The Mother's Promise

by Sally Hepworth

  “My mom’s…?” Now the girl’s eyes did flicker to meet Sonja’s and the color drained out of her face. “Is my mom okay?”

  “She’s still in surgery. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  Her face registered relief, but was still hesitant. She was familiar-looking, Sonja realized. She had the bone structure of a doll, almond-shaped eyes and black hair. She also had a red mark on her right cheek. Sonja zeroed in on it.

  “Do you mind if I come in and have a look around, Zoe, make sure everything is shipshape for your mother’s release?”

  Sonja sounded reassuring, she realized. Calm. Nevertheless, for a moment it looked as if Zoe was going to refuse. She glanced at Sonja’s business card again, and then over her shoulder, back into the apartment. Finally she took a step back, widened the door.

  She’d failed the first test. Letting a stranger inside.

  “Looks like you’re getting a shiner there,” Sonja said, as casually as she could. She stepped into the apartment, gesturing to Zoe’s cheek.

  “Oh.” Zoe’s gaze dropped. “I … I ran into a wall at school today.”

  “Ice helps,” she said with a smile. “Is it okay if I…”

  “Sure,” Zoe said. “Look around.”

  Zoe remained in the hallway while Sonja did a loop of the apartment. It didn’t take long—there wasn’t a lot to see. The place was a little messy, but cozy. Photographs were dotted around in frames. It looked perfectly habitable.

  “Why does my mother have a … social worker?” Zoe asked when Sonja returned to the living room.

  The question stopped Sonja for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to Sonja that Alice wouldn’t explain all this.

  “Well, the hospital put us in touch,” she explained. “It’s my job to take care of patients and make sure they have everything they need once they are released. For example, some people need help getting to and from appointments. Some people need to be put in touch with community services.”

  Zoe blinked. “Does my mom need that kind of help?”

  Sonja hesitated. “I’m not sure yet. We’ll know more after today.”

  “Oh.”

  Sonja didn’t understand her bafflement. “Are you all right, Zoe?”

  She shrugged in a way that Sonja read as Yep. All good here. But Sonja was getting the feeling that that was far from the truth. In Sonja’s profession she’d learned to recognize “the feeling”—that elusive knot that appeared in your belly when something was not right. She had it now.

  “So your mom tells me you’re staying here alone while she’s in the hospital?”

  “Yeah.” Zoe’s voice was barely audible.

  “Do you stay home alone much?”

  “No.” Zoe hovered at the window, looking out. “Mom’s always here with me.”

  “Always?” Sonja smiled, but it was wasted because Zoe was looking out the window. “She never goes out with friends or away for a weekend?”

  “No.”

  It was unsettling the way Zoe wouldn’t make eye contact. Her cheeks were deep red, as if she’d just sprinted up some steps, or perhaps humiliated herself in front of a group of peers. Sonja thought again about the things the old woman outside had said about her. The mark on her face. “Zoe, I have to ask you a few questions, is that all right? There’s nothing tricky.”

  Zoe concentrated on the floor. “I guess.”

  “Thank you. Do you have the numbers of any adults who live nearby that you could contact if you need anything?”

  “Zoe shrugged. “I mean there’s Dulcie next door.”

  Sonja waited, but that appeared to be it. “Okay. What about if the phone rings? Has your mom taught you what to say and what not to say to strangers on the phone?”

  “I don’t answer the phone.”

  Sonja wondered if she’d ever met a teen quite like this one. “And if there was a fire? Do you know at least two escape routes to get out of the apartment?”

  Zoe just stared at the floor.

  “All right,” Sonja said finally. There was no doubt that this child was not fit to stay home alone. However, it wasn’t Sonja’s call to make. She needed to get in touch with Children and Family Services.

  “You know, I have another client to see this afternoon, and I’m quite exhausted. Would you mind if I made myself a quick cup of coffee before I go?”

  “Uh … I guess that’s okay,” Zoe said.

  “The kitchen is this way, right?”

  Sonja headed for the kitchen. Then, when she was certain Zoe wasn’t following, she opened a few cupboards and the fridge. The pantry was reasonably well stocked, as was the fridge, but with food that required cooking—dry pasta, rice, chicken breasts. She’d expected to find food that could be reheated—lasagna, casseroles, a pie. The girl must be more competent than she looked. Then again, they often were, children of single parents. They had no choice but to step up and do their share of the cooking, the cleaning. Their parents needed the help.

  Sonja got out a mug and flicked on the kettle. Then she slid her phone from her purse. She had the number for Children and Family Services saved in her contacts. She decided to call Chelsea, her contact there.

  “What kind of treatment will my mom need after she’s been released from the hospital?”

  Sonja startled. Zoe was in the doorway to the kitchen, half in, half out. A cat was nestled like a newborn in her arms.

  “I really don’t know yet, Zoe.”

  Zoe’s eyes, which were downcast, darted back and forth with thought. Her forehead was pinched in a serious frown.

  “I know all of this is scary, but it’s really better to take things one at a time,” Sonja continued. “Each treatment is individual, and it’s decided by the type of cancer they find.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened, making her look even more childlike. “My mom has … cancer?”

  It took Sonja a second to realize what she’d just done. “Oh. Zoe, I…”

  The color leached out of the girl. Sonja took a step toward her, just as she took a step back.

  “I’m sorry, Zoe. I thought your mom would have told you.”

  Zoe lowered her arms and the cat jumped from them. Her breath was coming in shuddery bursts. Within seconds, the hair around her temples was damp. It took Sonja a moment to realize what she was witnessing.

  The girl was having a panic attack.

  21

  Kate lay on the couch in leggings and a T-shirt, a blanket across her knees. The TV was on and a book was beside her—she looked at neither. For days she’d stayed in this position, staring into space. Her baby was gone. Gone.

  David was working from home, checking in on her regularly and bringing her endless cups of tea. They had been tiptoeing around each other for days, speaking to each other with careful courtesy. Hilary had stopped by last night with flowers and hugs. The kids were constantly checking if she needed anything. She was lucky, in lots of ways.

  “Another tea?” David said, popping his head around the door.

  She looked at the mug, still warm and full in her hands. “No. I’m good.”

  “How about some company?”

  “Sure,” she said, managing a smile.

  Things were strange between them now. Bizarrely polite, like they were strangers, not people who knew the most intimate parts of each other. David relaxed onto the other end of the couch with a great exhalation and pulled her socked feet into his lap.

  “I thought maybe we could go away for a few days,” David said. “I spoke to Hilary, she’s happy to take the kids for the rest of the week to give us some space.”

  “That sounds great but I need to go back to work tomorrow. Alice Stanhope, one of my patients, has had her surgery and it wasn’t wonderful news.”

  David exhaled. “Look, Kate. I want to clear the air. I don’t think you understand—”

  “I do,” she said. Because she did. This wasn’t the first time she’d spent days lying, catatonic, on the couch after a miscarriage. David didn’t wan
t to see her suffer anymore. He worried about what it was doing to their relationship. He wanted them to get back to being happy.

  “I just…” He shook his head; closed his eyes. “You deserve to be a mother. You, perhaps more than anyone. If I thought we had a chance … I mean, I wanted this for you so badly—”

  For you.

  “—but it’s causing nothing but pain. I think that … if we were to focus on the good things between us … it might get better. We have so much. I realize it will take time. This is a huge loss. But we can have a different kind of life together. We can travel!”

  She felt tears start to well up in her eyes, but she tried to smile.

  “Too soon, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “But Kate … are we okay?”

  No, we’re not okay. The thought bounced out of nowhere, floated around in her consciousness, and burned with truth.

  “Yes,” she said, tucking the thought away again. “We’re okay.”

  * * *

  Kate had just drifted off to sleep on the couch when she heard Scarlett call her name. She opened her eyes. Scarlett hung over the back of the couch.

  “Sorry to wake you,” she whispered, “but it’s your dad on the phone.”

  “Oh,” Kate said, surprised. Her father wasn’t one to call. He didn’t stop by. If she didn’t call and ask him to dinner every few months she wouldn’t see him at all. She pulled herself into an upright position and took the phone. “Dad?”

  “Kate. Did I wake you?”

  It surprised Kate that someone who felt so distant from her could know such a thing, just by the sound of her voice.

  “No,” she lied. “I was awake. Is everything all right?”

  “I just … David called me. He told me about…”

  “Oh.”

  The miscarriage. It seemed impossible that something that never left her mind could come back to her like a slap. And yet it did. Over and over.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  Honey. Kate couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her that. “Well, you did warn me,” she said. “Not to say anything until—”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” He sighed. “I don’t know why I did. Sometimes I say things and I … I have no idea why.”

  Kate opened her mouth, then paused. It wasn’t like her dad to be so forthcoming, particularly about his shortcomings. She felt herself soften toward him.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked her.

  “No,” she said, even though that was miles from the truth. “Not anymore.”

  “Good … good.”

  The silence lasted and lasted … in a good way. Although the conversation was undeniably awkward, there was something wonderful about him trying. As Kate sat with the phone pressed to her ear, memories washed over her—memories of times like this, when her father had been unexpectedly tender. The time she’d fought with her best friend and he’d brought home ice cream. The time she got the top score for science and he called her grandmother to tell her how proud he was. The time he tried to give her advice on the first guy she liked who didn’t know she was alive.

  “Well, then,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’d better let you rest. I just wanted to check in and say, you know, sorry.”

  “Thank you, Dad. It means a lot.”

  They said their farewells, but Kate found herself hanging on the line, wanting to say more. How do you do it? she wanted to ask. How do you go from being someone who I feel I have no connection with to the only person in the world who can make me feel like I’m not alone? And why, dear God why, can’t you be that person all the time? She was still holding on the line a few seconds later when the call disconnected.

  22

  “Knock, knock,” came the voice, and then the door opened. Zoe was sure she was in the middle of a nightmare. There was a social worker in her house. Her mom had cancer. She’d had a panic attack. Now, a second stranger was here.

  “Come in,” Sonja said.

  This woman was around her mom’s age, with a round face and cropped brown hair. She sat on the couch next to Zoe. “I’m Chelsea. I’m from the Department of Children and Family Services.”

  “Oh,” Zoe said. What she really wanted to say was What are you doing in my house?

  “I’m in your house, Zoe, because Sonja tells me you’ve been staying here alone while your mom is in the hospital, and she’s worried that you might not be coping too well.”

  Zoe blinked. Shit. Clearly she had said it out loud.

  “Are you all right, Zoe?” Chelsea said. “You seem a little shaken.”

  There are strange people in my apartment, Zoe wanted to say, but this time she managed to keep it on the inside.

  “Ouch,” Chelsea said, gesturing to Zoe’s cheek. “What happened there?”

  “I ran into a wall.”

  They clearly thought she was lying (because who runs into a wall?). She was also blushing, which only made it look worse. But she wasn’t lying.

  Chelsea sat forward. “It must be pretty lonely here all by yourself. I know I get a bit scared when I’m home all by myself. Do you have any friends you could stay with? Relatives?”

  Zoe shook her head. “I’m fine by myself.”

  “I’m sure you’re very responsible,” Chelsea said, “or your mom wouldn’t have left you alone. But I wonder what would happen if something went wrong. What if you had an accident while you were here alone? If you, say, got an electric shock from the hairdryer?”

  “I don’t use a hairdryer,” Zoe said.

  “What if you burned yourself while you were making dinner then? What would you do?”

  Zoe felt like she might cry. “I’d … call my mom.”

  “I see.” Chelsea sucked the air between her teeth. “You know something, Zoe? I know a really nice lady who lives just a few blocks from here. She looks after kids who need someone to take care of them for a few days. I’m sure you could stay with her. Just until your mom gets out of the hospital? What do you think about that?”

  “Thanks, but I’m good here,” Zoe said.

  The two women exchanged another look. “I’m sorry, Zoe, but we really don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone. If you don’t have anyone to stay with, you’ll need to go to emergency foster care.”

  “Emergency…” Zoe’s heart began to thunder. “But I’m … fine here. Really.”

  “Zoe.” Chelsea smiled. “Judy is really lovely. You’ll like her.”

  Zoe blinked back tears. “Does my mom know about this?”

  “As soon as she wakes up we’ll tell her.”

  “She won’t like it.” Zoe felt whiney and petulant, like a child.

  “Zoe,” Sonja said. “Your mother is very ill. If she knows you’re safe and happy, she can focus on getting better. Honestly, this is best for everyone.”

  Zoe tried to focus her thoughts but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything. Kenny the cat appeared at her ankle and she bent to scoop him up. “What about my cat?”

  “We can kennel him for a few days,” Chelsea said. “I know a great one not far away. I’ve used it for Lucy, my own cat.”

  Zoe hugged Kenny tight. She didn’t care about Lucy.

  “I’ll take you over to Judy’s,” Chelsea said. “Why don’t you go pack a bag? Everything will be fine Zoe, don’t you worry.”

  Zoe closed her eyes. In a moment she would wake up and find that this whole thing—her mom’s cancer, Emily, foster care—had all been a bad dream. She wanted her mom. She wanted her mom so bad.

  * * *

  The first thing Zoe noticed about Judy’s place was that it didn’t have a fence. It was a single-story place—not fancy by Atherton’s standards, but it had freshly cut grass and a well-tended garden. Zoe didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Whenever she pictured foster homes she always pictured overgrown lawns and teenagers with tattoos, smoking cigarettes. This place showed no evidence of any kids at all.

  Zoe and Chelsea had stopped off to take the cat t
o the kennel, and then visited a coffee shop “for a chat,” which clearly meant “get the dirt on your mom.” And the stupid thing was, Zoe knew this was the part when she was supposed to paint her mom as a veritable Mother Teresa meets Martha Stewart. She knew that. Problem was, when you can’t look someone in the eye, you don’t seem like a very reliable source. She ended up muttering things like “great mom,” “good cook” to her lap, which no doubt made Chelsea think her mom was a psycho serial killer.

  Chelsea knocked on the door and there was immediate movement inside. Zoe fought panic, even as her arms and legs began to tingle. Was this the kind of place she’d have to live if her mom died?

  “Hello!”

  The woman who answered the door was older than Zoe expected—perhaps seventy. She was small and stout, in jeans and a blouse with gray hair cut into the universal cloud of fluff that old ladies seemed to favor. She smiled at Zoe with genuine warmth. “Welcome. You must be Zoe.”

  “Yes,” Chelsea said when Zoe didn’t respond.

  “I’m Judy. Won’t you come in?”

  They followed her into a small sitting room, and Zoe sat next to Chelsea on a couch with fat floral cushions. A plate of cookies (oddly shaped enough to indicate they were homemade) sat in a dish on the table.

  “Would you like a cookie, Zoe?” Judy asked.

  Zoe shook her head.

  “How about some tea?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Judy was being perfectly nice, and Zoe didn’t want to be rude, but there was no way she could eat or drink. It was taking all her energy just to keep it together.

  “I hear your mom isn’t very well, Zoe. I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully she’ll be better soon and you’ll be back at home, taking care of her.”

  There was something like understanding in Judy’s eyes. Zoe managed a small smile.

  Chelsea left, after chatting with Judy for a few more minutes; then Judy offered to show Zoe to her room. Zoe stood and followed Judy to a small pink room with two single beds. They had matching floral quilts with pink pillowcases. There were a couple of pictures in frames, a pair of lamps, a poster of One Direction, and a pink iPod—Judy’s attempt at getting young and hip, clearly. Zoe wondered if she swapped it for a blue iPod if a boy was coming to stay. One entire wall was covered in photographs of children and teenagers.