“Snack time is over. Haul out the books.” Lauren clapped her hands the next afternoon. Wyatt looked like he’d just brushed his teeth with vinegar. Drew had said Wyatt just needed her to be present, and that was what she’d been for the handful of times she’d stayed with him so far. But now she had a mission to help Wyatt improve his grades—whether he wanted help or not. “I printed out worksheets to help you with multiplication.”
“Those are for babies. I already know how to multiply.” Wyatt pressed the tips of his fingers against the cracker crumbs and licked them. “We learned it last year.”
“Good. Then you’ll get through these really quick.”
He let out the most pitiful sigh she’d ever heard. How did one motivate a ten-year-old boy to want to learn? Math was important. School was important.
“C’mon,” she said. “The sooner you get these done, the sooner we can get out of here.”
His eyes lit up, almost gold in color. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to my parents’ house.” She gestured to his backpack, and he grunted but took folders and books out of it. “Mom and Dad are cooking us lasagna.”
“I thought your dad died.”
“My birth father died. My birth mother, too. I’m taking you to meet my parents, the ones who raised me. They adopted me when I was seven. I think you’ll like them. They live on the other side of the lake.”
Wyatt clicked through a short piece of lead in his mechanical pencil until a new one worked its way down. As he opened a blue folder, Lauren took the seat next to him at the table.
“How did your mom die?” His freckles emphasized his innocent face. She wanted to kiss his forehead, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t her son. But this was the first time he’d asked anything of her beyond, “Why can’t I play another hour of ‘Minecraft’?” and “Please, can I have another brownie?” The urge to share her past with him pressed on her heart.
She didn’t want to burden him. Would talking about her messed-up past confuse him more?
She remembered when a girl in her third-grade class announced to everyone her parents had adopted a new brother for her. Part of Lauren had rejoiced the girl was so excited to have an adopted sibling, but the other part wanted to blend in with her classmates and hide the fact that she was adopted. Since the Pierces had moved to Lake Endwell when Lauren was in second grade, it wasn’t common knowledge she wasn’t their natural-born child. That day had made her feel less alone, knowing other kids got adopted, too. In fact, the other girl’s attitude had changed her view of herself, paving the way for her to accept the fact that her parents wanted her the same way her classmate wanted her new brother.
Telling Wyatt about her past might help him feel less alone, too.
With her elbow on the table, Lauren rested her cheek against her palm. “My mother died when I was two. She was a drug addict, and she died of an overdose.”
“Really?” Wyatt turned to face her, his feet dangling and kicking as if they couldn’t take being immobile on the floor. “My mom did drugs. But she didn’t die from them. She quit. It was Len who killed her.”
“Yeah, well, in a way drugs did kill your mom.”
“No, they didn’t.” His voice rose. “She went to rehab.”
“I know.” She gave him a tender smile. “I guess I meant when you get mixed up in drugs, you put yourself in a dangerous situation. If she wouldn’t have hung around people who liked that lifestyle, she wouldn’t have met Len.”
“I wish she’d never met him. It’s all his fault. I’m glad Dad tried to kill him. I wish he would have!” Two red spots blared from his cheeks. The outburst seemed to deflate him, though, and he laid his forehead against his arm on the table.
Her throat knotted. She lightly touched Wyatt’s hunched back, and when his slender frame shook with silent tears, she scooted closer, rubbing small circles between his shoulders. “I know. I know.”
She put her arm around him and pressed her cheek to his hair. He sat up with wet eyes and wiped the back of his sleeve across his face.
“You probably think I’m a big baby for crying.” His face couldn’t look more miserable.
“Why would I think that?”
“Men aren’t supposed to cry.”
“Says who? Jesus cried. When we’re sad, we cry. It’s healthy. Relieves the tension building up inside. If you don’t cry, the tension comes out in a bad way.”
“Like how?” He sniffed again.
“Well.” She looked at the ceiling briefly. “Some people get mad and yell at whoever is there for no reason. That’s not good. Or what about this? Sometimes when I’m sad, I don’t want to cry or feel bad, so I eat a bunch of cookies. Then I feel even worse!”
“I’d rather eat cookies than cry.”
She laughed. “I would, too. But even if you eat half a bag of cookies, the sadness is still there. You just have a stomachache, too.”
“Don’t tell Uncle Drew I cried.” His eyebrows dipped in a pleading manner.
She pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key.
“Why’d you do that?”
“It’s like zipping your lips and locking it.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how we kept promises back in my day.”
Wyatt pulled out a homework paper and stared at it a minute. Then he turned to her. “Did Jesus really cry?”
Lauren nodded, swiping her phone. She opened her favorite Bible app and typed in ‘Lazarus.’ When the passage came up, she showed it to him. “Right here. John 11:35, ‘Jesus wept.’”
“Why?”
She filled him in on how Jesus’s friend Lazarus had died, and Jesus went to comfort the man’s sisters, Mary and Martha. “Then Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.”
“That’s pretty cool.” Wyatt flicked his pencil against the edge of the table.
“Listen, Wyatt.” She needed to proceed with caution here. What she wanted to say was important, but Wyatt might not take it very well. “I totally get why you hate Len and wish he was dead. But the anger inside you doesn’t hurt Len. It only hurts you.”
“I hate him,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll always hate him.”
“When you’re ready, when hating him feels too heavy, pray for him. That’s all. Give your anger to God.”
“I’m not praying for him. Ever.”
She held her hands up near her chest. “Okay. That’s your choice. Forgiveness has a way of giving a person peace, though.”
“He killed my mom.” It sounded less adamant than his previous declaration.
“Yep, he did, and he’s being punished for it.”
“Forgiving him is like saying what he did doesn’t matter, like it was okay for him to kill her. It’s not okay.”
Oh, how well she understood his thinking. Life would be so much easier if the people she’d needed to forgive had acknowledged they’d hurt her. The thought of forgiving them had felt like it would be giving them a free pass to treat her terribly.
“Forgiveness is a tricky thing. It’s not about acting as if the person didn’t hurt you. It’s about moving on with your life and letting God be their judge. Some of the people you’ll forgive won’t even feel sorry for the things they’ve done to you.”
“That’s why I’m not forgiving. They have to at least say they’re sorry.”
“Forgiving someone who never apologizes is one of the most difficult things you’ll ever do.”
Wyatt blew out a breath. “I don’t think I can.”
“I understand. It’s hard. But it’s also the best thing you can do for yourself. Forgiving someone doesn’t erase the hurt, but it helps you move forward.” Lauren drew him into a half embrace. He didn’t pull away.
“Do I have to right now?”
She chuckled. “No, silly. When you’re ready, pray for God to help you with it.”
“What if I’m never ready?”
She’d thought the same thing many times. She’d forgiven a lot in her life, given her anger and pain to God the way she’d just advised Wyatt to, but… She frowned. She hadn’t gotten around to forgiving the people responsible for destroying Treyvon’s and Jay’s lives. How did one forgive nameless faces?
What about me? How can I sit here and preach to this kid when I haven’t spent two minutes in prayer about those boys other than to blame God for letting it happen?
“You will be ready.” And I will be, too. She patted his back. “Now, let’s get this homework figured out.”
* * *
A few hours later, Wyatt had finished his spelling homework, written a sloppy paragraph about insects and failed more than half the multiplication problems on the worksheet before they called it quits and drove to her folks’ house. Lauren sighed. She didn’t know how parents did it. How did they keep up with the emotional ups and downs, as well as schoolwork, activities and making sure the kids were fed, dressed and healthy? It was exhausting.
She sat with her mom on the deck overlooking the backyard. Wyatt and Lauren’s dad were attempting to fly a kite on the spacious lawn. So far it hadn’t flown more than four feet in the air, and they were currently untangling the line. Again.
“What time is it?” she asked her mom. Mom had turned sixty a month ago, but she didn’t look her age. Tonya Pierce had short brown hair and the kindest eyes Lauren had ever seen. She described herself as “fluffy,” but her cute turquoise capris and T-shirt hid her extra pounds.
“Almost seven, why?”
“I need to have Wyatt back to his house by eight. His dad, Chase, is calling him.” Lauren had to hand it to Chase; he called Wyatt two or three times a week. Drew kept a log of each phone call, too, for Chase’s lawyer. The log would help Chase reestablish his parental rights when he was released. Lauren wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The guy hadn’t put Wyatt’s needs first when he went on his revenge spree. Would he be the dad Wyatt needed when he was released?
“What do you think of him?” Mom crossed one ankle over the other.
“Chase? I don’t know. I haven’t met him. He’s good about calling Wyatt.” She hoped Chase was worthy of being Wyatt’s father. The boy had been through too much. He needed someone he could count on. A rock who wouldn’t budge.
Drew came to mind. For a rock, he was surprisingly flexible about many things. She’d been impressed he actually came to her for advice about the homework situation.
“Did you hear back from the woman in Chicago?”
“I talked to her this morning.” Lauren swirled the straw in her glass of iced tea. “I spent a few hours researching everything she told me, and honestly, Mom, I’m not sure if I should bother looking into it more. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
“Why not?”
“I would need a large building, permits, insurance and equipment. Add the uniforms, tournament fees and teachers’ salaries, and I don’t think it makes financial sense.”
“But she’s successful at running one, right?”
“Yes, but hers is in a suburb of Chicago. Lake Endwell isn’t big, and it’s a thirty-minute drive to Kalamazoo. I doubt I’d get enough students to make it worthwhile.”
Mom made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I see what you’re saying.”
Her dad let out a whoop as Wyatt jogged by holding the string, making the bird-shaped kite soar higher. She snapped a photo of him and texted it to Drew.
“Nice job, Wyatt,” Lauren yelled. He gave her a thumbs-up.
“He’s a cute kid.”
“He is.”
“I’m glad you’re taking care of him.”
“Yeah, well, it’s just for the summer. I need to figure out my long-term plans.”
“Oh, that reminds me. I found out some interesting news. The varsity cheer coach, Joanna Mills, is quitting.”
Lauren sipped her drink. “So?”
“So, you’d be perfect for the job.”
“I don’t think they pay much to cheerleading coaches.” Lauren pulled her hair to the side.
“I’ve got Joanna’s number. Give her a call. Find out what’s involved. It couldn’t hurt.”
It probably couldn’t. The cheer academy looked like a no go, and Lauren trusted her mom. She gave great advice and usually didn’t stick her nose into Lauren’s personal affairs.
“Give me the number. I’ll call.” Maybe this fit the old saying about one door closing and another opening. She doubted a cheerleading coach earned enough to support herself, but she could combine it with another part-time job if needed.
What about my future? Retirement? Fulfillment?
“You seem a little better lately, honey.” Mom had a knack for seeing right into her soul.
“I feel a little better.”
“Taking care of Wyatt is good for you.”
“For now. Hopefully I’m helping him.”
“You are. Look at him.” She hitched her chin toward the lawn. The kite had fallen, and Wyatt and Dad were winding the string again. “Resilient, considering all he’s been through. But you would know, too, wouldn’t you? You went through a lot of the same things.”
“Not everything. His dad loves him and wants a relationship with him.”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
Lauren laughed. “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing? I’m happy for him.”
“Good.”
They stared out at the pretty green lawn. The woods’ edge cast shadows in the distance, but the evening sunshine warmed Lauren’s arms.
“Haven’t seen you in church in a while.”
Lauren’s good mood darkened. “No, you haven’t.”
“Why don’t you join us Sunday? We’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been saying that for five months.”
“And you’ve been saying that for five months.”
“I care, Lauren. I care about you. I care about your soul. Don’t shut God out.”
Lauren sat up, rubbing her arms. “I’m not.”
“Then come with us.”
“Mom, I need to do this on my own terms. I’m not going to be guilted into going back to church. I don’t think God wants that. Doesn’t He want a cheerful giver?”
“Oh, Lauren…”
Thankfully, Mom dropped the topic. How could Lauren explain something she didn’t understand herself? Of all the cases she’d worked on, all the kids born into negligent, dangerous homes, Treyvon and Jay had affected her the most. And right when she’d been close to helping them, tragedy had struck. God could have stepped in, but He didn’t. And she still loved God, but she couldn’t quite trust Him.
Trust and love. Faith and hope.
All intertwined.
Without one, could she have the others?
And how could she keep talking to Wyatt about faith and forgiveness and God’s love when she’d been shutting God out for months? No matter how many sips of tea she took, Lauren was left with the taste of ashes.
* * *
Shaking the raindrops off his jacket, Drew hung his keys on the hook and nudged the front door shut behind him. Yawning, he tried to erase last night’s scene. The car wreck had been fatal. Gruesome. He went straight to the bathroom to wash his hands before hunting for Lauren. First stop, the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to make breakfast, Lauren.” He paused in the doorway at the welcome sight. A stack of French toast steamed from a plate, the coffeemaker gurgled and bacon sizzled from the frying pan.
“I know.” She smiled sweetly, spatula in hand. “But I made Wyatt French toast, so I figured you might want some, too.”
“I do.” Was his exhaustion playing tricks on him, or was she even more beautiful than before? Her hair flowed behind her, sending his previously comatose pulse into high gear. The house smelled delicious, all sugar and spice and everything nice.
Rain streamed down the windows. Lauren switched the light on over the table and set a platter loaded with bacon in the center. Drew poured two mugs of coffee as she took a seat.
“Mind if I say grace?” he asked. She bowed her head and folded her hands. He said the prayer, then sliced into his stack of French toast. He savored the light texture and maple syrup. “Mmm…delicious.”
“Glad you like them.” She beamed. “Did you put out any fires?”
“No, but Tony and I were sent on a nasty call last night.” A shudder rippled down his spine. The only good thing about the night? It had opened a crack in Tony’s granite-hard attitude about him. Tony had actually told him he’d done nice work out there. It was a start.
“That bad, huh?” Worry lines creased between her eyes.
“Yeah, it was.” Outside the station, he never discussed the fires, 911 calls or accidents he responded to, but that might be because he had no one to discuss them with. A glance at Lauren had him biting his tongue. He wouldn’t ruin her day with tales of twisted limbs and death.
“Was it the accident out on Ridge Road?” She took a drink of coffee, staring at him over the rim of her cup.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I get local news updates on Facebook. I was hoping you weren’t called to that one. It looked horrible.”
“It was.” He set his fork down for a moment, trying to push away the visions in his head, but they kept coming, making his blood pressure climb.
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t think so. You don’t want to hear it.”
“I can handle it.”
Could she? He doubted it. She obviously couldn’t handle all the bad things she’d witnessed in Chicago or she wouldn’t have quit to hide away here.
That must be his exhaustion talking. He didn’t think less of her for moving.
“It might help to talk about it.” Her gray eyes probed, saw too much.
“You first.” He bit into a piece of bacon, too tired to think straight. “What happened in Chicago?”
She suddenly grew very absorbed in the half-eaten food on her plate. With her fork, she pushed a bite deeper into the syrup pooling around her French toast. Seconds ticked by with only the sound of the rain coming down.
“See?” he said. “Talking about it doesn’t help.”
Her fork dropped with a clatter. “You’re wrong. I…I just wish…”
“What?” He lowered his tone, smoothing out the edge to it. “What do you wish?”
She pushed her chair back and turned away from him to look out the window. Nice going, Gannon. The woman had made him bacon—bacon!—so why was he picking on her? She was doing him the favor by taking care of Wyatt, and here he was, asking questions he knew she didn’t want to discuss.
He admired the graceful line of her neck as she continued to stare at the rivulets of water streaming down the glass. When the silence had stretched too long, he opened his mouth to apologize, but she started to speak.
“I worked for child welfare services in some of the rougher neighborhoods of Chicago, and I was used to hard cases. I mean, eight years of being surrounded by poverty coats you with Teflon. Sometimes I’d go home and wonder if I was getting burned-out. But then I’d remember why I got into the field, and I would keep going.”
He wanted to ask why she got into the field, but she continued. “Treyvon and Jay were brothers. Treyvon was fifteen. Jay was twelve. They lived in Englewood. I always dreaded cases from that part of town.”
When she didn’t say anything, he cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with Englewood?”
She jerked, meeting his eyes. “Poverty. Gangs. Drugs. Way back when I first moved to Chicago, I was assigned a case that brought me in contact with an elderly Englewood resident. From that point on, Mr. Bell watched out for me whenever I had to make home visits, which wasn’t very often. Regardless, I never went alone, always had a coworker go with me.”
Drew stopped chewing as her words sunk in. Home visits. Rough areas. She’d willingly put herself in dangerous situations. His chest felt tight. He hated that she’d been around criminals.
“In Jay’s situation, a teacher filed a report, and I was assigned his case. He’d been a model student, and one of the few kids in the class who showed up regularly. The teacher noticed he was absent more often and was distracted at school. She called his mother and realized his home situation had deteriorated. I conducted the routine interviews. He was a nice kid. Smart and polite. Treyvon was, too.”
Drew reached for his coffee, frowning as he processed more of the words. Like her use of the word was.
“Didn’t take long to find out his grandmother had been living with them and their drug-addicted mom. A few months prior to the teacher filing the report, the grandma had a stroke and was moved to a nursing home to recover. Jay’s life—and Treyvon’s—had dissolved into chaos. I’ll spare you the details of their situation, but neither had the clothing, food or supervision necessary. I was doing my best to work with their mother to create a healthy home situation until the grandmother could return home.”
“Wait.” He raised his hand. “They still lived with their mom even though she was on drugs? For how long?”
“I’d been working with them for about a month. I convinced her to get a family friend to live with them until the grandmother was released. The doctor’s reports were promising. Although her speech was slurred, her right side had regained enough mobility for her to walk with a walker. Their grandma was expected to be home within a few weeks.”
“But why let those boys stay there at all?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“We work with the children’s family to fix problems first as long as the kids aren’t in danger. Their mom agreed to ask her friend to stay, and that alone solved several of the issues. She also agreed to a treatment program.”
“I see.” He didn’t, though. Not really. Kids shouldn’t live around drugs.
“It’s next to impossible to place two adolescent boys into a foster home. Treyvon flat out told me he’d run away with Jay if they couldn’t stay together. They’d been well taken care of by their grandmother. My hope was when she returned, they would go back to their normal life.”
He took a drink of lukewarm coffee, dreading the way the story was heading.
“Long story short, the grandmother got pneumonia and died unexpectedly. The family friend moved out. I had two weeks to place both kids in foster homes. I tried so hard to keep them together. I called everyone on my list.”
“You couldn’t help it if they had to be separated.”
Her eyes, silver with unshed tears, met his. “They didn’t have time to be separated. Jay was shot in a drive-by. Gunned down on a sidewalk. Twelve. A boy his age shouldn’t be outside at one in the morning, and especially not in that neighborhood. I know he was looking for Treyvon.”
Drew pushed his plate back, no longer hungry. “Where was Treyvon?”
“Robbing a mini-mart. One of the local gangs recruited him. That’s exactly what I worried about when he told me he would run away. The odds of escaping gang life when you have nowhere to go and aren’t old enough to have a job aren’t good.”
Drew sucked in a breath. He felt bad about the kids, but Lauren worked in gang areas? How much danger had she been in all those years? Unwanted scenarios, all bad, popped up in his head, but he shook them away.
“So Jay—did he make it?” He reached over, covering her hand on the table with his. She didn’t pull it away, which he took as a good sign.
“He died near a vacant lot two blocks from his house.” Her flat tone worried him. “And Treyvon’s in a juvenile detention center until he’s of age.”
“I’m sorry, Lauren.” He stood and pulled her into his arms, inhaling the coconut smell of her shampoo as her head leaned against his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his waist. Having her in his arms felt right even if it was only to comfort her.
She took a slight step back, but he kept his arms around her.
“I should have gotten them out of there sooner. I failed them, Drew. They were good kids. They tried hard to rise above their situation, and I was their liaison. I was supposed to help them, and both their lives are ruined because of me.”
Tipping her chin up with his finger, he looked her in the eyes. “Hey, it’s not your fault. How were you supposed to know their grandmother would die? Or Treyvon would join a gang?”
“I knew the signs. Kids in that neighborhood were always being pressured to join one of the local gangs. All the gang members had to do was threaten to hurt one of their loved ones…” She shivered. “Jay and Treyvon were acting secretive when I met with them those final two weeks. I told myself they were sad about their grandmother. That they were worried about what would happen to them. I should have put two and two together.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Lauren.”
She slipped out of his grasp, rubbing her biceps, and faced the window. “It’s hard. I saw so much potential in Jay. When I think of him shot down—he was just a boy. I made him promises I didn’t keep.”
“Didn’t or couldn’t? There’s a difference, you know.” Drew put his hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at him, her expression pleading for something—redemption maybe—but she turned, picked up her mug and padded to the kitchen. He followed her. She shut the microwave door and jabbed the buttons until the machine whirred to life.
“What does it matter now? He’s dead. Another bright light in this world snuffed out. I thought I could make a difference…” She leaned against the counter.
“You did make a difference.”
“Now who’s lying?” She let out a brittle laugh and ran her fingers through her hair. “Never mind. I should get going.”
“Your coffee hasn’t finished warming up.”
“I’m not thirsty anymore.”
She grabbed her purse, but Drew held on to her arm. He should let her leave, but everything inside him screamed to make her stay. “Wait. Don’t you want to hear about the accident last night?”
She shook her head. “You were right. I can’t handle it.”
And she left.
Drew stared at the closed door. She’d handled far worse than he did. He was a first responder, detached from the personal lives of the victims he helped. He didn’t blame her for quitting, but why had she stayed with it for all those years to begin with?
Was it selfish to be relieved she was no longer a social worker? Too dangerous. When he thought of her walking through gang areas, making visits to drug addicts’ homes…he wanted to lock her up and keep her from ever being in danger again. She was sunshine, a bright light to protect and cherish.
But she wasn’t his.
At least she wasn’t in Chicago anymore. He liked her right here in sleepy Lake Endwell.
He just hoped he hadn’t pushed her too far.
* * *
Lauren’s windshield wipers swiped angrily as she drove away from Drew’s. Gripping the steering wheel, her hands trembled.
Don’t think. Just go.
When life got to be too much, she would drive to a secluded area several miles out of town. On warm days, she’d stroll along the path next to the river. On rainy days like today, she’d sit in her car and soak in the view of the trees and river for as long as possible. The place soothed her in a way she couldn’t explain. She’d missed this spot when she lived in Chicago.
As soon as she drove into the deserted parking lot, her tension lowered a bit. She flexed her hands open and shut a few times and forced her jaw to relax. Even through the rain, the bright green leaves on the trees looked supple and new.
Drew was right. She should have found Treyvon and Jay foster homes from the start.
But their situation had been so tricky. She’d been sure their grandmother would come home. Treyvon had been adamant about not getting separated from Jay. And their mother had agreed to drug counseling. Lauren had convinced her to get another responsible adult in the household. The woman had complied.
How had it gone so wrong?
Why, Lord? Why did it have to happen that way? Why did You let it happen?
The ping of rain against the roof was the only answer.
Her chest felt as if it were being squeezed by a giant clamp. She choked back threatening tears, refusing to give in to the hopelessness that wouldn’t subside.
Her phone dinged. She glanced at it. Drew texted, Are you okay?
No, she was not okay. She might never be okay.
Jesus wept. She could hear her voice saying those words to Wyatt.
She was the world’s biggest hypocrite. Always had an answer for everyone else but didn’t take her own advice.
Okay, God. I told Wyatt to give his anger to You. But I haven’t given mine up. I’m clinging to it, and I don’t know why.
Because like Wyatt had said, forgiveness seemed like a free pass. Like what happened didn’t matter.
Lord, help me release my anger. I want to stop being angry with You. With me. Even with Treyvon. I don’t know how. I can’t make any sense of why Jay died. Why? Why did it have to end so badly?
An old Bible verse came to mind, something about God working all things out for the good of those who loved Him.
She typed in her Bible app. But before the results showed up, she closed her eyes. Could she really believe God worked all things out for good? Even the horrible, sinful, evil things?
She didn’t want bad things worked out for good. She wanted them good to begin with. Shouldn’t Wyatt be living with his father? Shouldn’t Jay and Treyvon’s grandmother have lived? Shouldn’t both boys still be going to school?
She closed the app and tossed her phone in her purse.
The anger she’d work on, but she wasn’t ready to forgive. Not God, not the shooters, not the gang members, not Treyvon. Not even herself.
She might never be ready.