No Place I'd Rather Be

by Cathy Lamb

  On the way back, in his truck, my hand in his, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: Peace.

  * * *

  I made my grandma chicken Kiev using her cookbook. I translated it from Ukrainian. I also made dumplings filled with mashed potatoes and chives, and sauerkraut, translated from German. She said to me, when our whole family sat down to dinner, “Cinnamon, you have brought my family home to me.”

  My grandma touches my heart every single time I see her.

  * * *

  The courtroom was small but intimidating.

  Devlin sat at the front with her attorney, red-haired Anthony Bastfield III, who was in love with her and her blond hair, blue eyes, flirty personality, and victim aura. He didn’t understand what lurked beneath like a human scythe. Devlin was wearing a pink blouse, buttoned almost to her neck, a dull beige skirt to her knees, and beige flats. She wore the largest silver cross I have ever seen on a necklace. Her hair was nice and neat, perfectly combed, and she wore little makeup. Mascara and pink lipstick.

  She resembled annoying Pollyanna.

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach and swayed on the hard bench, in my black suit and heels. Jace held my hand, and Claudine, ready to swing and fight for us, was at the table at the front of the courtroom.

  We rose for the judge. She was African American with black braids. About sixty.

  We began.

  * * *

  “I love my girls. I have always loved my girls.” Devlin sniffed as the proceeding got under way and she addressed the judge. She held a tissue. “I have made bad choices. I started using drugs when I was fifteen because of the abuse and meanness I was suffering at home from my mother, which I could tell no one about because I was scared. I’m sure, with the better knowledge that I have now, that she was double polar. Loving one minute, slapping me the next.”

  What? Double polar? Devlin was actually going to lie about Annabelle? I sucked in my breath.

  “My father was a freezing cold man who did nothing to protect me. Plus he had a temper tantrum. I mean, a temper. I think he was double polar, too.”

  I had never met Devlin’s father, but Annabelle adored him. Said he was the kindest man she ever knew and he loved Devlin. They went through almost their entire life’s savings trying to help her.

  “I made bad decisions for myself because of my parents. I made bad decisions with men and with Stephi and Lucy’s father, who beat me and beat me, but I am so glad that I have them.” She grabbed the huge cross on her necklace. “I love my girls. I was so scared living with Parker. He became violent and controlling and jealous of how men found me so beautiful.”

  Her hands shook as if she’d been electrocuted when she swiped the tissue across her nose, then they abruptly stopped. She was faking the shaking.

  “I committed a robbery. I regret it every second of the day, but I didn’t know what else to do. Parker said he would hurt or kill me and the girls if I didn’t do it. I did it to save them. I don’t think I’m a hero. I did what any mother would do.”

  I saw Anthony III stare down at his papers. He knew Devlin was lying through her teeth to the judge.

  “Going to jail was a blessed thing for me because it got me sober, it got me away from Parker, and it brought me close to God and Jesus.” The waterworks started up again. “I spent all my free time with my Bible.”

  I rolled my eyes. I’m surprised they didn’t drop into the back of my head.

  “Please. Please. Let me have my girls. I will be a better mother to them. I will be the best mother to them. My mother is dead and she can’t take care of the girls anymore. The girls should be with me, not”—she turned and glared at me, the victim mentality gone for a second—“with her. Not with a stranger. She is not family. I am their mother.”

  The proceeding went on. Anthony III spoke. He blushed when he stared down at Devlin, who smiled up at him. I saw her lick her lower lip one time. Jace saw it, too, and shook his head in disgust. Anthony III blushed again, stuttered.

  Sarah was a loving and devoted mother! She had changed! Sarah said that Jesus was in charge of her life now! She was sober!

  My lawyer stood and spoke to the judge. The caseworkers spoke in favor of me. They outlined their concerns with Devlin in detail and reviewed her extensive file.

  I spoke about how I met Annabelle and the girls, our friendship, how Jace and I loved the girls. I talked about the ranch and the activities that we did together as a family. I sat back down and clutched Jace’s hand. I felt ill at one moment, tearful the next, furious again, and back around to flat-out panicked.

  Finally, the judge said, closing a folder in front of her. “I’ve heard enough. Sarah, or, is it Devlin?”

  “Sarah, please,” Devlin said, her blue eyes as big as she could make them. She stood up. “I gave up Devlin after I was imprisoned. I spoke with God about it, and he told me to change my name to my given name. Sarah is from the Bible.”

  The judge studied her, unsmiling, then pushed her braids back. “So you know the Bible now?”

  “Yes. It’s been my salvation.” She held up her cross as proof. Boy, those hands shook!

  “What is your favorite verse?”

  “My what?”

  “Your favorite verse in the Bible?”

  Devlin dropped the cross. “I . . . I . . . love that one verse about forgiveness.”

  “Ah.” The judge raised her eyebrows. “The one verse about forgiveness. What is your favorite book in the Bible?”

  “Uh,” Devlin said, confused but struggling to come up with something. “Uh. I love the book written by Mary Christ, mother of Jesus, because I’m a mother, too. She told all mothers how to be Christian mothers with her . . . list.”

  “Right. Mary Christ’s list on being a Christian mother.” The judge frowned. “You say you have found God.”

  Devlin piously raised her palms upward, as if in supplication. She shook them hard, as if she was trembling. “Glory be to God, Your Honor. He has saved me. I am in prayer many times a day. I know that the Lord has forgiven me, and I pray that you can forgive me, too.”

  “You have talked at length about how you have changed in jail.”

  Devlin nodded. “I have, Your Honor. I am a new woman. I am strong. I am learning who I am all about. I have thought about my sins and my past and how I will express myself and share myself with the world when I’m out so people can feel my light.”

  “You have talked about how you are no longer an addict, due to being locked in jail, and how you know that you will stay clean.”

  “As God as my witness, I will not do drugs. Or drink. Never again. I was numbing my pain from the abuse I suffered from my mother, who was double polar and depressed and . . . and . . . abusive with her polar . . . with her double polar, and I had to get rid of that pain. From my mother. And how my father was gone all the time. With. Uh. His coldness.”

  The judge tapped a pen. “You have talked about how you’re going to change this time around if your daughters are returned to you.”

  “My children are the world to me. I love them. I miss them.” Devlin started making crying sounds, but no tears filled those blue eyes. “Every day I ache for my children. I want to hold them in my arms and give them a hug.” She put her arms out in a circle, as if she was hugging them. She forgot to shake her hands that time. She glanced back and sent me a murderous look. I wanted to scream.

  “I have studied this case from one end to the next, Sarah, because I take terminating parental rights very, very seriously,” the judge said. “I have listened to everything said, by everyone, today.”

  I waited, Jace holding my hand. I could hardly breathe, my heart racing.

  “I don’t believe a word that has come out of your mouth, Sarah. Not one word.”

  Devlin stopped mid-sniffle.

  I sat up straight. What?

  “I have analyzed the reports that Children’s Services made in Oregon, Idaho, and California, and I was appalled by your neglect, dis
regard, and abuse of your daughters. I read about the conditions the girls were living in with you and Parker, in all three states, and I am aware of your past arrests and your drug history.”

  Devlin was not sniffling. She was not holding her arms out in a hug anymore. Gee-whiz. Her hands had stopped shaking, too. Her face was red, she was twitching, and her mouth was in a screwed-up line. Yes, Devlin was livid.

  “I see nothing in your past that indicates that you will be a competent, caring mother to these girls. Nothing. Lucy and Stephi are currently living with Olivia Martindale and her husband, Jace Rivera, in Kalulell, Montana. Olivia is the woman who volunteered to be the girls’ guardian if something should happen to Annabelle Lacey, your mother, who had temporary custody of the girls when you went to jail. Annabelle, a nurse in the neonatal intensive care unit at the hospital, did not have bipolar, or depression, nor was she abusive to you, was she? Your father wasn’t a cold man and he didn’t abuse you, either, did he? But, like your mother, he is dead and can’t defend himself. For two parents who, you say, were awful, they sure spent an enormous amount of money on multiple trips to rehab, counselors, psychologists, and special schools for you.

  “Sarah, custody of the girls was taken from you in Idaho, Oregon, and California because you are an unfit mother. You lost custody in Oregon when you robbed a store. This court, I, will not give those girls back to you and wait until they are half dead again to take them away from you. They deserve better. The girls will remain, from this day forward, with Olivia Martindale.”

  “Damn it. You can’t do that!” Devlin yelled. “Those are my kids. Mine.”

  “I can. I have,” the judge snapped. “You should have treated them better when they lived with you. You should have fed them so they would not be emaciated. You didn’t. You should have kept rats away from them, and fleas, and drug addicts. You didn’t.

  “You should have had a clean home without drugs and drug paraphernalia lying around, and you should have gotten them medical care when they needed it. Especially when Stephi had double pneumonia and almost died, and would have died had CSD not been called by a neighbor. Lucy fainted from malnutrition and the school had to have her taken away in an ambulance.”

  The judge’s voice rose in anger. “You should not have been a drug addict and living with another addict. You should have protected them. I am not fooled by the pink blouse, the cross, the talk of Jesus, and the innocent mother act. I’ve been doing this for too long and you, Sarah, are a poor excuse for a mother. Your parental rights will be terminated. If you comply with all of the rules of the court, in one year I will allow limited, supervised visitation.”

  I leaned back on the bench and closed my eyes. I felt the tears burn. I thought I was past tears, but I wasn’t. The girls would be safe. They would be with Jace and me. Loved and cared for. My daughters. Our daughters.

  Devlin turned to me, raving. Across the courtroom she yelled, “Olivia Martindale, you stupid bitch. You will never, ever be a mother to my girls. Never.”

  “By the way,” the judge said. “Your calls to Olivia were recorded from jail, Sarah. I listened to every one of them. You are to stay away from Olivia Martindale and the girls. Are we clear on that?”

  Devlin didn’t even hear her, her voice rising three octaves. “I swear, Olivia, I will have those girls. You took them from me. You stole my girls from me. They are not yours. They will never be yours. If I can’t have them, you can’t have them!”

  The judge nodded at the bailiff. “Ms. McDaniel is done here.” Devlin swore and swore as the bailiff dragged her out, then she laughed. High-pitched, giggly. She yelled, “Never, bitch,” to me before she was yanked out of the courtroom. “Never, bitch.”

  The judge looked at me. “I have entrusted you with the lives of these precious children. I will recommend that the adoption papers be put through immediately.”

  I stood up, wobbled. Jace stood with me. “Thank you, Your Honor. I love them. I promise you I will be the best mother I can be.”

  “I know you will be. You have already proven that. Obviously, you read the book in the Bible written by Mary Christ, mother of Jesus, where she wrote a list on how to be a proper mother.” I laughed. She winked at me, rapped the gavel. “Adjoined.”

  If I thought that Devlin had a heart, I would feel bad for her for losing her children. If she hadn’t been neglectful and abusive, I would feel bad for her. If she hadn’t allowed her children to be starved, and left alone for days on end, and if she hadn’t put them in the way of scary, dangerous men, I would feel bad. Of course, if she hadn’t done all that she wouldn’t have lost her children in the first place.

  I felt sweet relief as I turned to Jace and held him close. Our tears ran together. Claudine stood up, cheered, climbed over the barrier, in her skirt, and hugged us both.

  Chapter 16

  I wanted to celebrate that the adoption of Stephi and Lucy would now go through. I wanted to celebrate that they would be safe forever, that they would be my and Jace’s daughters.

  But how do you celebrate that?

  Their father, an addict and criminal, would be in jail for years. Their mother, an addict and criminal, had lost custody permanently.

  We would be essentially celebrating that two people, their own mommy and daddy, had failed as parents and their parental rights were terminated. So what to do?

  The girls figured it out for me. “Now we’re your daughters forever, right, Aunt Olivia?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes.” I hugged her and Stephi.

  “And we’re not going to live with Mommy?” Stephi said.

  “No. But you’ll probably be able to see her again, after a while.”

  They looked worried. “But you or Uncle Jace will stay with us when we see her again, right?”

  “Yes.”

  They sniffled, their eyes filled. “It’s not that I want to live with Mommy,” Stephi said.

  “No, we want to live with you, our real mommy, Aunt Olivia,” Lucy said.

  “But it’s sad, too, isn’t it?” I said, and they nodded and they cried, their small bodies shaking, and then I said, “Why don’t we invite everyone to meet us at the roller rink tonight and we’ll have pizza.”

  Their eyes lit up.

  “Go roller-skating?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to wear my tutu!”

  “I’m wearing my butterfly wings and the cowgirl hat that Uncle Jace gave me!”

  So that’s what we did. We roller-skated. I fell. Jace fell. Once I accidentally skated smack into Jace and we both fell. My mother face-planted, and my grandma fell on her rear. Kyle was terrible, clinging to the side of the rink the whole time, determined to master roller-skating, to no avail. The girls were quick, daring.

  Chloe was the star. I think Zane was impressed. She glided. She skated backward. She skated fast, she twirled, she spun. “Big, fat girls know how to do it on skates,” she yelled out. “I’m a tough-talkin’, hip-rockin’ Montana woman.”

  And that was our adoption celebration. Family. Pizza. Roller-skating.

  * * *

  Kyle presented the four of us with a special gift at Jace’s, at our, house two weeks later.

  He had drawn Jace, me, Stephi, and Lucy, sitting on our front steps, the house behind us, the mountains behind the house. We were smiling, Jace had his arm around me, and the girls were in front of us. Stephi was wearing her fake raccoon hat and her pink tutu over her red jeans. Lucy was wearing a flowered dress, her butterfly wings, and red boots. Kyle drew the dogs, Snickers and Garmin, and the cat, K.C. Both girls were holding chocolate chip cookies.

  We framed that family picture.

  * * *

  Were we actually doing this? We were having sex in Jace’s truck, down a deserted street.

  “Are we not too old for this?” I panted. I had been sitting by him on the way home from town. Then I felt like kissing him, so I did. Then I felt like letting my hands wander, so I did. Then I felt like opening up his shi
rt and seeing all that muscle. So I did. And we had to pull over outside of town, where I showed off my flexibility in a truck.

  “I know you’re not too old, so I’m not, either.” He pulled off my shirt. I pulled off his.

  It is amazing what you can do in a big truck with the seats leaned back ever so slightly.

  Awesome.

  * * *

  The school bus picked the girls up in the morning and I waved them off. It had been two weeks since the trial, and I was starting to breathe again like a normal person.

  That morning, over eggs, Stephi told me, in all seriousness, “Aunt Olivia, we have made our decision.”

  “And that decision is?”

  Lucy said, “We’re going to be surgeons.”

  “Super. You can fix people up and make them happy.”

  “Yep,” Stephi said. “We’ll be fixers.”

  “And they’ll say, ‘Thank you,’ and we’ll always have candy for our patients, like Grandma Mary Beth and Grandma Gisela do,” Lucy said.

  Dinah, Justin, Earl, and I and the morning staff whipped up a delicious breakfast for the clients who oohed and aahed over the Buckin’ Bronco Breakfast Burritos, then I called Jace.

  “Hey, Jace. If you can get home soon I’ll be in a red negligee in our bedroom. Do you need a morning nap?”

  He did.

  * * *

  Spring brought a soft beauty. It tossed down golden buttercups, white columbine, and light pink bitterroot blossoms. It brought the sun, warmer winds, green leaves, and endless postcard-like views.

  The school bus rumbled down the road toward the ranch and I smiled, knowing the girls could see me, even if I couldn’t see them. They were always waving by the time they arrived. I had made them gingersnap orange cookies, which would sandwich a layer of vanilla ice cream.

  The bus stopped in front of me.

  “Stephi and Lucy aren’t on the bus, Olivia,” Mickey, the bus driver, called down.

  “What? Do you know why not?”

  “I don’t know. But they did not get on. I waited for ten minutes.”

  “Huh. Okay. Thanks, Mickey.” I called the school as I walked back to the house. Something . . . something scary, something unknown, started to rattle me. “Hi, Mattie. It’s Olivia. Lucy and Stephi didn’t get off the bus. Mickey said they never got on. Do you know if they stayed after school? They didn’t have an after-school class today.”