.
Lucy seemed surprised but reached for the offering and held the gator close to her chest, cuddling it. “Pey,” Lucy said softly. “Pey-ton.”
Peyton’s chin dimpled a little, and his lip quivered. He looked to Ginny, eyes wide. “She said my name!”
Ginny felt a surge of hope.
Lucy coughed again, her face reddening with the effort.
“Oh, my God,” Marsha said to Ginny, reaching for Lucy’s little hand. “I am so sorry. I should have never left you alone last night. I feel so awful.”
Ginny shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry. For all of this. I should never have put you in this position.”
“Did you talk to Ab yet?” Marsha asked.
“Not yet. I’m waiting on something from Officer Marley first.”
* * *
Before Marley left, Ginny had asked him if he could call the police department back home and have them do a little research on one of the employees at Willowridge. Look into an attendant who worked in the children’s ward. Guy with a beard. Ginny knew it was likely a shot in the dark, but she was so desperate now, she would try just about anything.
Now Marley poked his head into the room. “Mrs. Richardson? Can you come with me a minute?”
Out in the hall, he pulled her over to a waiting area and had her sit down.
“Listen, turns out I am in a pretty serious bind here. The stolen plates alone; that’s a felony—” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. “—but you add on a concealed weapon?”
The gun. Dear God, he must have gone back to the car and found Marsha’s gun in the glove box.
“Never mind that you removed a minor from a care facility. A minor that, let’s face it … you’ve got no more authority over than I do. A minor you took across state lines. You’d be looking at somewhere between five and ten years in prison, and that’s if the DA is feeling gracious. If he decides to go federal, you could go down for twenty-five years.”
Ginny was stunned. She had no idea that she was putting herself, her children, her future in this sort of jeopardy. That it could come to this. Lucy was her daughter. Every inch of her body, of her heart, knew this to be true. But in the eyes of the law, she was no one to Lucy. She had given up any rights the minute she allowed Ab to put her in the institution.
“What do I do?” Ginny managed at last.
“Well, in terms of the plates, I plan to write up that I found them dumped at a rest stop. As for the rest of this … I’m calling it a medical assist. I came across someone experiencing a medical emergency who needed an escort to the hospital. Everything else will be between us.”
She nodded. She’d do anything he said at this point if it meant not going to jail.
“Why are you doing this for me?” she asked.
“Well, you might not have a license, and you might not have custody of that girl, but you’ve got some mighty fine maternal instincts,” he said.
Ginny held her breath.
“I called up north like you asked and had the folks there do some digging. It appears that one Robert Hanson, the man who works as an aide in the facility, has quite a criminal background.”
Ginny felt her heart sink. This was exactly the information she’d wanted, needed. But the reality of it was that her worst suspicions were true.
“Seems he has a pretty extensive history of domestic violence. Against girlfriends, his wife. Once against his own kid. Broke his son’s arm in three places. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why your little one is so afraid.”
“How the hell did he get a job at Willowridge?” she asked.
Marley shook his head. “That is a question your lawyer husband should be asking the school.”
Robert Hanson must have been the one who broke Lucy’s ribs. Her own ribs felt cracked and sharp at the thought, puncturing her heart, which rose like a helium balloon toward her throat.
“My God. What do I do?”
“Well, I can suggest they send someone over to the school. Clue them in to this guy’s background. I would think that with all the hot water they’re in with the class-action lawsuit, it’s not going to help their case to have a convicted felon on their staff.”
She nodded.
“But this was not the way to do things,” he said. “You really need to get your husband to intervene. Does he have any friends at the DA’s office?”
Ginny reached deep into her memory, trying to recall the dinner parties she’d attended. All those men Ab talked about: the lawyers in high places wearing expensive suits.
“I’ll find out,” she said.
“I also disposed of that firearm for you,” he said, his voice hushed.
“Thank you. I’m sorry. About all of this. I appreciate everything. I know you’re probably taking a real chance by helping me.”
“Well, I have never seen a mother risk so much for her child.”
Ginny felt the tension that had been building in her chest beginning to release.
“You’re a good mom, Mrs. Richardson. I hope you get to keep your daughter.”
* * *
Ginny returned to the hospital room to check on Peyton and Lucy. Marsha said she was just about to take Peyton to the park near Weeki Wachee Springs to see if they could spy a real-life alligator. Lucy was clutching the stuffed alligator from her brother.
“Goodnight stars,” Peyton said, leaning over to hug Lucy. “Then you say, ‘Goodnight air.’”
Ginny’s eyes filled with tears.
“Goodnight noises everywhere,” Ginny said.
Thirty-four
September 1971
She made the call from the pay phone outside, borrowing a cigarette from Marsha. She rarely smoked, but she thought it might calm her jitters. Unfortunately, it made her insides feel jumbled up even worse than they had been before. Her heart raced, her knees trembled, and she felt nauseous. She tossed the cigarette onto the pavement after only one puff and extinguished it under the toe of her sandal.
“Hi, this is Ginny Richardson,” she said to Sissy. “Is Abbott available, please?”
“Junior or Senior?” Sissy asked.
She paused.
“Senior.”
“One moment, please.”
She could have hung up. Put the receiver back on the cradle, walked back through the electronic doors and upstairs. It would have been easier putting this off. But she knew that, in the end, Abbott Senior was the one who would decide her fate. As much as this troubled and angered her, it was the truth.
“Virginia
,” he said. His voice was like smoke and dirt.
“Hello, Abbott,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t have long. I’m at a pay phone. I am just hoping you’ll hear me out.”
He coughed. “Go on,” he said.
She could picture him, sitting in his leather club chair by the window in his office. Belt loosened beneath his thick waist. Freckled hands and graying hair. His glasses would have slipped down the bridge of his nose. Outside the window there would be the blazing fire of a hundred-year-old maple tree.
“I understand that my marriage to Ab was never what you wanted for your son. And right now, you’re probably thinking that if he’d only done what you and Sylvia had expected, none of this would be happening. But he did marry me. It had nothing to do with you, and it’s probably the only decision in his life that he has made on his own.”
She could hear papers rustling in the background. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“And while Ab seems okay with you calling the shots for him, I am not. What you did was unforgivable. You stole my daughter from me.”
Still he said nothing. She wondered if this was his way in the courtroom as well, allowing the witness to spin his tale while patiently listening, hoping they might hang themselves with it. She wondered if he was using this time to formulate his counterargument.
“I know that you thought you were doing what was best for us. For our family. For Peyton. For Lucy, even.” Here, she knew she needed to coddle his ego. To make him believe she didn’t think his intentions were cruel.
“But the so-called school you sent her to is everything those parents are claiming it to be. It’s filthy, understaffed. The children, including my child, are being neglected.”
“Now, now, this is all speculation,” he interrupted.
“It is not speculation,” she said, feeling her words beginning to hiss. A steam iron heating up. “When I picked her up, she had parasites in her stool. She had lice. She is malnourished and hasn’t reached any of the milestones she should have reached at this age.”