“Don’t give up, Lexi. I’ll keep trying.”
“Sure,” she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She couldn’t wait to get out of these ridiculously girly clothes. She should have known better. The whole legal system was set up to give people like the Farradays what they wanted. “I’m outta here, Scot. Thanks.” She started to walk away.
He grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t do anything stupid, Lexi.”
“Like what? Love my daughter?” Her voice broke on that and she turned away, walking fast.
Twenty-four
Lexi sat on a park bench outside Scot’s office.
She knew about giving up. Back when she’d been neglected by her mother, and, later, when one foster family after another let her go, she had tried to stop hoping for more. As a young girl, sitting in a series of crowded government offices, waiting for new parents, she’d stared at the clock on the wall, watching the minutes tick past, thinking with every tiny click that this time she wouldn’t care, this time she would give up her hope, and, without it, she would be invulnerable.
But it had never worked. For some reason she’d never quite understood, hope was hardwired into her. Even in prison, when she’d stood in lines of women who wore blank, hopeless expressions, she had been unable to become one of them. Even Valium hadn’t helped to dim that small bright part of her. The problem was that she believed. She wasn’t sure what she believed in—was it God? goodness? herself? She had no answer to the question; she knew only that she owned this belief that if she did the right thing, if she always did her best and took responsibility for her mistakes and lived a moral life, she would succeed. She would not become like her mother.
But she’d done all of that. She’d gone to prison to atone for her mistake. She’d given up her daughter because she loved Grace so, so much. She had tried to do the right things, and yet still she was being thwarted.
She had the right to see Grace, but not the money.
How could she take a whole year of living in this community, seeing her daughter, but never being able to be with her? And how could she get a job—as an ex-con with practically no work history or recommendations—that would pay her rent and living expenses and give her enough left over for legal fees and social worker bills? And if she did somehow accomplish all of that, she would spend weekends with her daughter always being judged and scrutinized. How could a real relationship bloom under such dark skies?
It would be easier to give up. She could hop on a bus to Florida, where apparently the sun always shone. Once there, she could write letters to Grace—no one could deny her that now—and she and her daughter could get to know each other the old-fashioned way. Maybe in a few years, a visit could be arranged.
All she had to do was give up. Just concede defeat and get on the next bus.
Abandon her daughter a second time.
Just the thought of it made her ill. She remembered all the hours she’d spent in solitary confinement, feeling as if she were draining away in that fetid darkness, wanting to disappear. It had been Grace that pulled her out of all that, Grace who had convinced Lexi to quit tranquilizing herself with Valium and acting out with her fists. Grace who had made her come back to herself. At least, it had been the idea of Grace.
She got up and went into Scot’s office. Waving at the receptionist, she walked into his office without knocking. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You’re no bother, Lexi,” he said, pushing out from behind his desk.
She pulled out the one hundred dollar bill Aunt Eva had sent her. “How much time with Grace will this get me?”
“Not much,” he said sadly.
Lexi bit her lip. She knew what to say next, but she was afraid. “There’s really only one way for me to see my daughter, isn’t there?”
Scot nodded slowly.
Another minute passed. She waited for him to talk her out of it.
“Okay, then,” she said after a long silence. Resettling her purse over her shoulder, she left the office. Outside, she unlocked the bike and climbed aboard, riding out of town. Although it would have saved her three miles, she avoided Night Road and went the long way. She didn’t allow herself to think about where she was going or what she was going to do until she reached her destination.
At the top of the long gravel driveway, she got off her bike.
The house still looked beautiful against the blue Sound and even bluer sky. The garden was an absolute mess, but only someone who’d seen it before would know that. To the first-time observer, it was simply a riot of color.