‘Oh, baby,’ she whispered, ‘my baby,’ although she knew only she could hear the words. The sound was real, though, and she could no longer hear the nail gun.
Her daughter put her hand on the glass and began to slowly move. Rena placed her hand against it and took the last steps that led her out of the hall and into her daughter’s arms.
‘You’re real,’ she said. Then, she added, ‘Kit.’ She needed to remember to use her name.
‘You better believe I am.’ She broke away from the hug. ‘Are you really here?’
‘I think I am,’ Rena said, and even though she felt as if she needed to sleep for a week, she knew she’d be able to walk to the car. She could walk anywhere, as long as she could hold on to her daughter’s arm like this. ‘I have a secretarial certificate,’ she said. ‘From the city college here. And I own a gas and convenience store in Buckeye.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Kit said, her voice hoarse. ‘That’s really wonderful, Mother.’
‘I like to make my own way, and I want you to know I can do that.’
Kit threw her arms around Rena, and again, Rena was struck by her scent, the only memory linking them. She pulled her close. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘you have no idea.’
THIRTY-FIVE
When we returned home and I arrived at work, still in a daze, I found Luis in the parking lot, staring up at the ‘Amazing Grace’ art on the building next door. That brought me back to reality. I got out of my car, and he walked over to me.
We hugged, and he said, ‘I didn’t want to bother you while you were gone. I heard about Tamera, of course. I’m so sorry.’
‘She died trying to help me. It was senseless and terrible.’
‘And you found your mother?’
‘I did.’ I pictured Rena, her fingers against the glass of the hospital wall, and all of the moments since then. Then I remembered that Luis must have a reason for showing up here. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t have to wait to get in touch with me.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ He blinked, and even through his glasses I could tell it wasn’t because of the sun. ‘I lost my job. They didn’t renew my contract.’
‘Carla?’ I didn’t know what else to say or how to express my disbelief.
‘Under the guise of her family, no doubt. No one came out and said it, though. All of a sudden, I wasn’t teacher material.’
‘Can you fight it?’
‘Jerry and I are talking about it with some lawyer friends of his, but I don’t know. Teaching was my dream.’
‘And they took that away from you. Oh, I’m sorry, Luis. I wish I could do something.’
‘You’ve tried to help from the start,’ he said. ‘I’ve been doing volunteer work on the suicide hotline, and there’s a possibility of a job there. At least they haven’t come after my parents. My family’s tight. We’ll get through this, Kit.’
All day, I thought about our conversation and about what an outrage it was to take away a young man’s future because he threatened someone’s perceived public image. I talked to Farley about it and discussed it with Richard. Then I did what I should have done a long time ago. I wrote a blog that told the truth about the so-called Brantingham Crime Fund and the cause it pretended to represent.
I did it because I had learned first-hand that although answers alone don’t heal, not much can happen until you have them. I did it for Alex, Jerry, Luis, and myself. Yes, I would be fired, but like Luis, I would survive. Because we – Luis and I – possessed something Carla Brantingham and her supporters would never have. A family.
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