“In my mind it was the perfect situation and she was the perfect daughter. And I don’t mean to imply that she never did anything wrong or gave us difficulties, even before her mental health crisis. None of us are perfect, but she was perfect for me. That’s what I’m trying to say here.”
“In what way?”
Grace let go a weighty sigh.
“I’ve always wanted to mother a daughter,” she confessed. “Arthur and I had stopped at two because of money concerns. But suddenly … we didn’t have to stop. I loved Penny, and I wanted to be her mother more than anything.”
* * *
“We have two children already,” Arthur had said on the day Penny moved in with them as a foster child, long after the cake and guests were gone. Jack and Penny were playing with toy trucks in Penny’s bedroom, while Ryan was sulking in the bedroom he now had to share with his younger brother. “It’s not like we had nine months to prepare the kids for our new arrival.”
“No, we had four. What difference does it make how she came to us, Arthur?” Grace said a bit sternly.
Arthur folded his arms across his chest and returned a serious expression, one usually reserved for conversations about the restaurant’s finances. “We barely know anything about her,” he said in a hushed tone, as if Penny might hear. “Her past, I mean.”
Grace could see his mind churning, his conscience telling him not to pass judgment, not to assume the worst. Trauma. Mental illness. Genetic disease.
“Arthur, darling, please, just listen.” From down the hall came the sounds of delighted laughter, and the make-believe vroom-vroom of a big truck engine. “She’s a sweet little girl, and she needs us. Please give it some time with an open heart and mind, that’s all I’m asking.”
“The money,” Arthur said, wincing as he voiced what Grace knew was a valid concern. “We can barely make ends meet as it is. The foster system won’t provide for her, not really, and if we adopt … well, then, it’s all on us.”
“Let’s not think about the money just yet,” Grace said. “I’ll start tutoring on the weekends if need be. Whatever it takes, I’m willing to do it.”
Arthur smiled, a little forced, but genuine.
“I’ll keep an open mind,” he said. “As long as you do the same.”
Grace promised, knowing full well her heart and mind were already made up.
She was going to mother a daughter.
* * *
“Were you close with your mother?” Mitch asked.
“Extremely,” Grace said, feeling the familiar bite of sadness she experienced anytime her thoughts went there. “When my mom died, she left a huge hole in my life. A huge hole.” Grace felt the need to make sure this point came across clearly. “I wanted to do the things with Penny that I did with my mother—the crafting, baking, cuddling, shopping. It sounds a bit Norman Rockwell or gender normative, I know, but those were great memories for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys so much, but there’s something about a mother and daughter that’s just, well, different.”
Grace didn’t have a purse with her, so she had to resort to using stiff cafeteria napkins to dab her eyes dry.
“I brought all of this into our lives,” she said. “My family’s struggles with Penny can all be traced back to me.” Grace felt a slight hitch in her breathing, but she refused to have a full-on meltdown in front of Mitch.
“You don’t adopt a little girl,” she continued, “thinking that one day you’ll be glad, on your knees grateful, that Massachusetts doesn’t have the death penalty. That sort of thinking doesn’t once cross your mind, I can assure you of that.”
The cavernous cafeteria suddenly felt quite small to Grace, as if she and Mitch were in a therapy session together.
“For the past year, I’ve had hope—but no evidence—that Penny is innocent of this crime. But now … ‘I wasn’t alone.’ It’s not a lot, I admit, but it’s something for me to hold on to. And right now, I really need something to hold on to, Mitch.”
Grace’s voice shook, for these were difficult words to say.
“It’s not lost on me that Penny most likely destroyed a life. All the evidence points to that simple, terrible, truth. Either she’s sick or truly deranged. And now you’re telling me that she’s killed before—a cat, but still. She’s killed before, and she seemed to have enjoyed doing it. That’s hard to hear, it really is.”