by Ann Gosslin
She sucked in her breath. ‘For the record, I thought you might like to know what my real name used to be.’ She smiled wanly. ‘I was born Euphemia Mae Marston. Mimi for short. A terrible name to give a child. I was teased mercilessly at school.’
Katherine reached for her hand. ‘If you were my daughter, Erin is the name I would have chosen for you, right from the start. I can’t imagine you as anyone else.’ She stood and dabbed moisture from her eyes. ‘Time to make myself scarce,’ Katherine said. ‘But before I go, it may interest you to know that a girl named Cassie is being admitted on Monday to the clinic’s three-month residential programme. Dr Westlund mentioned you’d taken a particular interest in her.’
‘Cassie Gray?’
‘She contacted the clinic herself to ask for help. Dr Westlund wanted to be sure you knew that.’
As they left the staffroom, the crunch of tyres sounded on the gravel drive out front. Car doors opened and closed. Excited chatter floated in the air.
‘I’ll leave you here,’ Katherine said. ‘It’s time for me to sink back into the shadows.’ She gave Erin a conspiratorial smile. ‘Think it over, won’t you?’
Before anyone could see them together, Katherine slipped through the door to the music room, transforming herself once again into Kay Gillman, the quiet, unassuming woman who played piano for the girls.
In that moment, as she listened to the first notes of a lively tune with an up-tempo beat, Erin decided to accept the board’s offer.
*
In the soft light of early morning, Erin stood in the shade of the stone portico as Lonnie Tyler drove her beat-up Chevy through the gates. From behind the wheel, she looked coolly at Erin before sliding on a pair of dark glasses. As soon as Lonnie stopped the car, Cassie tumbled from the passenger side, lugging a blue suitcase, scuffed with wear.
The gravel crunched underfoot as Cassie approached. To someone standing outside the gates, it might appear as though Erin were welcoming the girl into her home as a cherished guest. And in a way, she was. The Meadows was hers now, to oversee as she saw fit. Her head was filled with the novel ideas she wanted to try, and the processes she’d like to streamline. Treading slowly at first and including the staff in her plans. Her greatest wish was to create not just a successful clinic, but a community, and to offer the girls in their care – and perhaps, someday, boys – the gift of wholeness to carry them through life.
As she came closer, Erin stepped forward to meet her. Cassie’s hair had grown in the past few months, but something else had changed. The girl clutching the suitcase looked vulnerable and lost. The mask of defiance and anger was gone.
Cassie’s mother leaned out the window. ‘You should know this was my daughter’s choice,’ she said. ‘Not mine.’
‘We’ll take good care of her.’
Erin stood at Cassie’s side as Lonnie’s car passed through the gate. Out in the world, that’s where the trouble began. But it didn’t have to be that way.
There was no doubt that Cassie had a treacherous road ahead, but Erin was confident she was ready to make the journey. While her first instinct had been to take over Cassie’s care, Erin knew in her heart that someone with a firmer hand, at least initially, would be a better choice. So, for the first thirty days, she would place Cassie into Greta Kozani’s capable hands. After that, anything was possible.
Erin turned to Cassie and smiled. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to the many people who helped guide this book along the road to publication:
My wonderful literary agent, Charlotte Seymour, and the whole team at Andrew Nurnberg Associates, without whom this book would still be a gleam in my eye.
The team at Legend Press, UK, with special thanks to my editor, Lauren Parsons, whose keen editorial eye helped bring into focus the smallest details and big picture alike.
Rosie Jonker at Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency, USA, for her comments on a previous draft, and for looking after my interests on the other side of the pond.
John Goodman, Eve Seymour, and Jilly Woodford, for their input and encouragement. Jason Donald, and participants at the Swiss mountains retreat, for lively conversations on the art and craft of writing.
Norah Perkins and Anna Davis, as well as members of the CBC online writing class, for the inspiration to finish what I’d started.
Ginny Rottenburg and Allie Reynolds, writing friends and creative muses, for their tireless support and close reading of earlier drafts; and to Shamala Hinrichsen, my longtime friend across cultures and continents, and first reader from the early days.
Finally, to the people over the years, too many to list, who have inspired me to keep reading and writing; and to the kind souls who offered a guiding light, whenever I was lost in the dark.
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