CHAPTER SEVEN
Eve
May 9, 2019
The lady who gave me this journal keeps hanging around here. She’s so kind. I can’t think of anything I can give her back. The truth is, her caring only makes this whole thing harder. I have a long history of being a fool. I fall for people who act like they care. It’s like I’m a desperate old dog, willing to put up with anyone who will show me some attention. Even if they beat me.
Every bit of my body aches. The muscles, the bruises, the healing cuts. None of it feels worse than my heart, though. The state has my kids. My man is on the run. And the doctor tells me I’ve lost the baby I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
How did I not know?
I’ll never get to hold this little one. I can never make up for what I’ve done to him.
I don’t know how I can ever make it up to Charlotte and Sammy, either. Bad things can happen to kids in the system. Horrible things.
I can’t keep writing. There’s a twisting in my stomach, and my head pounds. I just need a little something to stop the pain and get me through. But not too much. It’s better to come off heroin slowly. I’ll die if I’m forced to white-knuckle this. And if I die, what will happen to my kids?
TIFF NUDGED THE DOOR OPEN with her shoulder and entered Eve’s room. “Knock, knock. I brought you some clothes to wear when they release you.”
Eve slapped her journal shut, her eyes wide. “When? Do you know when I can leave?”
“I thought you might. It sounds like it will be soon, but I don’t have any details. I spoke to the director of the emergency shelter. They still have a bed for you. It’s not perfect, but try to remember this is just for now. We’ll get you into temporary women’s housing as soon as we can.” She laid a stack of jeans, T-shirts, and other essentials on the chair—three outfits. As a precaution, Tiff had slid a card with her contact information into every pocket. Tiff had assumed Eve would not have easy access to the things she’d left in the apartment. Apparently, rent hadn’t been paid for some time, and the eviction was already in process. After the assault, the landlord would be able to expedite the process. She’d be checking with an attorney, but Tiff knew how these things usually worked out, and it wouldn’t be in Eve’s favor. “Have you thought about reaching out to your family? They might be able to help.”
Eve rubbed her fingers in circles along the sides of her head. “No. I mean, thanks for the clothes. I can’t pay you back.” Her eyes searched the room as though needing somewhere to anchor other than on Tiff.
“The clothes are a gift. Don’t worry about the cost. When the doctor gives the okay, I’ll drive you to the shelter. You’ll need some extra help for a bit. I’m planning to check in each day.” Tiff slid her index finger over her bottom lip. “It’s not going to be easy, but you can do this. I know you love your kids. They’re counting on you.”
Eve’s eyes grew darker. “I’ll make it right for them. Can you tell them I will?”
“You can tell them yourself. Cheri said she’ll set up a visit for you as soon as you’re ready. It would be good, especially for Charlotte, to see you’re recovering. The last time she saw you was the day of the . . . accident. She needs to see you’re okay.”
A shiver spread over Tiff’s skin. What she’d seen that morning had kept her up late into that night and many of the next, waking her with nightmares whenever she drifted off to sleep. The smell of blood and the look of horror cloned on the faces of the children—the trauma they had witnessed could haunt their lives forever, a moment that could send them on a life journey that would either include a long and painful healing process or a repeat performance for their own children. A cycle of dysfunction and misery like that only stopped when it was forced to halt.
If Tiff had a wish, it would be to end this spiral before it consumed another generation.
THEY WERE GROWING. The first leaves of the loofah plants uncurled as the sprouts straightened and stood like proud soldiers in pristine emerald green uniforms. It took all of Zara’s self-control not to assign names to each individual plant. With all the watching, waiting, and caring she’d done for them over the last few weeks, they were like members of her little family.
Her life, the way it was at that very moment, was the dream she feared too fragile to bloom. Yet here she was, Zara Brookes Mahoney, living in this old farmhouse, its walls full of untold stories, its rooms as ready for change as a freshly plowed plot of ground. And she shared this true-life fantasy with her handsome husband, a man who would work alongside her and then fold her into his arms at night. They had years to cultivate this property and grow their house into a home. Chad had turned her life into an endless honeymoon.
Zara washed her hands and dried them on a hand-embroidered tea towel Sharon had made for their home. The towel was simple and quaint. The perfect match to the vision Zara had for this place.
Pickles bounded into the kitchen, his back legs working faster than his front until he rolled into a pile at her feet. Gathering him up, Zara inhaled the sweet scent that only came from newness. His tongue flapped like a toddler on caffeine, slapping her face from her eyes to her nose.
Chad kissed her forehead, his mouth rough with morning stubble. “Okay, buddy. Let’s get the day off right.” He took Pickles and stepped out the back door.
Zara sipped her coffee and stared out the kitchen window, watching Chad try to coax the puppy into doing his business before they headed to Sharon’s. She had agreed to dog-sit while Zara and Chad sanded and refinished the hardwood on the first floor. There was a good chance she and Chad would be sleeping in the back of the SUV for a few nights until the fumes dissipated.
Zara’s hands warmed against the mug, adding to the odd sense she’d had all morning. She felt . . . settled. As if her life was, for the first time ever, falling into place. Chad had blessed her more than he would ever know by marrying her. The anxiety she’d been fighting since discovering she carried the Hunter syndrome gene had leveled off, and she was beginning to accept the truth—for now. It wasn’t like she was ready for kids, anyway. The agony would revisit, she was sure. For the time being, Zara was going to live like a teen, assuming nothing bad could happen. Except that had never been her way. Her twin sister’s way, yes—and look what had happened to her.
Zara had always been a worrier. It was amazing she’d ever agreed to get married. It would have been just like her to sabotage her future by running away. Now she was committed. No turning back.
The door opened and Chad came in, the puppy held out and away from his chest. “Well, I convinced him to do half of what he was supposed to do. I’m sure Mom will let me know when the other half lands on her carpet.” His nose wrinkled.
She grabbed the rag they kept by the door and wiped all four paws. “Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.” She grinned. Housebreaking wasn’t going well. Another wonderful reason to hold off on children. With the skills they currently had, their kids would be heading to college in diapers.
“You look gorgeous.” He kissed her forehead, then took a sip from her coffee mug. “This is my favorite morning.” He winked. “I’m going to take the dog stuff out to the car. Are you about ready?”
“Just let me do a final check on the plants. I’m going to cover them before we start the refinishing.”
Chad chuckled. “They are plants. You know that, right?”
“Very funny. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The door clicked behind him, and Zara immediately smelled another task. “Well, dog, at least you didn’t do that at Grandma’s.” She probably should scold him or something. Did people really rub dog’s noses in it? Yuck. As she bagged up the mess, someone honked outside. Chad must have been in a huge hurry to get moving.
A moment later, he opened the door. “Whoa. What happened in here?” He waved his hand in front of his nose. “That’s nasty.”
She nodded. “At least he didn’t save it for your mom.”
“I’ll help.” He tossed a stack of papers on the counter. “The mailman was here. He said the box door was hanging on one hinge again.”
Zara blew out a breath that lifted her bangs from her eyes. “I thought I’d fixed it last time.”
“We’ll take care of it when we get back.”
She took another look at the sprouting loofahs.
“Don’t worry. All this will be here when we get back home.”
Home. Their home.
ZARA’S BACK WAS ON FIRE. Too many days of sanding, sweeping, running a shop vac, and finally, painting on new layers of finish had left their hardwood floors shining like they must have when they were brand-new. But the effort had also tweaked every rarely used muscle in her body. And now that Chad was home from work, they still had another coat to apply.
In the kitchen, she folded herself over, letting her arms dangle like a rag doll’s. The release was painful and blissful all at once.
Something, a paper or envelope, stuck out from between the shelf and the wall. It had slipped back there, wedging itself in so tight that it took a good yank to release.
Zara straightened, her mind going off on a million little imaginary paths. What if the letter was placed there by the original builder of the house and had finally just worked its way free from a hundred years of hiding? Or maybe the contents held the solution to a long-forgotten mystery.
She snagged it before Chad came in and ruined the fun with his accountant-like factual thinking. His wildest suggestion would be the electric bill or maybe junk mail.
The envelope had barely a ding on the edges, telling her Chad would have come out on top in a competition. But just because the practical guess was usually the right one didn’t make this any less entertaining.
Turning it over in her hand, Zara could see her maiden name. It was not a bill, and it seemed to be from the government. What could the Department of Human Services want with her?
For a moment, she considered waiting for Chad, but she was sure, or at least semi sure, that it was nothing. Weaving her finger under the seal, she ripped it open and tugged out a short letter.
The words lost focus as Zara stumbled and grasped the side of the sink, the paper floating to the floor. Tingles rolled over her face like she was going to cry, but her eyes remained dry.
“I think this project is increasing my love of office work.” Chad brushed past her, cupped his hands under the faucet, and took a drink.
Zara’s body had gone into some kind of an upright coma. Even her mouth was disconnected from her brain. She strained to get words off her tongue, but what could she say?
“Are you okay?” Chad stopped wiping his hands on the kitchen towel and stared into her eyes.
And here came the tears. Washing over her cheeks and along her jawline. Zara pointed to the paper that had landed near the door.
He snatched it up, reading the words that were no longer harmless groupings of letters on a page.
“Who are these children? Do you know them?” He lowered the letter, his gaze returning to her.
It felt like an accusation, like she’d done something, and they were both to be held accountable. But she hadn’t. She wasn’t even sure this could really be happening. Charlotte and Samuel. Zara had never heard those names before. No. That wasn’t true. Her sister’s favorite baby doll had been named Charlotte. Eve had carried her everywhere until the day she set her down at the grocery store and their mother refused to go back for her.
“Charlotte and Samuel have to be Eve’s children.” And Zara was the aunt who hadn’t even known they existed. How could the state ask if she was willing to be a caretaker for these two? They might as well scoop someone off the street. She and Chad were as good as perfect strangers.
“Wow.” He stood in front of Zara, stunned into his own silence. It took what felt like hours before he stepped forward and brought her to his chest. “What do you want to do?”
Was that a question she was supposed to have an answer for? These two children had come out of nowhere, like God had snapped His fingers and they appeared. She pushed back, Chad’s warmth evaporating from her skin, and took the paper from his hand. “I don’t know anything about them—not even how old they are. What’s happened to these kids? And where is Eve? Why didn’t she call before things got this bad?”
The answer to that question punched her hard in the heart. The last time she saw Eve, not long after starting college, Zara had told her she was done. She wouldn’t see her or hear from her until Eve decided to get her life together. Zara had thought that was tough love, that maybe if she didn’t help her sister, Eve would find the strength to kick her addictions and start fresh. Honestly, Zara believed that Eve wouldn’t be able to live without her, and she’d have to get clean.
But Zara had put herself in a seat of honor, and it turned out she was just another person. If Eve could have gotten clean because she didn’t want to lose Zara, she could have gotten clean so she wouldn’t lose herself.
Zara didn’t have the strength to watch the other half of her die.
Chad laced his fingers into hers and guided Zara out the door and into the front seat of his SUV. They sat staring out the window at raindrops merging on the windshield until they grew too heavy and slid down the glass.
“We’re going to remember this day forever.” He pulled the lever on the side of his seat and reclined. “It will always be that day when all the furniture was stacked, the house stunk like chemicals, and we found out about two kids who needed a place to stay for a while.”
Zara’s stomach balled tight, forming pressure below her diaphragm. “You’re actually considering this?”
“I’m not sure how we can’t. Whatever happened, it’s not their fault. The caseworker’s name and number are on the letter. I think you should take the first step and call.” His thumb rubbed back and forth over the side of her hand, but his eyes remained fixed on the windshield.
“These aren’t our children. It’s not a way to start our family.”
He gripped her hand tighter and ran it along his rough chin. “This isn’t about us.”
His words left a guilty hole in her heart. These kids needed someone. They’d been put into the foster care system, staying with who knows who. But it was a little about her, wasn’t it? Why did she have to give up her perfect life because her sister had screwed up?
Zara flipped off her shoes, reclined her seat, and pressed her bare toes to the windshield.
“We don’t have to make any decisions today. Just collect information. When we have all the facts, we’ll be better able to choose what makes the most sense.” He nodded his head as if making a plan would take away the sting that followed a yes or a no.
“I know it’s selfish, but what about us?”
“Us?”
“This was supposed to be our time, just the two of us living the dream.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Babe, we’re always going to be living the dream together. It might look a little different than we thought, but we’re a team.”
She rolled her head to the side and stared into his eyes. “I feel like you’re mixing your metaphors.”
He shrugged and raised their hands together. “Victory is ours?”
“Not even close.” Zara blew out so hard she fogged the windshield. “I’ll call the caseworker and ask about the kids.” It was tiny, but it also felt like a grand relinquishment. If they moved forward, the first children they would bring into their home wouldn’t even be theirs. She knew it was irrational, just like the way she had to celebrate birthdays on the actual day and refused to eat out on holidays. Maybe her hesitation, her clamping on to the plan she’d had for their lives, was just another way to keep her life from becoming anything like the one her mother lived. Wasn’t that a worthy pursuit?
“We need a list. All the questions we can think of.” Chad nodded his head as though making this major life decision into a structured goal would make it easier. “We need to know the process to become foster parents. How old are they? Do they know you exist? Have they been hurt?”
Zara swallowed past the knot that seemed to be tied in her throat. Each question made her feel more and more like the heartless woman she must be to even think about saying no. Knowing what she knew, how could she leave any child in the system? If the kids weren’t with them, they would be with strangers. Trained strangers who purposely set out to care for children in need.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My mind is flying from all the reasons we should take them to all the reasons we are absolutely not the people for this task.” She tapped her knuckles against her forehead. “What kind of a person would say no? But what if it’s too much for us and someone else could do a better job? I’m not a person who believes love is genetic, yet . . . I don’t even know.”
Chad took her left hand away from her face and threaded his fingers between hers. “I believe God will give us the answer. Why don’t you call the caseworker, ask all your questions, and set up a time for us to meet the kids?”
Cold spread over her. This wasn’t one of the scenarios Zara had worked through in her imagination. She wouldn’t wake up and think she’d just had the craziest dream yet. This was real and present, and they couldn’t ever go back to the way things were before she’d opened that envelope.