The Moonlight Child

by Karen McQuestion

  After Franny and Sharon gave their statements, Sharon took it a step further, saying, “You can’t imagine how proud I am of Niki. Both of us were suspicious that something was going on at the Flemings’ house, but she was the one who wouldn’t let it go. I’m sure many people would have just looked the other way, but not my Niki. Who knows what would have happened to that little girl if not for her? I don’t know if your department gives out awards to citizens, but if you do, she definitely qualifies.”

  Not my Niki.

  Maybe she imagined the shift in the deputy’s attitude toward her, but she didn’t think so. Before Sharon arrived, they appeared to consider Niki a possible suspect; by the time Sharon was done talking her up, Niki was a hero. Of course, it helped that both Jacob and his father had absolved her of any responsibility regarding Mia, but she didn’t know about that until much later.

  They’d driven home then in Fred’s car, Sharon at the wheel, Niki in the passenger seat. Along the way, Niki had called Fred, who said not to rush, that he’d get a ride home from his brother. After that she’d called Amy, who seemed floored at the news of everything that had transpired. She hadn’t said much. That was yesterday. Today Amy had found her voice.

  She said, “You’re not getting off that easy, Mom. You’re the adult here. I hold you responsible.” Her tone was gruff, but her expression had softened, and she leaned back into her mother’s embrace.

  Sharon gave her a final pat and then took her place at the table. “Did you come all this way to yell at me?”

  “No, I came because you said the local authorities asked you to give a statement downtown this afternoon. I figured you could use an attorney.”

  Niki said, “They said it’s just a formality. That it would be the same questions we answered yesterday.”

  “You still should have an attorney present.”

  Sharon took a sip of her coffee. “Criminal law isn’t really your area of expertise, though.”

  “You’re right, but they don’t know that. Besides, I know enough to keep the two of you from getting into even more trouble.”

  “That’s one advantage of having a daughter who’s an attorney,” Sharon said. Amy’s demeanor softened then, and they settled into an easy back-and-forth, talking about Amy’s flight from Boston and how long she could stay. Just one night, as it turned out, much to Sharon’s disappointment. “You can’t stay even a little longer? Another day, maybe?”

  “Twenty minutes ago you didn’t know I’d be here at all. Now you’re complaining that I’m not staying longer?”

  Niki sat back and took in their back-and-forth banter. At first glance they were a study in contrasts, the older lady with her sensible shoes versus the uptown attorney. Their personalities were just as different, and yet the connection and love between them was undeniable.

  They were talking about the weather now, how it was unseasonably warm for this time of year. Sharon said she hoped that all the melting wouldn’t lead to flooding. Through all of their talk, Niki found her mind wandering to the events of the day before. When there was a pause in the discussion, she blurted out, “How do you become a social worker?”

  Sharon lowered her coffee mug and smiled. Through the window behind her, Niki noticed a little brown bird land on the bird feeder.

  Amy said, “You start by getting a degree in social work. Are you thinking that’s something you’d like to do?”

  “Yes. Or at least I know that I want to do some kind of work with foster kids.” To fill the silence, she said, “I think I’d be good at it.”

  Sharon spoke up. “I think you’d be great with foster kids.”

  “I’d have to agree with that,” Amy said.

  The idea of taking university classes was so foreign to Niki it was almost unfathomable, and yet the idea filled her with such excitement and hope. “How long does it take to get a degree like that?”

  Amy said, “A bachelor’s degree is a four-year degree, but it’s not unusual for it to take a little longer. Another semester or two sometimes.”

  “Oh. Four years.” At minimum, and with another year, five. Her heart sank. So long to have to go to classes and write papers and study. Even longer to actually get to the point of working as a social worker, so she could make a difference and help kids like Mia. “I’ll be twenty-two or twenty-three by then,” she said. So much time would have passed between now and then. How would she support herself and pay for tuition for four or five years? Could someone like her even get a student loan? She didn’t know anyone who ever had.

  Sharon laughed. “You’ll be that age no matter what you do. Wouldn’t you rather be a twenty-three-year-old social worker than still be working at a job you don’t find fulfilling?”

  “Sure. It’s just . . . a lot.” And if she had to go to school part time, it would take even longer. She’d be ancient by the time she finished.

  “A lot?” Amy asked, her voice cutting right through her hesitation. “A lot of what?”

  “A lot of time. A lot of money,” she said dispiritedly. Without intending it, her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she turned her attention to the nearly empty juice glass in front of her. She raised it to her lips and took the last sip.

  “Are you thinking it sounds overwhelming?” Sharon asked. “Almost undoable?”

  Niki nodded, wondering at how Sharon often seemed to know what was on her mind.

  “It doesn’t have to be. You have us to help guide you through it.” She turned to Amy. “Right?”

  “Of course,” Amy said. “I’ve made the offer before, and it still stands. I’ll pay your tuition as long as you get good grades. Not a loan. A gift. Just because I have the money and you deserve it.”

  “If you don’t mind attending the state university, you can keep living here and commute every day,” Sharon said. “I like having you around.”

  Niki didn’t have a name for whatever it was she was feeling at that moment. She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. Amy reached over and gave her forearm a gentle squeeze. “You’re not alone, Niki. We’ll help you every step of the way.”

  “There’s no turning back. You’re stuck with us now,” Sharon added cheerfully. “And we would be honored to help.”

  For the first time since her mom died, Niki felt like she was part of a family. She looked from Sharon to Amy, her throat choking with happiness, and could only manage to speak two words. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  A few months after getting confirmation of Morgan’s death, the Durans got another visit from Detective Moore. Just like before, Wendy ushered him into the living room, where he sat opposite her and Edwin. “Yes?” she prompted. “You have something to tell us?” The anticipation was something palpable, a tremor under her skin.

  “Yes, I do. Actually, I have two things to tell you. The first is that Morgan’s boyfriend, Keith, is dead.”

  “How?” Wendy’s voice was almost a whisper. “How did it happen?”

  “An altercation in a bar last week,” Detective Moore said. “After he was asked to leave a bar, Keith became belligerent and pulled out a gun. The owner of the business happened to keep a pistol behind the bar. He shot him in self-defense, and Keith died at the scene.”

  She said, “I see.”

  “Keith’s full name was Keith William Caswell.”

  Edwin asked, “How did they link him to Morgan?”

  “Mr. Caswell had an old department store credit card that belonged to Morgan in his wallet. One of the detectives did some legwork and contacted our department. They also searched for Keith’s next of kin and discovered his mother is dead and his father is in prison.”

  Sounds about right. Wendy needed a moment to let the information sink in, and then another thought occurred to her. “But what about the baby?”

  “That’s the second thing I came to tell you,” Detective Moore said. “Unrelated to Mr. Caswell’s death, there was another development. We’ve found your granddaughter.”

  W
e’ve found your granddaughter. The words took Wendy’s breath away.

  Detective Moore explained that the police didn’t actually find her as much as she was presented to them, but the end result was the same. They had a granddaughter, a little girl named Mia. Edwin had a million questions, but Wendy only had one. “When can we see her?”

  They would have gotten in their car and gone for her that day, but there were legalities to take care of—DNA confirmation and other paperwork—but Detective Moore promised it would be fast-tracked because this was an extreme case.

  Wendy counted down the days until she could hold that little girl in her arms.

  The first time Edwin and Wendy met Mia, they weren’t sure what to expect. The story of her last three years was incredible and horrific. How did a child deal with that kind of trauma? By that point, she’d been in a temporary foster placement, and the social worker had suggested they visit at least once or twice before they took her home. Her caution had made Wendy think that maybe Mia wouldn’t be receptive to them, but when they went into the house, the foster mom took them to where Mia was watching a Disney movie with two other children, little girls about her age. After the foster mom introduced them, Wendy crouched down to make contact, and she was surprised when Mia immediately asked, “Have you come to take me home?” She had bright eyes, chestnut-colored hair, and looked so much like Morgan when she was a little girl that Wendy wanted both to rejoice and cry.

  They didn’t take Mia home that day, but they did a few days later. Wendy couldn’t believe that all of Mia’s worldly possessions fit into one small plastic grocery bag. That was soon rectified after they went shopping for new clothes and toys. She soon found out that Mia was easily pleased, but also afraid of making them angry. If Wendy or Edwin went in to give her a hug, Mia would flinch as if expecting to get hit. It was heartbreaking.

  The social worker told them that there might be a honeymoon period, followed by a period of acting out. “Mia has gone through a tremendous trauma,” she said. “It’s like she’s had poison poured into her for three years, and it has to come out in order for her to heal. Unfortunately, it will come out in your direction.”

  Mia experienced nightmares of being trapped, and she also had crying fits and was unable to explain why she was so upset, but so far she hadn’t done or said anything Wendy found to be too extreme. For the most part, she was a happy kid. She was seeing a therapist, a kind woman named Michelle, who was going to help them navigate whatever came next.

  One child couldn’t replace another, but Wendy found that having Mia softened the raw grief of losing Morgan. Mia had quickly taken to her uncle, Dylan, equating him with Jacob, but they hadn’t introduced her to any of the other relatives yet, wanting her to adjust gradually. They also decided to have her homeschool for the time being. Wendy took a leave of absence from work and didn’t miss it at all.

  Mia never talked about the abuse she’d suffered at the Flemings’ house, but she spoke in general terms of how nice Jacob had been to her and how much Griswold had loved her. “He gave me kisses every day,” she said.

  Wendy was concerned that Mia was repressing the bad memories, but Michelle said not to worry about it. “Give her time. She’ll let you know when she wants to talk.”

  When Jacob had called on their landline five months after they’d brought Mia home, Wendy had been startled to hear from him. Then she remembered that their number could be found in an online search. She got the impression Jacob had expected her to tell him off or hang up. He stammered as he explained who he was, and he apologized for bothering her, going on for so long that she finally asked, “Can you please tell me why you’re calling?” She said it politely, of course, but she wasn’t about to hand the phone over to Mia. When he explained what he had in mind, Wendy stalled, saying she wanted to discuss it with Mia’s therapist first and would get back to him. She and Edwin were in the therapist’s office when Michelle said, “Mia, I’m wondering what you would think about seeing Jacob again. How would you feel about that?”

  Mia perked up in her seat, her gaze turned toward the door. “Is Jacob here?” Her voice was bright with excitement.

  “No,” Michelle said, keeping her tone neutral. “But he would like to see you sometime in the next few weeks. It’s up to you, though.” They discussed Jacob coming to the house with his uncle, just for a short visit. “Your grandparents would be with you the whole time, and you can end the visit anytime you want. Everything is staying the same. It would be just a short visit. You wouldn’t be going anywhere with Jacob.”

  To Wendy’s surprise, Mia was overjoyed at the thought of seeing him again. The therapist had told them privately that it might provide some closure, but that they should stay with her every second and cut the visit short if she found it too distressing.

  Now the day for the visit had arrived, and so far, Mia seemed excited to see Jacob again. She made her bed first thing and arranged her stuffed animals neatly on her dresser. “Wait until Jacob sees my room!” she exclaimed. “Grandma, can I show him the whole house?”

  “Of course,” Wendy said. “Whatever you want.” She’d talked to Jacob a few more times by then, and she felt better about the visit. Jacob seemed sincerely concerned about Mia and wanted to see for himself how she was doing. He also wanted permission to give Mia a gift. Of course, Wendy said yes.

  So much had led up to this day. Wendy hoped her instincts were correct. She prayed they were correct. Her little granddaughter had been through enough.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  They arrived right on time, thanks to Uncle Cal’s meticulous planning. Jacob had let his uncle drive, nervous about Mia’s reaction upon seeing him again. Her grandmother had said that Mia was excited at the prospect of his visit, but a nagging thought troubled him. Even though he and Mia had spent three years together and had been as close as any two kids could be, the dynamics had been wrong. She wasn’t a sibling or a guest or even a foster child. Mia had been a prisoner, and now, having been reunited with her family, she had to see the difference between a loving family and a place to stay. A place where she was treated like a servant and trapped in a hidden room in the basement. So much had been stolen from her, and he worried that seeing him might trigger bad memories or feelings of anger. He wouldn’t blame her, and maybe, if she lashed out at him, he’d even deserve it. Still, he worried.

  His therapist had pointed out that he had been a victim too, something that alleviated his guilt somewhat. Moving to Minnesota and changing schools had helped as well. Instead of being LEGO Head, he was the new kid in a high school that was intrigued by new kids. A fresh start. He’d made two friends and had plans to attend the university in the Twin Cities next year. His grandmother and uncle were good to him, so loving that at first it made him suspicious. Jacob found he had trouble letting his guard down. He hadn’t realized how well his mother had trained him over the years until he tried to shake off everything she’d imprinted on him. His grandmother had apologized for all Jacob had gone through. “Your mother was selfish from little on. I used to wonder if it was my fault, but I raised Cal exactly the same way and he turned out fine.” She’d shrugged, sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Jacob. I tried many times, but she shut me out.”

  Jacob had visited his father in prison twice so far, but he hadn’t had the nerve to visit his mother just yet. She was furious at him, that much he could count on. On the advice of his therapist, he wrote her a long letter, but she never wrote back, even though he’d included a sheet of paper and a self-addressed envelope. No one could say he hadn’t tried. He’d made the effort. Now it was on her.

  They pulled up to the curb in front of the Duran residence. It was a cheery-looking older home, a two-story bungalow with a big porch and red and yellow tulips on either side of the stairs leading to the front door. A recent rain had freshened the lawn, bringing out the green in the grass. Uncle Cal said, “This is it.” He turned off the engine and gave Jacob a smile. “It
’s going to be fine, Jacob. You don’t need to worry.”

  “I know.” He tried to sound confident.

  When Mia’s grandmother answered the door, Jacob said, “Mrs. Duran? I’m Jacob, and this is my uncle, Cal.”

  “Call me Wendy.” She opened the screen door, beckoning them inside. They hadn’t even passed the threshold when Mia came bounding down the stairs. “Jacob!” she called out joyfully, and then she came to a stop when she saw that he held a leash with Griswold at the other end, straining to reach her. She dropped to her knees and held out her arms. “Griswold!” Jacob let go of the leash, and Griswold jumped into Mia’s arms, licking her face and whining happily. If a dog could smile, Griswold was doing just that, matching the smile on Mia’s face.

  Jacob had seen a hundred online videos of dogs reunited with their owners, but he’d never seen anything that matched the joy between Mia and Griswold.

  Jacob knelt down next to her. “Hey, squirt, what do you think of your gift?”

  “My gift?” She had her arms wrapped around Griswold, but her little face peered around him to look at Jacob, who just pointed at the dog. She squealed. “Griswold is my gift? I get to keep him?”

  “Yes, he’s yours now. I’m going off to college next fall, so I won’t be around. He needs someone to take care of him.”

  Mia looked up at her grandparents. “Can I keep him, Grandma and Grandpa? He’s a very good dog. He won’t be any trouble at all.”

  Edwin said, “Of course you can keep him, Mia. Jacob checked with us ahead of time. We wanted it to be a surprise.”