Little Mercies (12 page)

Chapter 19

M
inutes seem like hours and hours seem like days, but still I sit, five hundred feet from my daughter, waiting. For what, I’m not sure. The protective order to be lifted? For Avery to miraculously get better and be released from the hospital? For my husband to truly forgive me for what has happened?

In a matter of minutes my life has been completely altered. The way people look at me has changed. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a mother and to help other children.

It’s difficult for me to imagine staying away from my workplace, my second home. The Department of Human Services building is housed in the old Williams Elementary School building located in an older residential part of Cedar City. The children of the neighborhood, who once spent hours playing kickball in the street, hide-and-seek behind the wispy branches of weeping willows, and tag on the school playground, eventually grew up and moved away, leaving their elderly parents behind. The school census fell drastically, causing the system to redistrict, bussing the remaining children from the neighborhood to a brand-new school five miles south. It seemed such a waste, leaving a perfectly good building to sit empty, so the powers that be arranged for the department to move in about ten years ago. My office, one I share with my co-worker, Ruth Johnson, is in what was once the gym teacher’s office. It is small, still smells vaguely of sweat despite the plug-in air fresheners that I replace twice a month, high ceilinged, with tall shuttered shelves painted an institutional green popular in the 1970s. It once held a wide array of PE equipment: jump ropes, tennis rackets, bowling pins, baseball bats, mesh bags filled with red rubber playground balls, soccer balls and basketballs. There is even an old portable tetherball pole that I’ve begged the maintenance man to leave in place. A few times a year, when I have to bring Leah and Lucas with me on a weekend so I can catch up on paper work, I will roll the pole into the hallway outside my office door and they will swing and smack at the dingy white ball hanging from the rope while I work.

The injustice of it all brings angry tears to my eyes. What kind of society lets the James Olmsteads of the world get away with pushing his four-year-old daughter out of a window and punishes someone like me, someone who has spent countless late nights reading through children’s files, sleepless nights thinking about the ignoble acts forced upon them, because of one mistake? I think about all that I have missed with my own children because I was looking after children whose own caretakers had been negligent, abusive, cruel. I think about how after Avery was born I returned from my maternity leave two days early so I could follow up with a case that I thought could be handled by no one else but me.

I will never get back those two days with my daughter.

Suddenly, someone is crouching down next to me and for a moment I think I’m being ousted from my corner of the hospital by a security guard. Startled, I look over to see Kelly, my childhood friend. Her dark brown eyes are filled with worry and sympathy. “Ellen” is all she has to say and I know in that one utterance, she doesn’t judge or blame me. And somehow this means the world to me. I am glad for my mother’s unwavering support and greedily accept anything offered by my husband, who I know is struggling to understand what has happened. With Kelly it’s different—we’re not related in any way, but we have a history together. Growing up, we rode bikes all around Cedar City, we spent the night at one another’s homes. When we were ten we ran away together, angry at our parents for not letting us do something or other. When we were sixteen we did the same. We could talk about anything and everything.

Kelly settles in next to me, sits cross-legged, opens a paper bag and offers me a croissant from my favorite bakery. I reach in and take one, but know that I will not be able to eat. “Thanks,” I say, bringing the pastry up to my nose and inhaling its almond scent.

“How are you?” she asks, sliding an arm around my shoulder. I lean into her and shake my head, unable to answer. “How’s Avery?” she asks after a moment.

“Holding her own,” I say as I place the croissant back into the paper bag and set it on the floor next to me. Then in between hiccupping cries I tell her about Caren, Prieto and the protective order.

“Who’s your attorney?” she asks in her no-nonsense manner that I’m so accustomed to.

“I haven’t gotten that far,” I say miserably, glancing at my watch. It’s approaching five o’clock.

“Ellen,” Kelly says levelly. “You need to get a lawyer.”

This is exactly what Prieto advised and I know they are both right. As a social worker, I know a lot of lawyers, have testified against their clients in countless family court and criminal cases. Never once in my life did I think that I would have the need for a defense attorney. “You’re right. I will call someone tomorrow.”

“No,” my Kelly interrupts. “You will call someone today.”

“Okay,” I acquiesce. “Today.”

“Right now,” she says with a finality that I know I can’t argue with. “Think,” she orders. “Who is the best attorney you know?”

Immediately a name comes to my mind, but it sickens me, too. Ted Vitolo is an excellent criminal defense attorney with an impressive acquittal record. In fact, I’ve been cross-examined by Ted many times during court cases involving his clients, mothers and fathers accused of abusing their children. He is smart, always prepared and likable. A great combination. James Olmstead knew that, too. Ted Vitolo was the attorney who, to my shock, got James acquitted in the death of Madalyn.

Over and over Vitolo brought up the claim that Madalyn thought she could fly, even digging up obscure witnesses who swore they heard the little girl say just that. He brought in experts who said that the screen on the window was improperly secured, brought in medical experts who explained and diagrammed how Madalyn’s fall was consistent with a little girl standing on a window ledge, her hands pressed against a faulty screen window. Vitolo kept me from testifying about the alleged abuse to Madalyn and her mother, saying it would be prejudicial to the jury. He somehow made James Olmstead the victim, the poor brokenhearted father and T-ball coach who lost his daughter.

Kelly is staring at me, waiting for me to give her the name so she can look up the number on her phone. “Ellen,” she prompts.

“Okay,” I say taking a deep breath. “Ted Vitolo at Vitolo and Cooke. If anyone can help me, he can.”

Kelly searches for Vitolo’s contact information on her phone, presses a few buttons and in seconds is connected with Vitolo and Cooke. “He’ll see you right now,” Kelly says after she hangs up.

“What?” I say, surprised. “How can he get me in so fast?” Vitolo has to be one of the busiest defense attorneys in Cedar City.

“He’s seen the news,” Kelly says in an apologetic voice.

I lower my face into my hands. “Great,” I say through my fingers. “He’s going to represent me for my notoriety and the free press I’ll get him.”

Kelly pulls my hands away from my face and forces me to look at her. “You said he’s the best, right?” I nod in agreement. “Good. Let’s go.”

“You’re coming with me?” I ask. “Really?”

“Of course, I am. Remember in college when you kept running out buying me pregnancy tests because even though tests kept coming up negative I was sure I was pregnant? And when I finally believed that I wasn’t pregnant you told me someday I would be a great mom.”

I smile at the memory. “You are a great mom.”

“And so are you,” Kelly reminds me as she pulls me to my feet. “Come on, let’s go meet this lawyer. He’s got some ass-kicking to do.”

Chapter 20

T
he phone rang four times before Jenny heard Connie’s familiar voice, filled with caution, answer. “Hello?”

“Connie?” Jenny squeaked, angry with herself that once again she felt like crying.

“Jenny? Jenny is that you?” Connie asked, and Jenny thought she might have heard a smile in her words.

“Yes,” was all Jenny could think to say.

“How are you?” Connie asked over a chatter of voices and the echo of someone being paged over an intercom system.

“Okay,” Jenny answered, stalling for time, not wanting to tell the one nice lady her father knew that he was jumped in a bus station and got hauled off by the cops.

“I’m at work right now, but I can talk for a minute,” Connie said. “Just let me go somewhere quiet.” The din from the other side of the phone faded away and Connie, sounding a little out of breath, spoke. “I’m so glad you called! How are you?”

It started as a burning in the back of her throat, which she thought was odd because she always thought crying started in the eyes. But when she tried to swallow, the tears, too big, too thick maybe, wouldn’t stay down. “Jenny,” Connie asked in alarm, “are you hurt? Are you okay?” It took several moments for Jenny to be able to form the words, but she finally blurted out the entire story beginning with the Happy Pancake in Benton and ending with the Happy Pancake in a town called Cedar City. Jenny skimmed lightly over her father’s fight and the police cars. Surprisingly, Connie wasn’t all that concerned about Billy, but wanted to know more about her bus trip and where in the world Cedar City was located. “Who are you with right now?” Connie asked, her voice threaded with panic. “Are you safe?”

Jenny snuffled wetly and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I’m fine,” she replied tremulously. “I’m staying with a really nice lady named Maudene. Her granddaughter is in the hospital because someone left her in a hot car. Her other grandkids are kind of mean, but she bought Bugles and fruit snacks and I get to sleep in a pretty white room. She has a dog named Dolly who chased me but Maudene swears she doesn’t have rabies.” Jenny took a long shuddering breath.

“Jenny, listen to me. You need to tell me exactly where you are. Let me talk to this Maudene person?” Connie demanded.

Jenny almost smiled at the concern in Connie’s voice. It felt so good to be fussed over. She shook her head. “I’m okay. I’m just really, really tired. Maudene is downstairs with Leah and Lucas. She tried to help me find my grandma.”

Connie was silent for so long Jenny wondered if they had gotten disconnected, but when she finally spoke, her voice was calm. “Jenny, are you talking about your dad’s mom? She passed away a long time ago. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“It’s my mom’s mom. But she died, too.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea, trying to find your mother’s family?” Connie asked guardedly. This was when Jenny knew that her father had talked to Connie about what her mother’s boyfriend had done to her. Maybe had even shown Connie the pictures of her damaged face. Jenny felt a sizzle of anger at her father for telling Connie all of her personal, private business even if Connie was the only friend-girl that she would ever dream of telling. Jenny fought the urge to hang up on her, but if truth be told, Connie was the only friend-girl she ever imagined her father marrying, so instead she asked her own question.

“Could you maybe call someone and check and see if my dad is okay?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course I will. But, Jenny, you need to tell me exactly where you are. Put Maudene on right now.”

“She’s busy right now.” Jenny eyed the closed bedroom door. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Connie and Maudene to talk just yet, at least not until Connie could find out about her father. “Can she call you back?”

“Jenny,” Connie warned. “Tell her it’s important that I talk to her.”

Jenny had a nebulous feeling that maybe she could get Maudene into some kind of trouble. “You’ll see if you can find my dad?” she asked hopefully. “Please?”

“Of course,” Connie said with exasperation. “Have Maudene give me a call as soon as she can. And Jenny, call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Jenny promised. She set the phone on the dresser and watched it for a moment, almost wishing that Connie would call right back. Her stomach felt empty and a little wobbly.

She crept to the bedroom door, opened it a sliver, peeked out for any sign of Dolly, saw none and stepped out into the hallway. At the top of the stairs she bent over, trying to see if Dolly was lurking at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m coming down,” she called out. She was met by silence. “I’m coming down!” she hollered more loudly. “Is that dog put away?”

Maudene came to the foot of the stairs, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “It’s okay, you can come on down. Dolly is in the family room.” She saw Jenny’s hesitation and waved her forward. “The door’s shut, she won’t bother you.” Maudene waited until Jenny made her way down the steps and put a protective arm around her shoulder. “You okay, honey?” she asked. Usually, when people called her hon, or sweetie or dear, Jenny just got irritated. Store clerks, waitresses, friend-girls didn’t know her well enough to call her such endearments. Only her father. But
honey
sounded right coming from Maudene. Jenny couldn’t quite name it but knew it didn’t come from a place of wanting a bigger tip, her father’s phone number or her father’s love, and that was exactly what Jenny needed just that minute. She leaned into Maudene’s embrace, breathing in the older woman’s powdery, dry scent.

“I’m kind of hungry,” Jenny admitted. “Can I have something to eat?”

“Sure. What’ll it be? Cheese Puffs, Snack ’em Cakes?” Maudene asked with mock haughtiness. “Perhaps a nice bowl of Sugar Jingles?”

“Hmm,” Jenny said, matching Maudene’s aggrandizing tone, her nose in the air, “I think a few Pizza Rolls will do nicely.”

“Then Pizza Rolls it is,” Maudene said with a firm nod, leading her to the kitchen. While Maudene preheated the oven and retrieved a pan from a cupboard, Jenny opened up the freezer and shuffled through the contents until she found the Pizza Rolls. “I’ve been thinking,” Maudene said casually as she carefully arranged the frozen cheese-stuffed pillows on the baking sheet, “that maybe you really weren’t waiting for your sister to come and pick you up from the restaurant.” Jenny pointedly avoided Maudene’s eyes, went back to the refrigerator and scanned the contents until she found what she was looking for. “And that backpack of yours,” Maudene went on, as Jenny peeled the cellophane from a wilted piece of American cheese, “the way you won’t let it out of your sight. Makes me think that all your worldly possessions are stuffed inside.”

Jenny methodically began tearing the cheese into small pieces, laying each fragment on her tongue like a communion wafer. Maudene slid the pan into the oven, looked at the directions on the bag and set the timer for twelve minutes. “I’m worried that maybe you ran away from home, Jenny. I’m worried that your parents are out there terrified about what has happened to you.” Jenny went back to the refrigerator, opened the door, pulled out the gallon of milk, opened and closed four cupboard doors until she found the one filled with drinking glasses. She stood on her tiptoes and pulled down a glass etched with a large letter
S
. “And I’m even more worried as to
why
you ran away. Or who you ran away from.” Jenny picked at the milk lid until the small plastic tag that sealed the jug pulled loose. With shaky arms she lifted the large container and tried to pour the milk into the glass, sloshing the contents across the countertop. Without comment, Maudene wiped away the spill and refilled Jenny’s glass. “I want to help you, Jenny. But if I’m going to, you need to tell me what’s going on. I saw the pictures. Who did that to you? Is that who you’re running from?”

Jenny took a long drink, ran her arm across her frothy upper lip and weighed her options. “My dad didn’t do that to me,” Jenny said with such ferocity that Maudene didn’t doubt her. “I didn’t run away from home.” Jenny deliberated whether or not to tell Maudene about her father, the fight, and the police, but couldn’t stand to besmirch her father’s name to a stranger, even if it was Maudene. “I think my dad got in some trouble and I thought maybe my grandma could help.”

“Are we having pizza?” Lucas asked as he rushed excitedly into the kitchen making a beeline to the oven.

“I’m not hungry,” Leah said sadly when she came into the kitchen. “Can we go to the hospital?”

“I’m sorry, Leah,” Maudene answered. “Your mom and dad don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to the hospital tonight. Children under fourteen aren’t allowed into the intensive care unit.” Leah looked crestfallen. “But...” Maudene continued “...your mom is going to stop by first thing tomorrow morning and they’ll call in a little bit to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Leah said in nearly a soundless whisper. Jenny had never heard such a little word uttered so sadly and she felt sorry for her.

“I’m not hungry,” Leah repeated, this time near tears. “I’m just going to go watch TV for a little while.”

“Me, too,” Lucas added in a show of solidarity with his sister.

“Okay.” Maudene sighed. “You can always come grab something to eat if you get hungry. Do you want to try and call your mom and dad right now?” Both Leah and Lucas nodded. “All right then, let me find my phone.” As Maudene checked her purse and the various countertops and kitchen drawers, Leah gave Jenny a pointed look. Jenny knew that Leah wanted her to leave the kitchen so that they could talk to their parents in private, and slowly she began making her way out of the room.

“Ah, here it is,” Maudene said triumphantly, holding the phone above her head. “Let’s give them a call and see how Avery’s doing.” The three moved into the living room, leaving Jenny in the kitchen to finish eating by herself, which suited her just fine. She used the opportunity to investigate her surroundings. Maudene’s kitchen was small and cluttered. The refrigerator was covered with pictures of Leah and Lucas and some other kids that Jenny figured were the other grandkids that lived out of town. Voices drifted in from the other room.

“Hi, Mom!” Leah exclaimed happily before dissolving into noisy sobs. Jenny held her breath, trying to harden her heart to her new enemy’s cries. Jenny didn’t know if it was Leah’s tears, the word
mom
or the combination of the two that got to her, but she couldn’t bear to listen anymore. She slid open the pocket door of the large pantry and stepped inside, pulling the light cord that dangled above her head so she could see. Quietly sliding the door shut, Jenny took in all the shelves and shelves of food in front of her. Cans of soup, boxes of crackers, tins of exotic-looking teas, bags of white sugar and flour, as well as many of the snacks they had purchased that afternoon.

Jenny reached for a box of snack cakes, a package of chocolate chip cookies and a bag of potato chips, inched open the door, peeked out and, still hearing the muffled phone conversation from the other room, tiptoed out into the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs to the white room. She shoved the treats under the bed, thought a moment, pulled them out and set them in the bedside table drawer, but it was too small. Pressing the chips and cookies firmly into the drawer she managed to get the drawer shut. She looked around the beautiful room, searching for another hiding spot and finally lifted the feather pillow, set the box of snack cakes into the space where the headboard met the mattress and returned the pillow to its rightful spot.

Her father’s cell phone began to vibrate and dance across the dresser and Jenny hesitated before reaching for it, afraid that it was Connie calling her back. The number on the display was unfamiliar to Jenny and, hoping that it was her father, she answered. “Hello,” she said tentatively.

“Hello? Who am I talking to?” a strange voice asked. Jenny remained silent. “This is Officer McAdam from the Benton Police Department. Who am I speaking with?” Jenny’s heart slammed against her chest. Her father must be in jail in Benton. Why else would the police be calling her on her father’s phone? “Who am I speaking to?” the man said again. “Is this Jenny Briard?” Jenny dropped the phone as if it burned her fingers, scrambled to pick it up and stabbed at buttons until the call ended.

On shaky legs she crawled into the bed and pulled the covers over her head. The police had her father and now they were looking for her.