by Jade Kerrion
The silence of her once-again empty home surrounded her, but instead of an embrace, it felt like a shroud. She walked through the hallway and stood at her bedroom door where days earlier, she had made beautiful love with Tom. She had bought into the fantasy of togetherness, the illusion of family.
She had bought into the lie.
Her lips twisted as she fought back a wretched sob. She was alone.
She had been alone since her mother died. Nothing had changed—except now that she knew what it was like not to be alone, the silence wrapped like thorny vines around her, digging into her, slowly strangling her.
She took her cell phone from her pocket and slowly flipped through photographs of Frances, some taken as recently as yesterday and others stretching back several years. The earliest picture she had of Frances was one the hospital had given to her a few hours after Frances was born—a souvenir photograph tucked into a Happy Birthday card. She had digitized it and carried it with her; the original was safely tucked away in a memory box hidden at the back of Sheridan’s dresser.
Retrieving the box, she sat on the bed and slowly looked through each photograph. There were none of her childhood—all those memories and mementos had been left behind in Montana; all the pictures were of Frances.
Frances in her wheelchair on a busy Chinatown street.
Frances in her wheelchair in front of the penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo.
Frances in her wheelchair at the top of the Empire State Building.
Sheridan drew in a shaky breath. She had done everything to ensure her daughter didn’t just exist, in spite of all her handicaps. She wanted her daughter to live and experience as much of life as others did, even if it meant navigating a bulky wheelchair through the subway system and enduring the annoyance and exasperation of others.
She gently stroked a close-up of Frances’s face. She did not see the slack features and vacant eyes. She saw her daughter—not necessarily one she had wanted, but definitely one she had grown to love. “I brought you into this world,” she whispered. “And I will do everything I can to bring you home where you belong. With me.”
To hell with Tom and his perfect, little daughter, Aria. We’re the imperfect ones, and we have each other.
Chapter 10
The sun was still struggling to break through the heavy cloud cover early the next morning when Tom was shown into Gabriel Cruz’s office. The district attorney stood up and they shook hands. “It’s been a while, Tom.” Gabriel smiled. “How are things in your neck of the woods?”
“Nowhere near as exciting as things are in yours.” Tom settled in the chair across from his law school classmate. “I’ve been following your recent murder case. Slam dunk, if I ever saw one.”
“I don’t know if you’ve ever actually seen a slam dunk. Didn’t you use to hang out at the golf courses instead?”
“That’s where the business is. It looks like you’re enjoying your work. The last time we spoke, when you were with Brickstein and Felder, you looked tired and worn out.”
“Family law. Divorces. After a while, it gets you down. Now, making sure that a murderer gets what’s coming to him, it’s certainly something I can get behind.”
“I actually have a question for you. Family law. I hope you haven’t forgotten too much of it.” Quickly, Tom described Sheridan’s situation, leaving out none of the facts. “Getting her daughter back means everything to her,” Tom said quietly as he finished the story. “What are her options?”
“Are you asking me as a former family law attorney or as employee of the state of New York?”
“Are the answers different?”
Gabriel nodded. “As a state employee, I’m obligated to tell you that the state follows due process, and that the processes were developed with a great deal of thought to the wellbeing of children and families. I also know, however, that ‘trust the state to do the right thing’ isn’t a mantra that fills most people’s hearts with confidence,” he added with a wry half-smile. “As a former family law attorney, I’d recommend she go on the offense. Make a case for herself before the state can make a case against her.”
“What’s the best way to do that?”
“Her story is compelling, even beautiful. Make sure it’s heard.”
“Nicole Lefton.” The sharp voice snapping off the name bristled with impatience audible even over the phone.
“It’s Tom Lancaster.”
“Oh, you.” The chuckle that followed hovered between a sigh and a shrug.
Tom knew Sheridan’s lawyer by reputation only. She was apparently one of the most talented in Mitch’s firm, a corporate attorney who was known as the barracuda for her ability to strip down her opponents to bones. Why she would work pro bono for Sheridan and the women’s shelter eluded him. “I’m calling about Sheridan.”
“I have about fifteen minutes of goodwill today. I can spare you five.”
Tom grimaced. Nicole was apparently as hard-assed as her reputation. “I spoke to a friend in the DA’s office, someone who has a unique perspective of family law as well. I’ve given some thought to Sheridan’s situation. I think I know how we can get her daughter for her.”
“I’m listening.”
And Nicole did listen in silence for the few minutes it took Tom to outline his plan. He did not have to go into the pros and cons; neither did he have to talk about the possible risks. As a lawyer, she knew.
“You realize this plan could backfire on you, professionally and personally,” Nicole said when Tom finally fell silent.
“As far as I’m concerned, it has already imploded personally.” Tom tried not to sound bitter and failed. “I’ve nothing more to lose there.”
Nicole huffed out her breath. “So it wasn’t a sham—your relationship with her?”
“Not after the first ten minutes.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Sometimes, it’s not meant to be.”
“It’s hard to accept the dictates of fate when I know my idiocy had a lot of do with the mess I made of things.”
“I think your sister had much more to do with it. Does she love Mitch?”
“I don’t know, and it’s none of my business.”
Nicole laughed, the sound without humor. “You made it your business.”
True. Tom grunted. And it was his job to untangle the chaos he had created. “Well?”
“Best plan I’ve heard so far—no skin off my back admitting it—but I don’t think Sheridan will go along with it.”
“Why not?”
“The risks.”
“At this point, she’s got everything to gain, nothing to lose.”
“Not the risks to her. To you.”
“Me?” He squeezed his eyes shut. His chest ached. Sheridan had cared for him, and he had broken her heart. What a damned mess. He gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt. “Forget about me. Are you in?”
“Yes.”
“Can you talk her into it?”
“I don’t think so, but her reaction will be far more authentic if she doesn’t know, don’t you agree?”
“Are you proposing to keep her in the dark? You’re her lawyer.”
“So, she’ll be lied to by lawyers. Not the first time, nor the last. And it will be for her own good. If people even remotely suspect that it’s a set up and she’s part of it, we’d have an even bigger mess on our hands.”
Tom pondered Nicole’s words. “All right. Let’s do it, then.”
“Odds of success: low. Odds of it blowing up in our faces: high. What are we waiting for?”
Something in Nicole’s self-mocking tone sparked Tom’s curiosity. “You’re taking risks, too. Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“I didn’t realize you did pro-bono work for the shelter. How long have you been helping out there?”
“As a lawyer, since graduating from law school, but for many years, I helped out in the kitchens or talking to the women, helping them write resumes, practice inter
viewing skills, or making household budgets.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“In fact, it was your sister who introduced me to Mitch’s firm after I graduated from law school and started looking for a job. Didn’t think it would end up causing all kinds of problems.”
“You…” Tom’s head throbbed with the onset of a migraine. “Are you…?”
“Am I what?” Nicole’s tone was challenging.
“Hell, there’s no way to ask this politely, but are you the person Mitch is having an affair with?”
Nicole did not answer his question. She did not need to.
Chapter 11
The sharp ringing of her cell phone jerked Sheridan out of sound sleep. The past week had been absurdly difficult. Usually, the days between Christmas and New Year were filled with excitement and promise—a farewell to the old, an ushering of the new. Instead, she had been scrambling, reaching out to anyone she thought might put in a good word for her. No one, to her surprise, had turned her down. All of them, it seemed, welcomed the opportunity to speak up for her.
She had more friends and supporters than she realized.
Even so, she was not prepared for the voice that jarred her out of sleep. “Miss Vogel? I’m Tamara King from the New York Times. I would like to get a quote or two from you to supplement the article that is releasing this afternoon.”
Sheridan sat up straight in her bed. “The…the article?”
“Yes. We’ve already spoken to the New York Child and Family Services Division, as well as the district attorney’s office in Billings, Montana. Is it true that no formal charges were filed?”
“Formal charges?”
“Why did you choose not to file charges of sexual assault against your stepfather?”
“I…” Sheridan’s heart thumped so hard in her chest that for a moment, the only thing she could hear was the rushing of blood through her head. “I…don’t have anything to say right now.” She was saved by the beep of an incoming call. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” She pressed the button to switch the line. “Yes?”
“Brad Dillon from the Chicago Tribune. I’m interested in scheduling an interview with you. We’d like to get an exclusive on the biggest news to hit social media since the recent celebrity photo leaks.”
“Biggest news? I’m sorry, I just…woke up. I need a moment to figure it all out.”
“Certainly. I’ll call you back in an hour. I don’t mean to be pushy, but time is of the essence, especially with New Years tomorrow. We’d like to verify what we’re hearing from the various government organizations.”
Sheridan’s phone beeped again, and she pulled her cheek away to stare at the screen. Another incoming call, this time from Washington, D.C. What was going on? “I just need a bit more time,” she told Brad. She hung up on him and immediately called Nicole. “The New York Times and the Chicago Tribute just called me at home. What’s going on?”
“I take it you haven’t yet gotten your social media fix. Check it out…it’s huge.”
The massive lump in her throat made it hard to breathe as she snatched up her tablet and scanned her social media feeds. “Oh. My. God.”
The headlines leaped out at her. Sexual assault victim seeks to adopt the child she gave up.
The New York State is reluctant to allow Elyse Vogel to adopt the child she gave up, but provides no reasons to support its decision. Nevertheless, social and political pressure is mounting as support builds for the return of Frances to her birth mother.
Ms. Vogel placed Frances in the foster system for the good of the child, and has remained in constant contact with her daughter, through gifts and frequent outings. The report even featured a quote from Candace Brown, the foster mother. “Elyse is a huge part of Frances’s life. Frances always returns from her weekend excursions with her mother relaxed and happy, and she’s content for hours.”
The district attorney’s office in Billings, Montana, confirms that no charges have been filed against Fred Hendricks yet, but they will act on any such charges immediately before the statute of limitation expires. “We will not allow child predators to get away with such heinous actions, and we applaud Ms. Vogel’s courage in ensuring that her child would not endure the terror she did. We hope that the state of New York will give due consideration to the unusual facts around this particular circumstance when deciding upon Frances’s future.
Sheridan drew her breath in sharply. “When…did this happen?”
“Yesterday, late afternoon. It went viral overnight.”
“Oh, no…” She pressed her fingertips against her temple. “How could they find out? What’s going to happen now?”
“Now, you’re going to talk to the New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, and any other major newspaper that calls. In fact, come by my office by ten, and I’ll have the reporters lined up. That way, you don’t have to deal with them at your home or on your own. I’ll be with you the whole way.”
“But what do they want?”
“A story that tugs on the heartstrings. What you want—and what you need—is to not be just a piece of paper—a case number in the state’s computer. You want your name and face attached to your application to adopt Frances. You want your story to be known by everyone.”
“But that was what got me into this mess in the first place! The story got out.”
“Part of the story got out. The not-so-great part, which missed important context and backstory. The whole story is what makes it compelling. We have this one chance to make sure the state cannot say no to you without a massive public outcry, and we have to do it before people start taking off for New Year’s Eve. With the right momentum, we can keep this on the front page into the new year.”
“It’s absolutely crazy.”
“It’s a gamble, but it’s what we’ve got. Come by my office. Bring your photographs of Frances. Meanwhile, I’ll make sure the media reaches out to me as your lawyer. Let’s see if we can’t contain that chaos a bit.”
Sheridan disconnected the call and stared at her cell phone screen, at the near-constant stream of phone calls coming in and getting redirected to voice mail. It’s out there. She pressed her hand against her stomach. Our story is out there, Frances, and I don’t know what’s going to happen now.
The several hours Sheridan spent at Nicole’s office went by easier than she expected. Nicole had arranged for several newspaper reporters at a time—no exclusives were granted—and the message remained consistent with the fact sheet distributed to each reporter in advance. Digital copies of Sheridan’s photographs—a visual history of her love for Frances—were given to the media. The breaks were frequent and private, giving Sheridan enough time to mentally and emotionally regroup after each wringing encounter with the press.
It was after 6 p.m. when Nicole knocked on the door of the private office where Sheridan was resting. The lawyer wore a broad smile. “Finally, we’ve got a statement from the New York Child and Family Services Division.”
Sheridan shot to her feet. “What did they say?”
Nicole looked down at the tablet she held. “That the recent facts that have surfaced in your adoption case have made them aware of the complexity of the situation and they will consider them most carefully.”
“But that doesn’t say anything.”
“It’s legalese intended to cover their ass. They’re backing down and would like some space to do so gracefully.”
“Really?”
Nicole nodded. “To another lawyer, it’s practically a white flag.” Her phone rang and she glanced at it. “I need to take this. Just a moment.”
Sheridan nodded and accepted the tablet that Nicole held out to her. She read through the latest articles on the public uproar over a hardworking mother, who had turned her life around, facing down a heartless state in her quest to adopt her child. Smack in the center of the article was the photograph Sheridan had taken of herself and Frances on Christmas Day, when Frances wore her beautiful dress.
Sheridan saw the heartbreak in her own eyes. She had been convinced that it would be the last Christmas she would ever be allowed to spend with her daughter, but now, scarcely a week later, the situation seemed hopeful enough for her to begin dreaming again.
Vaguely, she tuned into the conversation in the background. “Yes, it’s excellent news,” Nicole said to the person on the phone. “Certainly exceeded my expectations. Nice work on your part…She’s all right. Hanging in there. It’s been a long day, but it’s certainly paid off…Yes, of course. Don’t worry about it. We’ll talk in the new year.” Nicole disconnected the call and sat across the table from Sheridan. She placed her cell phone on the table. “We’re done with the interviews for today. We’ve done everything we can to keep the momentum going through the New Year, and first thing, on January 2, I’d like you back in here. We’ll put together a plan to keep the social media pressure on the state. I’d like to accelerate Frances’s adoption before the people’s fickle attention shifts to something else.”
Sheridan nodded. “Yes, of course. Whatever it takes.”
Nicole smiled. “Now, let me go grab my things and I’ll give you a ride home. Would you like to stop for dinner first?”
“It’s New Year’s eve. Don’t you have anything planned?”
Nicole shook her head. “Not tonight, and the last party I attended was fairly explosive. I’m hoping to avoid any recurring chaos tonight. Be right back.”
She walked out of the room, and silence once more fell over the room. Sheridan’s gaze flicked toward Nicole’s cell phone and on a whim, she reached out and tapped on the phone icon to pull up the list of recent callers.
At the top of the list was Tom Lancaster.
Tom. He alone had known the whole story, of course, but why would he have had anything to do with it. What was it Nicole had said to him? “Nice work on your part.”
What had Tom done?