by Pamela Morsi
She laughed as if what she said was funny.
Sierra laughed, too. But Mom didn’t.
“What we do at CAVA is to speak for children who can’t speak for themselves,” Marcy said.
“So like babies,” Sierra said.
“Some are babies,” Marcy told her. “But our volunteers work with children of every age. Whenever the court is considering a termination proceeding for abuse or neglect, we are there to represent what the child wants and needs.”
“I know a lot about unwanted kids,” Mom said. “I know a lot about the courts. But I’ve never heard a word about any court-appointed advocates.”
“The program isn’t that new,” Marcy said. “It began in 1990, but I suppose it might have been after your association with foster care.”
Mom stiffened. “So Del told you I’d grew up in foster care.”
Marcy’s eyes widened. “No, he didn’t,” she said. “He told me that you’d had some introduction to it in the past. I presumed you’d done some kind of internship in college or some such.”
Mom laughed a little, but there was no humor in it.
“I’ve never been to college,” she told Marcy. “My ‘introduction’ to foster care was being dumped in it by my family. It took me years to get away. And I’ve never looked back.”
Marcy smiled, delighted.
“Oh, you would be such an inspiration to our children,” she said. “It’s so hard for them to get a glimpse of their future.”
Mom gave a sort of huff with a shake of her head. “That’s because they don’t have any,” she said.
Marcy frowned, puzzled. “Every child has a future,” she said. “Some better, some worse, but future is the definition of childhood, isn’t it?”
Mom shrugged.
Marcy was not deterred. “If it’s not, then it should be,” she said, cheerfully. “I think that’s what we try to do. We try to see that every child has an opportunity to make something of her life, like you have.”
“Me?” Mom scoffed. “I haven’t made anything of my life. I’m a cocktail waitress, currently unemployed.”
“You seem to be a self-reliant, hardworking mother of two happy and well-adjusted daughters,” Marcy said. “I’d say that counts as an outstanding success in any reasonable person’s mind.”
Mom was obviously a little surprised at the woman’s words. But she could hardly disagree with them. Instead, she changed the subject.
“I’m not interested in courts,” she told Marcy. “I’ve spent so much time in them, I developed an allergy. Even a judge’s chambers can give me hives.”
Marcy chuckled. “The children are not usually that fond of it, either,” she said. “Of course, a lot of what we do isn’t done in court. Volunteer advocates want to make sure that every child also gets all the professional care that they need. Sometimes this means medical services, more often it’s counseling or therapy.”
“Social workers are supposed to take care of that,” Mom said.
Marcy nodded. “As I’m sure you know,” she said. “The caseload the Child Protective Services faces is tremendous. And the turnover in the field is high. Over a child’s lifetime, she might have a dozen or more professionals in charge of her case. We, as volunteers, stay connected with that child through her entire association with the bureaucracy. We try to be one point of continuity.”
“That sounds like a good thing,” Mom admitted. “I could have used somebody like you back when I was trapped in the system. A lot of people tried to help me, I guess. But most didn’t have the time or the energy to figure out what I needed. And I’d already figured out running was my favorite alternative.”
Marcy nodded. “We’ve got some young girls who think just the way you did,” she said. “They could really benefit from what you’ve learned.”
Mom chuckled humorlessly. “I haven’t really learned all that much,” she told the woman. “I still consider running as a viable option. Truth is, as soon as I’m finished with chemo and well enough to travel, I’m out of this town one more time.”
Marcy took in that statement without any comment. She turned the conversation to Sierra and I.
“Are you looking forward to school?” Marcy asked us.
I shrugged, careful not to give any opinion at all. But Sierra was way too shallow-brained to even realize when she might be being disloyal.
“I am,” Sierra said. “I’m really hoping to get into the art academy downtown.”
“Oh, you like art?”
“I don’t know that much about it,” Sierra said. “But my boyfriend likes it and I like him.”
Marcy laughed at that.
“I’m really interested in fashion,” Sierra said. “And a lot of people in fashion actually go to art school, so it seems I should go. I mean, I really want to go. Mom hasn’t decided yet, so it’s still up in the air.”
“One of our clients is in school there,” Marcy said. “They really do get a quality education.”
Mom didn’t answer, instead she changed the subject.
“These volunteers in CAVA, they’re like you, they’re social workers and lawyers and like that, right?”
Marcy seemed surprised. “I’m not a social worker,” she said. “I used to be a journalist. I wrote features for the Lifestyle section of the paper. But I haven’t done that for years.”
“You’re one of those happy retirees, devoted to good works, huh?” Mom said.
Marcy laughed. “I guess you could say that. I didn’t really intend to get involved with this, but one day, I just did.”
“Got bored, huh?” Mom said.
Marcy nodded. “Incredibly bored, phenomenally bored. I was afraid I was going to literally die of boredom. That is, if breast cancer didn’t get me first.”
“Breast cancer?”
Marcy patted her chest almost proudly. “Double mastectomy,” she said. “I did chemo and radiation. I spent hours on the Internet chasing down new protocols. I wore pink ribbons every day and did walks for the cure.”
“I didn’t know,” Mom said softly.
“That’s all good work,” Marcy said. “It’s all important work. But the truth is, my heart wasn’t in it. My breasts maybe, but not my heart.” She laughed. “I decided that I just couldn’t think of cancer anymore. Thinking about it was driving me crazy. Then one morning I began to think of something else. I began to think of someone else.”
“What happened?”
“I opened up the paper and there was a story about a little boy named Jeremy,” she said. “He was only two years old and he’d lived just a few miles from my house. He’d starved to death.”
“Oh, that’s so sad,” Sierra said.
“Sadder than you think,” Marcy told us. “He starved to death while living in a nice warm home with two parents and his grandmother.”
“What?” Mom’s question was incredulous.
Marcy nodded. “There was food in the house,” she said. “And the child showed no evidence of beatings or bruising. The family was all on drugs and, apparently, they all assumed someone else was feeding him. Nobody noticed anything was wrong until he was dead.”
“My God! How can something like that happen?”
Marcy shook her head. “No one knows. I was so angry. I finished reading the paper and I paced through my house screaming at the stupid, selfish, undeserving family who’d thought only of themselves.”
Mom nodded agreement.
“That’s when I realized that I was just like them,” she said. “The whole world was full of children who needed me and I was too busy worrying about myself and what was good for me to even notice they were hungry.”
Marcy reached over and patted Mom’s hand.
“That’s just me,” she said. “Not everybody is like me. I just understood that I couldn’t do anything to cure my cancer. But I could do a lot to make the life of an unwanted child a lot better. That was fifteen years ago. I got involved in the early days of our local CAVA and I’ve seen
our organization make life better for hundreds of children.”
Marcy smiled then.
“I think of Jeremy a lot,” she said. “I don’t know if I can explain this exactly as I feel it. But in a small way I’ve made his little short life count for something. Somehow all of the wrong and sadness of that little life spurred me and others to get out in the world and try to make a difference.”
Mom nodded. “At least it did that,” she agreed.
“It’s made me realize that no experience should be wasted,” Marcy said. “If we don’t take what happens in our world and try to turn it into some purpose then it just remains all downside forever.”
Mom was looking at her now. I couldn’t read the expression on her face.
“I don’t know what happened to you in the foster care system,” Marcy said. “But whatever it was, if you don’t find a way to make something good come from that experience, then it’s just wasted. Your suffering should never be disrespected, especially not by yourself.”
“I’ve made myself strong by not thinking about it,” Mom said.
“Maybe,” Marcy said. “Maybe that’s true. Or maybe you’re still running away.”
Her words were serious, but immediately followed by that cheery, winning smile.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “And I don’t want to wear you out. I’m sure your strength comes in spurts these days.”
Mom nodded.
“We’re getting ready to start a class,” Marcy told her. “It’s thirty hours of training. We do our best to get our volunteers prepared for what they need to accomplish. We need you, Dawn. These kids need you.” She smiled at me and Sierra. “Your own daughters are so lucky.”
“Yes,” Mom admitted, glancing over at us. “They are so much luckier than I was.”
“They have a mom who loves them and grandparents, too,” Marcy said.
Mom walked her to the door, which was a surprise. I liked her. I thought even Mom liked her. But when she waved goodbye to us, I figured that was the last we’d ever see of her.
It wasn’t. She stopped by again about two days later. I wouldn’t have known she was there if I hadn’t seen her car from the window over at Spence’s.
The last part of the summer was getting to be a little boring. Both of our rooms were covered in fractals. We’d played video games until our fingers were callused. We’d been to the pool so much we were waterlogged. And we’d listened in on so many other people’s conversations with the Nature Sounds Receiver, that it no longer even held any appeal.
We were just waiting now. Waiting for school to start. Waiting for our lives to begin again. I thought about Spence’s mother expecting a baby. He hardly ever talked about it. I didn’t know how much he thought about it. But I thought about it. I thought about how she could see that her life was changing right before her eyes. But she couldn’t change it, she couldn’t stop it and she couldn’t hurry it up. That’s how I felt about the rest of summer.
A movement in the Lelands’ front yard caught my eye. Marcy was leaving already. Laughing and talking to someone on the front porch as she made her way to her car.
“That woman is some friend of your dad’s,” I told Spence, pointing toward the window.
“Yeah?”
He got up and glanced out. We watched as she got into her car, buckled up and pulled away from the curb.
“I don’t recognize her,” Spence said. “But Dad knows a lot of people.”
“She’s trying to get my mom to do some volunteer thing,” I said. “To help kids who are in foster care.”
“That’s a good thing,” Spence said.
“She shouldn’t do it,” I told him. “She’s sick, she needs to be taking care of herself.”
“Like my mom,” Spence said.
“Your mom?” I turned and gave him that you’re-an-idiot look. “Your mom isn’t sick, she’s pregnant.”
“I don’t think she knows the difference,” Spence said. “She’s talking like I’m not going back there when school starts. She thinks she isn’t up to taking care of me.”
“Really?”
“I’ve told her that I’ll take care of myself,” he said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.”
“That’s tough,” I commiserated. “But don’t give up. You’ve just got to keep talking to her. Eventually, she has to listen.”
Spence nodded. “I know,” he said. “I’m going to see them this weekend. It’s not my regular time with them, but Dad asked them if I could sleep over there on Saturday night.”
“So you can talk to her then,” I said. “I’m sure you can convince her.”
“Yeah,” he said, his confidence rising. “Yeah, you’re right. If I keep at it, I can convince her.”
Spence paused.
“Don’t you want to know why I’m staying with my mom on Saturday?” he asked.
I glanced up. He was grinning like he had a big secret.
“Why?” I asked.
“’Cause Dad’s got a big date,” he said.
He just kept grinning. It was all I could do not to kick him.
“Yeah? So what?
“Your question shouldn’t be what,” Spence said. “It should be who.”
“Then who?”
“Your mom.”
“What?”
“That’s what he told me. Dad said he has a date with Dawn.”
“You’re crazy,” I said.
Spence shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he told me.”
“Mom will never go out with him,” I said with certainty.
“Done deal. She’s already agreed,” he said.
“No.”
“It’s true.”
“My mom is really not Del’s type,” I said. “I keep trying to explain that to everyone, but no one believes me.”
“Maybe because you never give any reasons,” Spence said.
“There are reasons, lots of them,” I said.
“Okay, give me one.”
I hesitated for a minute, thinking. “My mom has a tattoo,” I said finally.
“No big deal. Tell me something I don’t know,” Spence said. “I’ve seen the tattoo. It’s hard to miss it. I’m sure my dad has seen it, too.”
“Mom didn’t go to college,” I said. “And when she’s working, she’s not a secretary or a salesclerk or even a cleaning lady. She’s a cocktail waitress.”
“So?”
“So your dad is a Sunday school teacher. Sunday school teachers don’t date cocktail waitresses.”
“Dad already wants to date her,” Spence said. “He already thinks she’s his type or he wouldn’t have asked her out. You’re supposed to be coming up with reasons that he’s not her type.”
“My mom only dates guys named Sonny.”
“What?”
“She only dates guys named Sonny,” I repeated. I knew it sounded stupid. I even knew it was stupid. That’s why I hated to mention it. But it was the truth.
“My father’s name was Sonny,” I explained. “All my life all the guys she’s dated, they were all named Sonny.”
“Sonny?”
“Yeah, it’s like a nickname for somebody who is a Junior,” I explained. “My father’s name was Henry Vernon Leland, Jr. So people called him Sonny. All the men my mom dates are always called Sonny, too.”
“It’s just a nickname,” Spence said.
“Yeah, well, it’s a nickname that means something.”
Spence jumped up and hurried over to his bookshelves. He was obviously looking for something as he hurried rummaged through a couple of drawers.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Wait a minute. Wait, here it is.”
He tossed a piece of plastic onto the floor next to me.
“What is it?” I asked as I picked it up.
“It’s my ID from the Boys Club,” he said.
“What do you need that for?”
“Read it,” he said.
&
nbsp; I did. “Delbert Spencer Tegge, III.”
“That’s me,” he said. “I’m the third and that makes my dad…”
“Sonny,” I said in a disbelieving whisper.
SONNY DAYS
29
The church in Strawberry Plains looked very different for Tonya’s wedding than it had for her father’s funeral. There was a white linen runner down the center aisle, bows on all the sides of the pews and stands of lit candles decorating the chancel.
The four Beale sisters were wearing identical floor-length gowns in soft mint green. The girls had sewn them all at home. With Dawn’s guidance, the wedding plans were formulated with the same careful methodology of any other project. Cecilia, the youngest sister, had taken a dressmaking course at the vo-tech school. She passed on what she’d learned to her sisters. They began sewing the bridesmaid dresses, improving their skills on each one. By the time they made the first cut of Tonya’s white organza, they had the confidence of veteran seamstresses.
Sonny sat on the bride’s side of the aisle with Dawn and the girls, but he would have been comfortable as a friend of the groom, as well.
Paul was still with the logging company. He’d had the good sense not to throw himself on Sonny’s pyre. And he was keeping his ear to the ground for opportunities that Sonny might look into.
Unemployment didn’t sit well with Sonny or his family. His former experience with financial difficulties had been overcome by good pay for dangerous work as a logger. Somehow he’d thought that a college degree would shelter him from the plight of joblessness.
And his past success worked against him now. When prospective employers looked at his resume, and saw that he got a great job out of college and nice promotions, followed by an abrupt and unexplained termination, there were always questions.
Tonya came down the aisle. As Sonny looked at her he could understand how magazines and greeting cards described brides as a vision of loveliness. She was beautiful. Warmth, excitement, joy formed a glow around her and touched everyone who gazed upon it.
He thought of Lonnie.
Lonnie should have been here. Her brother, in his Air Force Mess Dress, was at her side, but it should have been Lonnie.