Qualified Immunity

by Aime Austin

  Dozens of kids acted a fool in every single class. Between the craziness and the overcrowding, she hated it. There weren’t even any books left over for kids like her who’d started in the middle of the year. Instead she and other new kids had to share books during class. There was no taking them home either.

  When she’d told her foster mom, she’d come through, buying copies of the books she needed. Her baby wasn’t doin’ no book sharin’ program, she’d said. Regret flooded her veins. When Olivia had been living with her mom, she’d taken school for granted.

  Now that she was away from home for a little while, she feared falling behind her white classmates at Shaker. A month ago, she hadn’t given a crap about that school with its pretty brick outside and its well-meaning teachers. Now, she’d give anything to get back there. This time she’d apply herself. This time she’d make friends.

  Clanging bells meant it was all over for today. Olivia gathered her stuff and kind of grimaced at Mr. Cooper on her way out the door. Boy, she felt sorry for him. Quickly, Olivia was swept up in the crowded hallway. Despite the press of teenage bodies, yelling at and preening for one another, she was alone. The rule was the same across all schools: no one talked to the new girl. Didn’t matter though, she wasn’t going to be here long.

  When she got home to Sadie’s house, things didn’t seem quite right. Though she’d only been here a week, the two of them and the baby had fallen into an easy routine. Too quiet, that was the problem. The TV wasn’t blaring. An unfamiliar car squatted in the driveway. Walking through the small vestibule, Olivia followed her usual path to the dining room. She laid her book bag on the floor, and knocked some shopping bags. The neatly packed Aldi bags were full with the few clothes and books she’d come to the foster home with.

  “C’mon in here chile,” Sadie called.

  Olivia walked into the silent living room. The TV was on, but muted. On the couch next to Sadie was a women she’d never seen before. The badge on her lanyard was a dead giveaway: another social worker. The appetite she’d worked up for Sadie’s dinner disappeared. No one looked like they had good news.

  Like she was three or something, the social worker got to her knees in front of Olivia. “I’m Jacqueline Foley, your ongoing worker.”

  “What happened to Miss Johnson?”

  She spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “Well Olivia, Bernice Johnson only handles emergencies. Her job is to bring kids like you to people like Miss Sadie. My job is to help you and your mom.” With growing earnest, she continued. “But first, we have to get you in a regular foster home. Mrs. Watkins packed up all your stuff. So we can get going as soon as I tie up some loose ends. Why don’t you get some Kool-Aid or something before we go?”

  Olivia’s bottom lip trembled so much, she had to push hard to get the words out. “Why can’t I stay here?”

  “Oh, Olivia, I thought you understood. Mrs. Watkins only takes kids in when they need a home right away. I’m going to take you to a family where you can settle in. You’ll be right at home in a jiffy,” the worker said.

  Olivia’s vocal chords were strangling her. “But if I can’t stay here, why can’t I go home?”

  The new social worker gripped Olivia’s quivering chin in her cold, dry hand. “You can’t go home until your mom gets better. There’s a family waiting. You’re going to love it. Get your stuff now.” She let go of Olivia’s jaw and strode to the vestibule, not looking to see if Olivia followed. “Mrs. Watkins,” the worker called over her shoulder, “I’ll call you later to discuss your county reimbursement.”

  Jacqueline reached back and her hand only met air. She turned impatient eyes on Olivia, and shook her hand and arm with.

  Olivia stood her ground. She didn’t want to go somewhere new. Miss Sadie was just fine. She already had a family and didn’t need another one. She would stay here until her mom got her. They couldn’t make her go anywhere.

  Miss Sadie’s warmth was near. Olivia looked up at the woman, pleading with her eyes.

  “Ah, girl. I’m too old to take care of kids these days. You need some younguns who can keep up with you. Go on now.” Miss Sadie’s push was gentle, but it was enough. Jacqueline reached back, and this time Olivia was within reach. The worker grabbed Olivia with one hand, the bags with another, and pulled her out the door.

  During the ten minute drive to her next foster home, Olivia’s head was full of questions, but she only asked Jacqueline one of them. “What about my school books? I got new books. What’s going to happen to them?”

  The worker barely glanced at Olivia. The car jerked to a stop at a red light. “Leave them in the back seat. I’ll make sure to get them over to the school.”

  Olivia didn’t bother explaining that Miss Sadie had bought some of the books for her. Instead she unzipped her backpack and took out all the books except one. She hadn’t yet finished the Owl book and wanted to see how it would end. Since Miss Sadie had bought that too, she didn’t think it would be missed.

  By the time they arrived at the house on Hathaway Avenue, darkness was falling. Like all the houses where she’d grown up on Cleveland’s east side, this was a simple two-story wood framed place in desperate need of a coat of paint. Lights blazed in the house, casting a warm glow through an otherwise bleak-looking neighborhood. Olivia looked around at the motley assortment of dwellings on the street. Some looked lived in, others unoccupied, and then there were the vacant lots.

  The social worker stepped from the car and popped open the trunk. “Get your stuff, Olivia,” she said, looking meaningfully at her watch. “It’s time to meet the Williams family.”

  Stumbling up the broken walkway, Olivia held tight to her shopping bags. Her stomach roiled with every step. Before Jacqueline could ring the doorbell, she grabbed Olivia’s forearm in a tight grip.

  “Ow, that hurts.”

  Jacqueline apologized, but didn’t loosen her hold. “Listen to me. This is a nice family. But you need to make sure that you lock your bedroom door when you’re changing or sleeping. Do you understand?”

  Olivia nodded, but before she could ask why, the front door was opened by a light-skinned boy who looked about fourteen. A medium-skinned woman with a stocky build followed close behind.

  “Jermaine, don’t stand there and stare. Step out of the way and help this girl in with her bags,” the woman said. “Hi, I’m Linda Williams. That there is Jermaine. He’s another child we’re fostering. Come on inside and meet my husband Geoffrey.” Jacqueline let go of Olivia to shake the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you too. You must be Miss Foley. The agency mentioned you’d be Olivia’s ongoing worker. Do you know Jennifer Tannenbaum?” Jacqueline extracted her hand and shook her head. Mrs. Williams continued, “That’s too bad. She’s Jermaine’s worker. You all should have one worker for both kids. Wouldn’t that lighten the case loads some? You could kill two birds with one stone. Oh, well.” Mrs. Williams wound down and finally looked at Olivia. Her gaze traveled up and down Olivia’s body, making the girl uncomfortable. Something in Mrs. Williams’ look made Olivia feel lacking. “Let’s get you settled in.”

  Olivia shuffled inside and looked around this new place. It was clean. The furniture looked old as did the part of the kitchen she could see from where she was standing, but there wasn’t a speck of dust or a single object that looked out of place.

  Someone on the couch hid behind a newspaper. The reader, probably Mr. Williams, never acknowledged the eddy of people swirling around the living room. The room was quiet as a page turned.

  “Geoff,” Mrs. Williams prompted. “Meet Olivia.” Finally the newspaper folded and rested in the lap of a stern looking man.

  “Nice to meet you, girl,” he said.

  “You’ll have to excuse my husband,” Mrs. Williams said. “He’s been working double shifts at Birmingham. The last few weeks have been a struggle, but we can always use the money. Every little bit helps, you know.” Into the silence, Mrs. Williams snapped, “Jermaine! Show Olivia to he
r room. I’ve got a few things to go over with Miss Foley.”

  Gamely, Jermaine hefted all her bags and led Olivia up the dark, creaking stairs to get her settled into her new room in her new home. Thinking of the social worker’s advice, she was gratified to see the door had a lock.

  Twenty-Two

  Change of Heart

  November 6, 2001

  The peacefulness of the cold November rain she looked at through the window was at odds with the anxiety in her heart as she waited for Peyton. Earlier, she’d called and demanded that he come see her. She looked out the window while she waited. The cold November rain her shiver. Though she couldn’t feel the cold, wet drops on her face, or down her neck, she knew it was the kind of rain that would turn to snow with a single gust of Canadian wind. She was dreading this meeting only slightly less than she was dreading the cold, empty apartment that awaited her return.

  A knock sounded at the outer door of her chambers. Sheila took a few deep breaths to calm her beating heart. Moving at a deliberate pace, she rose, smoothed her skirt and padded through the anteroom—normally populated with her secretary, bailiff, and courtroom deputy—and opened the door.

  Peyton stood on the other side, dripping. His London Fog was as soggy as his umbrella and galoshes. Sheila brushed the rain from his shoulders, but resisted touching him in the way she would have liked. Taking the umbrella from his hand, she placed it in the brass stand. The overcoat, she hung on the rack by the door. Unable to resist, her hand made contact with his chest as she laid flat his crooked lapel.

  “Sheila…stop,” Peyton said. He grasped her hand and removed it from his sport coat.

  “Come…back,” Sheila said with forced casualness. “Let me give you the tour.” She showed him the reception area, the cold marble fireplace mocking their intimacy long gone. Sheila showed him the rest and finally they were in her chambers. She took a seat in her high backed leather chair. Peyton sat stiffly in one of the hardwood chairs before Sheila’s imposing desk.

  “Why am I here?” Peyton asked, resting his crossed fingers in his lap.

  Composure regained, Sheila eyed him levelly. “For the first time, Peyton, I asked you for a favor—”

  Peyton crossed his leather shod foot over his knee. “That’s not exactly true, now is it?”

  Sheila continued. “I was very surprised that you turned me down. I asked you here tonight to clarify a few issues, and ask you again, to get the firm—especially Holman—behind my nomination.

  “I think I have the juvenile court part of this crisis under control, but I need this confirmation to go flawlessly. You, more than anyone, understand, I need this job. But without your help, without the firm’s backing, without Holman’s help, I can’t do this.” Sheila pleaded with her eyes. Her gaze held his.

  Peyton uncrossed his legs, hunching forward. “Sheila, I—”

  “I don’t want to play dirty. I don’t want to have to drag the firm and Holman down with me, kicking and screaming. We’ve known each other too long for that. The bottom line is that I need the firm’s support, but yours also. We used to care a lot for each other.”

  It was as if he didn’t hear the last. His look was wary. “Are you threatening me? Bennett Friehof?”

  “Peyton,” Sheila began, changing tactic. “The firm has meant a lot to me over the years. Was I angry at being passed over for partner more than once? Yes. But I’m still grateful the firm was willing to give me a chance when many other firms wouldn’t even consider hiring a black woman. It’s in that spirit of generosity and fair play that I’m calling on when I ask this.”

  “Fair?” Peyton face became a mask of hurt for a single second. It was quickly replaced by a coldness she’d never known him to possess. “Fair would have been a future for us.”

  Why did he always bring this up? Their affair had started off innocent enough, but could never have lasted. “I was married, Peyton.”

  “I asked you twice, Sheila. The second time was after your divorce. Fair would have been giving us a chance.”

  “Like you gave the loft a chance? You never did anything to break out of your dad’s orbit.”

  “I would have done it for you, Sheila.” He’d said that time and again. But she didn’t believe him. Sure, he’d moved out of his parents’ Eastside mansion, buying and renovating lofts west of downtown. But he’d never struck out on his own. He’d never worked anyplace but his daddy’s firm.

  “Your dad handpicked your wife,” she said, everything laid bare for once. “He would never have accepted me.”

  “You never gave me a chance. I would have gone to the mat for us.” Would he? She would never know. Once she’d left Keith, becoming a partner and solidifying her place at the firm had been her only priority. Without a husband, she had no fallback plan. It was all on her.

  “What would I have become? A stay-at-home mom in the heights making babies and volunteering at school?”

  “My parents would have come around. They’re not bad people. Just from a different era,” he argued.

  “Why are we talking about this? It’s all in the past. You have Kimberleigh and your kids. I danced at your wedding, drank a toast to you. Us, whatever there was—”

  “Four years, Sheila. That’s what we had. Four of the best years of our lives.”

  She all but raised her hands to block her ears and trilled ‘la-la-la-la.’ “If you ever loved me Peyton, do this for me. I can’t save whatever it was we had, but I have to do what I can to save Olivia.”

  Peyton rested his nose and lips on tented fingers. Silence stretched. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, checking his watch, standing abruptly. Without acknowledgement he prepared to leave. Sheila watched him slip on his galoshes, raincoat and hat. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Peyton…there’s something I need you to know.” Sheila slid her hand up to his roughened jaw, and forced him to do something he hadn’t done in a long time—look her directly in the eye. “Olivia is not Keith’s daughter.”

  His blink was slow and involuntary. “What are you saying?”

  Abruptly, Sheila dropped her hand. “Nothing, I’m saying nothing. Go home to your wife. Think about what I said about the confirmation.” She turned her back. She knew she was alone when she heard the chambers doors close behind him.

  Why had she said that last thing? The issue had been dead and buried years ago. Why did he need to constantly bring up the past?

  In no rush to go home, she sat before the cold hearth, remembering the day her daughter had come into the world.

  “Where do you think she got those light eyes from?” her sister Deidre had said. “I don’t think we have anyone with hazel eyes in Mommy and Daddy’s family. Do we, sis?”

  “When Momma and Auntie Cora get here, I’ll ask them about our family history,” Keith said. Sheila propped up the uncomfortable, adjustable hospital bed, Olivia cradled in her arms. Keith and Deidre sat in the room’s other bed—empty of another new mother—talking about the newborn girl in her arms. Flowers, cards and balloons filled the rest of the empty space.

  With her free hand, Sheila alternated between stroking Olivia’s silky baby curls and the petals of the flowers Bonnie had sent. Deidre and Keith stopped talking when the large hospital room door swung open. Peyton Bennett strode in with a stuffed panda bigger than Olivia in one hand and flowers in the other.

  Handing the gifts to Deidre, Peyton grasped both of Keith’s hands in his. “Hey man. Congratulations on your daughter.” To Sheila, he said, “How are you holding up? Ready to get back to work yet?”

  Keith laughed. “Who knows? Maybe Sheila will be so busy with this little one, she’ll quit the firm.”

  Swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat when her lover and her husband shook hands, Sheila handed Olivia to Peyton. He awkwardly cradled her in his cupped hands. While he gazed at Olivia, Keith and Deidre picked up their conversation where they’d left off. “Peyton,” Sheila said softly, “I’d like you to meet
our daughter, Olivia.” The baby’s eyes blinked open, squinting in the bright fluorescence, staring unfocused at her father.

  Blinking away the memories, Sheila stood, gathered her things and got ready to greet her empty apartment for the fourteenth night in a row.

  Twenty-Three

  Puppy Love

  November 3, 2001

  For a few disconcerting minutes, Olivia had no idea where she was when she woke. Then the pink room, ruffles everywhere, came into focus. It was Saturday morning and instead of a lazy morning of pancakes and Disney Channel sitcoms, she was in foster care. And she wasn’t at Miss Sadie’s house anymore. Nope, now she was at the Williamses—and they had rules.

  The minute Jacqueline closed her door and started her car, Olivia got wind of the house rules. The first rule: quiet. Mr. Williams worked hard at the steel mill. He didn’t want to hear any girly giggling, or have his phone line tied up with long phone calls to friends. It wasn’t like she had any girlfriends to call, so quiet wouldn’t be a problem. The second through fifth rules followed in quick succession. At home being treated like this would have been punishment. Olivia didn’t know why she was being penalized when she’d done nothing wrong.

  The room smelled like the roses on the bedspread. It was giving her a headache. But she didn’t move for fear of making too much noise. Even though her stomach was growling, helping herself to food from the kitchen was a no-no—rule three. Rather than face possible new weekend rules, she let the cloying smell of fabric softener permeate her.

  Pondering how long she was going to have to stay here, she was startled by a knock on the door. The two hands pointing to the bottom of the clock meant it was only six-thirty. Surely they’d let her sleep in on a weekend. Before she could extend an invitation, Jermaine poked his head in the door.