“No honey, not yet. When we get inside and see Mama you can go down.”
They waited their turn to empty their pockets and enter the visiting room. Elaine, by now absolutely familiar with the drill, had left her purse in the car and carried only a small bag with two diapers for Luna, a packet of baby wipes, and a plastic bag filled with quarters. When they’d first begun visiting, she’d been surprised at the way everyone in the visiting room crowded around the vending machines, feeding in an endless supply of quarters and eating packets of Fritos and chocolate, drinking can after can of Diet Coke. By now, she too rushed over to the machines, glad of an excuse to give Olivia the illusion of privacy with her baby, if not the reality, surrounded as she was with other mother-and-child reunions. The machines were also a way for Elaine to give Olivia treats; candy, soda. Things she couldn’t buy for herself inside.
This time, as she carried Luna through the metal detector, a young woman handed them a long-stem red rose.
“To give to Mom,” she said, her voice determinedly sprightly.
Elaine murmured her thanks and walked to the first set of double doors. She passed through with a small knot of other visitors. They waited silently in the hallway and were finally buzzed through the second set of doors. As she walked down the hallway to the visiting room, Elaine made out the group of women waiting behind the final set of glass doors. They were dressed in their regulation green and khaki shifts, but it was painfully obvious how much care they’d taken with their appearances. The hairdos were elaborate, and their homemade cosmetics were thickly applied. Some had ironed decorative fans and pleats into their clothing. Others wore earrings and necklaces fashioned from bits of aluminum foil. Every woman behind the door stared at the group of visitors, eyes darting to find the longed-for face. Elaine quickened her step and saw Olivia.
The two looked at each other through the glass. Olivia had her hair in the braid she always wore. She, unlike the other women, wore no makeup, and her pallor would have concerned Elaine had she not become accustomed to it. Olivia smiled at her mother and began waving at Luna. Elaine looked down at her charge. At first she was happy to see that Luna was waving back, but she soon realized that the child was looking not at Olivia, but at another woman entirely. Elaine turned Luna in her mother’s direction, trying not to draw Olivia’s attention to Luna’s mistake. The momentary faltering of Olivia’s smile gave away the fact that she had noticed.
The door buzzed, and the little crowd surged forward. Elaine and Olivia found each other’s arms and hugged, hard, Luna squashed between them.
“Mama!” Luna announced, and Olivia beamed with relief.
“Come, let’s grab a table,” she said, taking Luna from Elaine’s arms. Only once Olivia turned to lead the way did Elaine notice that her right cheek was swollen and bruised.
“Oh my God, honey, what happened?” she said, touching the abrasion.
Olivia flinched. “Nothing. I just had a little difference of opinion with one of the guards. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? It doesn’t look like nothing. Did you report it? Did you call Izaya? Maybe you should file a lawsuit or something?”
Olivia smiled ruefully, “Mom, it’s really nothing. Honestly, if I reported everything, I’d end up in segregation for the next three years. Never mind, okay? I don’t want to spend our precious time talking about this.”
Elaine pressed her lips together. She’d call Izaya herself when she got home.
“Have you heard from him?” she asked.
“He was here yesterday.”
“Again?”
Olivia blushed. “Yeah, well, he’s a lawyer; he can come whenever he wants. There’s no limit on legal visits.”
“And are things between you…” Elaine’s voice trailed off.
Olivia shook her head. “There’s nothing between us.”
“Oh really?”
“Nothing romantic, that is. I’ve got another thirty-one months in here, Mom.”
Elaine nodded. “Well, he came by to visit the baby again. He brought her that outfit.” Elaine pointed at Luna’s purple ensemble. Olivia tugged the label from inside the collar of Luna’s shirt and read it. She smiled.
“What?” Elaine said.
“I’m picturing him shopping for little purple clothes at Sweet Potatoes.”
“You should see him change a diaper.”
Izaya had fallen into the habit of coming by Elaine’s house every once in a while to take Luna for an outing to the park, to the zoo, or just for a walk around the neighborhood. At first Elaine had always tagged along, but she quickly realized that Izaya wanted the baby all to himself, and once she’d reassured herself that he was adept at diaper changes and the other mundane tasks of parenthood, she’d backed off and let the two of them have their time together. The last time they came back from Willard Park, Izaya had been wearing an unusually large smile, as if there was something he was dying to tell Elaine.
“What happened?” Elaine said.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just, one of the moms complimented me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she wished her husband was as good a dad as I am.” He bent down and nuzzled the top of Luna’s head. “She said that. Didn’t she, Moon-pie?”
“Hmm,” said Elaine, feeling a little catch in her throat.
He looked up, and she could see that he was trying to gauge her reaction. “What?”
“Well, what did you say?”
“What do you mean, what did I say?”
“Did you tell her that you aren’t Luna’s father?”
He shook his head and kissed the baby on the cheek. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“It was none of her business.” He smiled softly.
Though this exchange had pleased her, Elaine had decided not to tell her daughter about it. Olivia was right, it would be a long time until she was released. Why raise hopes that could end up being false?
Olivia sat down in a chair at an empty corner of one of the long tables bolted to the middle of the room. She began talking to Luna in Spanish, kissing her on the face and tickling her belly. The girl looked at Elaine for a moment, and then, reassured by her grandmother’s nod, smiled at Olivia. Once again, Elaine breathed a sigh of relief. Each time they visited, she was terrified that Luna would cry or otherwise reject her mother. It was their good fortune that the girl was easy with strangers. Luna was always perfectly happy to go to Olivia, and if she didn’t seem to remember her mother from one visit to the next, that was something Elaine was confident only she really recognized.
Olivia balanced Luna on her lap and reached into the pocket of her dress.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” she said, and handed Elaine a small envelope made of a piece of red construction paper folded in on itself. Elaine opened the envelope and found a card with a drawing of two women and a baby. One woman, with chin-length brown hair, was holding the fat little baby in a sling of brightly colored woven fabric. The other women, with long blond and red curls, had her arm around them both.
“It’s us!” Elaine exclaimed. “Did you draw it yourself?”
Olivia nodded. “That’s why it doesn’t look anything like us. Except for the hair, I guess.”
Elaine smiled at the picture. “You drew me holding the baby.”
Olivia nodded again. Elaine opened the card and read the inscription.
Happy Mother’s Day. Love, Olivia and Luna.
“I made the card from both of us,” Olivia said.
Elaine smiled at her. “Thank you, honey.”
“Because you’re really like Luna’s mother right now.”
Elaine shook her head. “You are her mother. I’m her grandmother.”
“No. I mean, I know I’m her mother. It’s just hard, in here, to feel like anybody’s mother, you know?�
��
Olivia looked around the room, and Elaine followed her gaze as it alighted on woman after woman, holding tight to children who seemed to wriggle uncomfortably in their arms.
Olivia turned back to Elaine. “You’re being a mother to her. You’re doing everything for her I could ever do, and more. I’m so grateful to you, Mom. I just want you to know that. I’m so…so …” Olivia’s voice trailed off. Elaine looked at her daughter’s mottled face and brimming eyes.
“I know you are, honey. And I’m grateful to you, too.”
“You’ve always been a good mother,” Olivia said, her voice low.
The two women stared at each other for a moment. They both knew exactly what kind of mother Elaine had been.
“Do you want a soda? Or something to eat?” Elaine asked.
“Thanks,” Olivia said.
Elaine excused herself and wandered over to the vending machines, exchanging pleasantries with the other grandmothers, some of whom she’d come to know. Suddenly, they were distracted by raised voices at the other end of the room. A tall black woman with a swirl of elaborately braided hair rising high off the crown of her head was trying to break up a fight between twin girls who looked about seven years old. They were rolling on the floor, punching and kicking each other, while the mother and an older woman tried to pull them apart. The girls ignored their mother and grandmother, raising their voices to shrieks. The grandmother began shouting, too.
“I’m going whup you both senseless! Stop it, now!” she screamed.
The mother tried unsuccessfully to pull the girls apart, backing away when one of them kicked her viciously in the stomach. Elaine looked over at Olivia, who had risen to her feet and walked quickly over to the writhing girls. Luna was balanced on her mother’s hip, her eyes round and staring.
“Queenie?” Olivia said, “Need some help?”
“Listen, you break this up or I’m going to toss your butts right on out of here,” a guard said, marching over to the group. “Break this up right now.”
Olivia stretched her mouth into a smile, and said, “Hey, we’re sorry. You know kids. We’ll have them quiet in a minute.”
Queenie reached into the fray and grabbed one of the girls. Suddenly, she howled, jerked back her hand, and cradled it to her chest. “She bit me!” she said to no one in particular.
“That’s it,” said the guard. “I’m throwing the little animals out.”
“No! Please no. Please,” Olivia cried. “Please, she hasn’t seen them in almost four months!” She turned to the grandmother. “Mrs. Swain, can’t you make them stop?”
The grandmother put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I been telling Queenie. I can’t make these hellions do nothing. Nothing. They don’t never listen to me.”
The guard was joined by another. Each of them grabbed one of the girls and wrenched them off each other.
“No!” Olivia cried again, to no avail.
The girls, stunned into silence by the guards’ touch, stared at their grandmother with wide eyes. They both began to cry as the guards started walking them toward the exit door. Queenie ran along behind them, begging, “Please, see, they’re okay now. See? They’ll be quiet. Please! Goddamn you! Stop!”
Olivia followed her friend, running as quickly as she could while simultaneously trying to comfort a now-crying Luna.
The guards motioned for the grandmother to follow them, and she did, shrugging her shoulders at her daughter. The group passed through the double doors and away. Queenie fell to her knees, her faced pressed against the glass. Her sobbing voice was just barely audible as she continued to plead with the guards who had disappeared from view. Olivia kneeled down next to the weeping woman and embraced her, Luna between them, her face pressed into Olivia’s shirt, and her arms wrapped tightly around her neck. The three sat there for a moment, and then one of the guards took Queenie’s arm and led her away.
Elaine met Olivia and Luna back at their table. The little girl’s tears had dried, and her customary smile had even made its appearance.
“Will your friend be all right?” Elaine asked.
Olivia nodded. “I hope so. I’ll write her mother and ask her to bring the girls again in a couple of weeks.” She reached an arm around her mother’s shoulder and squeezed. “She’ll be fine, Mom. Tell me more about what’s going on with you guys.”
“Why don’t you put Luna down,” Elaine said. “She’s been cruising on the furniture. She’s so close to walking.”
Olivia set the girl on her impossibly small feet and watched her as she smacked her hands on the plastic bench. The baby turned around and, wobbling a bit, set off down the aisle, her arms raised in the air.
“Oh, my God! She’s walking,” Olivia said, laughing. She ran out in front of her daughter and caught her just as she stumbled and sat down on the floor, her padded rear end hitting the rubberized flooring with a soft smack. “When did she learn to do that? How long has she been doing that?”
Elaine smiled at her daughter and lied. “This is her first time. She’s been getting ready, but this is the first time she’s really walked on her own.”
Elaine protected Olivia with her dishonesty. She protected her from the agonizing irony that the mother’s redemption, hers, had come at the daughter’s expense. Elaine, who had contracted and constricted herself until what she had offered her daughter was something barely recognizable as a mother’s love, had been given a second chance. She had been given the opportunity to atone for her neglect, but this very act of contrition was itself a betrayal. She had replaced Olivia in Luna’s affection. It was Elaine who was now the center of the little girl’s world. And yet, even so, Olivia loved her child with every bit of the generosity and fidelity she had felt during the months they had passed their nights tangled in each other’s arms. Such was the depth of her love that it could survive both separation and the little girl’s disregard.
They spent the rest of the visit standing ten feet or so apart as Luna stumbled and staggered between them. Finally, a loud voice informed them that their visit was over. Olivia scooped the baby into her arms and buried her face in her neck, inhaling deeply. Elaine looked around the room and saw the mothers all doing the same thing. They were all smelling their children, breathing their aromas, memorizing their particular and unique fragrance. Olivia stood up and handed Luna to her mother. Elaine leaned over and kissed her daughter on the cheek.
“Write as much as you can,” Elaine said.
“Don’t forget your Mama,” Olivia said, tracing a finger down Luna’s cheek.
“Wave bye-bye to Mama,” Elaine said, and the little girl obediently lifted her hand, adding her voice to the chorus of children all saying the same thing. The grandmothers, aunts, and foster mothers guided their charges through the glass doors, leaving behind a crowd of women, each gripping a single red rose in her hand.
about the author
Ayelet Waldman graduated from Harvard Law School and clerked for a federal judge prior to becoming a criminal defense attorney for the Federal Public Defender’s office in Los Angeles. Currently, she is an adjunct professor at Boalt Hall School of Law at the University of California. She is also the author of a successful mystery series. Ayelet lives in Berkeley, California, with her husband, author Michael Chabon, and their four children.
acknowledgments
This book benefited from the patience and attention of many talented and generous readers. Ed Swanson and Katya Kamasaruk’s expertise in criminal law and the prison system was invaluable. The attorneys and staff of Legal Services for Prisoners With Children provided information critical to the plot and story. Amanda Coyne’s essay, “Lockup,” was an inspiration, as was the work of Families Against Mandatory Minimums. Elaine Petrocelli not only read this book and supported it early on, but also corrected a glaring error. I’m grateful to Vicki Carter of Elmwood Pharmacy for her expertise
. Kathleen Caldwell read draft after draft, and was both critical and supportive, not an easy balance to strike. I also thank Mona Simpson, Vendela Vida, Dorothy Allison, Daniel Handler, Gail Tsukiyama, Susanne Pari, Kim Chernin and the other women of Edgework Books, Heidi Julavits, Rabih Almaddine, Elizabeth Joyce, Saundi Schwartz, Michael Barnard, and especially Amanda Davis, Daniel Mendelsohn, and Dave Eggers.
Megan McDonald, Melinda Johnson, and Carmen Dario did the work that gave me time to write.
Mary Evans championed this book with a devotion typical of her, and unique in the world.
I am grateful to Jennifer Fusco for her kind editorial guidance, Megan Dempster for a beautiful design, and to Dominique Raccah, Barbi Pecenco, Todd Stocke, and the entire Sourcebooks family. I am lucky to have fallen into their talented and generous hands.
I thank my children, Sophie, Zeke, Ida-Rose, and Abraham, my sweet jailors in the life sentence that is motherhood, and their father, my editor, critic, champion, and b’shert, Michael Chabon.
There is no way to acknowledge the debt I owe to the victims of the federal mandatory minimum sentences.
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