“Are you surprised?”
“How did you get me in here?”
“We bought the house.”
“You what?”
“The people who lived here were about to go into foreclosure. We bought it so that wouldn’t happen.”
I looked around. Just being in that room made me feel eight years old again. I remembered my dad waking me up for school in the morning and praying with me at bedtime. I pictured my mom snuggling in bed with me to read a book before nap. Pete, playing games with me for hours until I finally won. I breathed in the air of that room. The smells of my family were gone.
Paul’s arm around my shoulder snapped me back to reality.
“Hold on. What about Lola’s rules? I can’t be in here with you.” I stepped out from under his arm.
“I already talked to her. She’s cool with it.”
“Good. Now, what are you going to do with this house?”
“We actually have a plan.” Paul watched my face. “But when we walked through here, I just knew you’d want to see it right away.”
“You’re right.” I sat on the floor. “Thank you.”
“Just wait till you hear what we’re thinking,” he said, sitting next to me. “What do you think about an extension of Lola’s House? Right here?”
“I’ve never heard a better idea in all my life,” I said. “Who thought of it?”
“My mom.”
“Of course. She’s great.”
“Well, there’s one more thing.” He breathed deeply. “Gosh, I feel so weird. It’s like I’m back in high school.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Well, Dot, I wanted to ask you something. You know, I really like spending time with you. And I thought that with you coming to college next year we’d have more time to hang out.”
I nodded, waiting for him to finish.
“And I guess I wanted to know if...man, this is so awkward.” He wiped a trickle of sweat off his forehead. “Well, I guess I wanted to know if I can be your boyfriend.”
A lump formed in my throat. Paul sighed, scratched his neck.
“You are very sweet, Paul,” I said. “But I can’t.”
His eyes shot up to mine. His face sunk. “Really?”
“I’m not ready.”
“Oh. Okay.” He stood. “Maybe it was wrong of me to expect. I’m sorry.”
“Wait. I’m not saying no. Not at all. I really want to say yes. Trust me. I’m just asking you to give me a little time.” I smiled. “There are a few more things you need to know about me first. How about we save this talk for a few months from now?”
He exhaled. Smiled. Relaxed his shoulders.
“I can wait for you. We’re young. What do we have to rush for?” He crouched next to me and put his hand on my cheek. “I just want to be a part of your life.”
“Thank you.” I pulled the crumpled envelope from my pocket. “Do you mind if I have some time alone to read this? It’s kind of important that I can cry or scream or whatever when I read it. I can’t do that if you’re here.”
“Sure. You stay in here as long as you want. I guess it’s kind of your room again.” He got back to his feet and walked to the door. “I’ll just be at my house. Come on over when you’re done.”
I inhaled, waved the envelope in the air. As soon as I heard him close the front door, I held the letter close to my face.
“It can’t be anything worse than you’ve already been through,” I said to myself.
I slowly, carefully slid my finger under the flap, ripping the paper and pulled out the letter. Unfolded it. A floral design trimmed the paper.
“This isn’t like the others,” I thought.
The black words were written across the page in a flowing penmanship.
My Dear Dot,
I don’t know what to say to you other than I am so sorry that I haven’t written you before this.
Would you be willing to come see me? Visiting days are on Thursdays and I would love for you to come. My friend offered to drive you. I wrote all her information on the bottom of this letter.
I understand, however, if you decided not to come. Just please write and let me know that you’re okay.
I really love you so much, Dot.
Mom
I ran through my old house and to the front door, my heart about to burst for joy.
Paul sat on his porch. He watched as I came toward him. I couldn’t speak. Handing him the letter, I read over his shoulder.
“Wow, Dot. That’s an answer to prayer,” he said.
“I’m getting my family back.”
My hug nearly knocked him over.
Cora – 49
“I mailed your letter to Dot the other day,” Lisa said as she placed a scone in front of me. “She should have gotten it by now.”
“Thank you. What a nice Sunday treat.” I broke a small crumble off the pastry and ate it. “Blueberry? My favorite. You know, I’m going to have to take up jogging again.”
“Don’t I know it.” She patted her behind. “Sitting has never been so comfortable.”
I laughed. I’d been letting the bubbling, ticklish laughter take over me more. I remembered the calm of happiness.
“Thank you for mailing that letter.” I took another sugary bite. “I’m nervous, however, that Dot isn’t going to want to see me.”
“I know she will, Cora. I’ve never doubted that. She still loves you.”
“How could you possibly know that? You’ve never met her, have you?”
“Well, I didn’t tell you about this at the time; I wasn’t sure how you’d handle it.” Lisa sat next to me. “Cora, she’s the one who sent the pictures.”
“Really?” My heart throbbed. My entire face lifted for joy.
Joy. I remembered the feeling. Warm and satisfying. I welcomed it back.
~*~
I stepped off the bus in Lansing, Michigan. My ticket would have taken me all the way to Grand Rapids, but the family that needed a babysitter lived in Lansing. And I needed to go where I could find work.
I rented a room above an old lady’s garage. Mostly blind, she couldn’t see how young I was. I kept very little in my apartment. My few possessions could easily fit into a few bags, should I need to run again. I spent most of my time watching out for Ducky and my father, worried that they would come after me.
A few days after I arrived I used a pay phone to call the pastor’s wife. They’d had three more since she last spoke with her cousin. And, yes, she needed the help of a young girl. I lied and told her that I’d just graduated from high school, telling her that I just looked very young for my age. She hired me to watch her kids, clean the house and help put together the church bulletin each week.
I delivered newspapers every morning before the sun came up. During the winter I shoveled driveways. Any kind of honest work I could find, I did. Hard work had been part of my life for so long, sitting still just made me anxious. So, I kept myself busy. Eventually, I saved up enough for a used car. That vehicle made my various escape plans more feasible.
Then I met Steven and life went in a completely different direction.
No longer did I look out for dangerous men. I didn’t allow myself to think about what happened to my mother’s body or whether or not Marlowe got away. All of my efforts went to covering up that part of my life, even from myself. No one really asked about my family. No one seemed to wonder about my past. I simply pretended that my life before Steven hadn’t existed at all.
That was the lie I lived so well. I tucked all thought of my mother, Marlowe, and Titus away in an unreachable part of my mind. I willed myself to forget the shack with its falling apart windows, the loose floorboards, the leaky roof. The peeling paint chips on the wall.
~*~
“Have you ever thought about trying to find Marlowe?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, well, I haven’t really given it much thought,” I said. “I guess I didn’t think I could. To be honest, I’m afraid to find
out that she’s dead. You know, she saved my life that night and I just drove away. I don’t believe I could live with myself if he killed her because of me.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Lisa said, nodding. “But if she died that night, it would have been because of her love for you. You can’t blame yourself for that. She was taking care of you. Sacrificing herself so that you could be safe.”
“She did that our whole childhood.” I hugged my arms around my chest. “Abandoning her wasn’t the right thing to do.”
“Well, Cora, you were doing what she told you to.” She stood. “Let me do a little digging. I’ll see if I can find out anything about her. Who knows, we might just find her. We’ll pray for happy news. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great, thank you.” I stood up next to her. “You have been a great friend.”
I embraced her tightly.
“I’m thankful for your friendship, too.” She rubbed a circle between my shoulder blades.
“I’ve never had a friend like you.” I let go of her. “God has blessed me with you.”
She held my hand. “I’m so proud of you, Cora.”
“I’m getting excited about leaving this place.”
“That’s great.” She let go of my hand and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to do some research. And then I’m going to pick out some paint colors for the house. What’s your favorite color?”
“Oh, goodness. I have no idea.” The excitement overwhelmed me. “I can’t think of a single color right now. How about you choose for me? I’m sure I’ll love whatever you pick out.”
“I’m thinking something tranquil.”
“Yes,” I exhaled. “Perfect.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
I waved before she turned to walk away. It felt as if the storm that raged through my whole life had finally been calmed. And I stood in wonder of this Man who could command the wind and the waves and the hearts of His children to have peace and be still.
Dot – 50
After the excitement of my mom’s letter, Paul and I sat in the dining room at his parents’ house. Kristi made us cookies and brewed some strong coffee. She left the two of us alone to talk.
Barely able to sit still, I fidgeted and chewed on my nails.
“This is the bad part, Paul,” I said.
“Okay. Take your time.”
~*~
I had this memory of Pete’s funeral. I remembered sitting next to my mom in a pew at the front of a sanctuary. We held hands. I traced the raised, purple veins in her thin hands.
After the service and the luncheon, we went home. Just the two of us. My mom and me. We sank into the comfort of the loveseat, still wearing our black funeral clothes. I put my head on her shoulder. The bumpy bones jutted out, hard against the side of my face. We sat like that for so long, I wondered if my cheek would bruise from resting on her sharp angles.
“I can’t figure out what to do with myself now, Dot,” she said. “What did we do with our lives before Pete got hurt?”
“I can’t remember,” I answered, staring at the coffee table.
“I guess before he was in the hospital I just spent a lot of time sleeping, right?”
I lifted my head and nodded.
“And before that your dad went to war and I cooked a lot.”
“Right. You made a lot of cookies.”
“And before that.” She scratched her scalp. “What did I do before your dad went away?”
“I don’t know.”
Everything before my dad left seemed to be nothing more than a dream. A far away, long ago dream.
“Your daddy died a year and a half ago,” she said. “I’m just so tired. I don’t think I’ve slept all year long.”
“Me either,” I said.
“I don’t want to sleep in my room, though. It’s just far too lonely.”
“You can sleep in my room. I have a trundle bed,” I said, trying to cheer her. “We could pull that out. I’ll let you sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the pull-out part.”
“I like that idea. Kind of like a slumber party?” she asked, her voice flat. “I never got to have a slumber party when I was a girl. I never got to have any fun.”
I rushed to my room and got it ready for our sleep-over. Fluffing my best pillow, I set it on my bed, just for her. I turned down the sheet and blanket.
She came into my room slowly. I tucked her into my bed. The yellow blanket contrasted beautifully against her rich auburn hair.
“You can snuggle my bear,” I said.
“Thank you, honey,” she said, holding the bear to her chest.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.” She touched my hair with her thin hand and looked right into my eyes. “Promise me something, will you?”
“Sure.”
“If anything happens to me, promise you’ll get off this mountain.” She closed her eyes. “Just promise.”
The way she said the words scared me. Confused, I pulled away from her.
Lowering myself onto the pulled-out bed, I tried to stay awake to watch her. She fell asleep so quickly, so deeply. Her breathing, heavy. My eyes rested under closed lids. I sank into sleep.
In the middle of the night, I sat straight up in the bed. Something crashed in the kitchen. Then a thud. My eyes darted around the room. My mom wasn’t in the bed. She wasn’t anywhere in the room. I got up, stumbling down the steps and into the kitchen.
That’s where I found her, on the floor in a pile.
“Mom,” I said, quietly at first. Then louder. “Mom? Mommy. Are you okay?”
I patted her hip. She didn’t move. Shaking her, I screamed. Trying to wake her, get some kind of response. Anything. I panicked. Laid my body on top of hers.
“Not my mommy, too!” I begged God. “Please, don’t take her, too!”
Mr. West heard me somehow and rushed over, letting himself in with a spare key. He tried to pull me off of her. I wouldn’t let go. He reached around me to feel her neck.
“She’s still alive, Dot,” he reassured me. Patted my back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Mrs. West followed close behind him. “Come on, Dot. I’ll make up a bed for you at our house.”
“No,” I screamed, clinging to my mom. “I have to stay here with her.”
By the time the ambulance came, my mom yelled about people whose names I had never heard. She called out for Titus and Marlowe and her mother. She screamed that she’d killed her father in cold blood. That she had planned it. She’d been planning it since her childhood.
The paramedics strapped her to the gurney just so they could put a needle into her arm. After a shot of medicine, she fell back to sleep.
They loaded her into the ambulance and took her to the hospital. After a few days, they determined that she was mentally unfit to return home. She was too ill to care for me. They found the cut marks all over her body. She couldn’t remember what year it was. Reality had been completely blocked out of her brain. They admitted her to the state mental hospital.
A case worker came to my house early in the morning and watched me pack my things. Only enough to fill two duffle bags.
The Wests stood on the sidewalk.
“Is there any way that she can be placed with us?” Mr. West asked, following the caseworker to the state-owned car. “We’re willing to take custody.”
“No, sir.” She sighed impatiently and put her hand on my shoulder. “I have to take Dorothy with me.”
“Her name is Dorothea.”
“Right.” The woman opened the car door for me. “Sorry, sir. I don’t know anything about you. Until you’re registered to be a foster family, you can’t keep her.”
“What does it take to be registered?” Mrs. West asked.
“Ma’am, I’m not the one to ask. I’m just doing my job.”
“But she’s been with us. She knows us. We’ll take care of her,” Mrs. West pleaded.
�
�I’m going to have to ask you to step back from the car now.”
The case worker took my bags, placed them in the backseat. I climbed in, carrying my coat.
“Don’t worry, Dot. We’ll get you back here real soon,” Mrs. West said as the car pulled away.
For the next few years I bounced around from foster home to foster home. I caused problems for the families that housed me. Punched holes in walls, stole money, lied about the families to my case worker.
At twelve years old I decided I was done living in the system. I figured I could make my way back home. To live with the Wests. So I ran away. Just took my things and walked out the door.
I traveled around the city, trying to build up the courage to call Mrs. West. I hoped that they would come get me. But I couldn’t remember their phone number. I figured they would be disappointed in me. That they must have heard how bad I was for the foster families and decided that they didn’t want me. After all, they hadn’t come to get me.
All I could think to do was wander the streets.
That night seemed darker than any other I’d ever experienced. I walked for miles and miles, getting turned around and disoriented. I didn’t recognize the street names or the buildings. I didn’t dare ask for help.
When the rain began to pour, I found a covered doorway. I stood against the old, falling apart door, trying to make myself look tough. But I shook in the cold, drenched clothes. Fear kept me from falling asleep, despite my exhaustion.
The next morning, I found a small diner. Bought a bagel with some of the money I stole from the last foster family.
“You okay?” a man asked, approaching my table.
“I’m fine,” I answered. “Leave me alone.”
“Let me get you some coffee. You look so cold.”
“I’m not. Go away.” I tried to sound tough. But the words came out as a pathetic squeak.
He walked to the counter and got two cups of coffee. He set one of them down next to me.
“You don’t have to talk to me. I’m just being a good guy.” He looked at me. “I swear, I didn’t drug it or nothing.”
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