IRENE ARCHER, Sophie’s attorney, stood and called as her first witness Ruby Murphy.
Ruby walked straight-backed to the front of the courtroom and took the stand with an air of long sufferance. She never glanced at Sophie but focused her gaze on Irene and kept it there. “If I might just ask you a few questions, Mrs. Owens.”
Ruby nodded. “Yes.”
“Sophie Angle Owens is your niece. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Sophie is my niece.”
“And Sophie came to live with you at what age?”
“She was eight.”
“And why was that?”
“Her parents were killed.”
“And how were they related to you?”
“Sophie’s mother was my sister.”
“Did Sophie have any siblings?”
“One. Jenny. She was killed with her parents.”
The words pinged at the cap Sophie had long ago placed on memories of her family. She never let herself think of them. It was as if they had belonged to someone else’s life. A sharp sense of loss cut through her now. A scorching rush of pain left in its wake blisters of regret and a sharply etched memory of her mother standing at the kitchen sink. Singing as she worked, throwing smiles at Sophie where she sat at the kitchen table stringing green beans from their summer garden.
“And you were Sophie’s only remaining family?”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell us, please, what kind of child Sophie was?”
“Quiet. She usually preferred books to our company.”
To Sophie’s ears, the disapproval rang out clearly, even though her aunt’s words were delivered with a half smile.
“Dr. Owens endured a great deal of loss early in her life, then?”
“Yes, I suppose she did.”
Again, Sophie heard the grudging acknowledgment in the admission, tempered as it was with the tone she remembered too well. This world’s not an easy place, Sophie. Don’t think you’re the only one with a cross to bear.
Such words were the closest Ruby had ever come to consoling Sophie over the loss of her parents and sister. And when Uncle Roy—undemonstrative as he was—might have put a reassuring hand to her shoulder, it was always pulled back at Ruby’s quick criticism. “She doesn’t need your babying, Roy. What she needs is to quit feeling sorry for herself.”
Ruby cleared her throat now and continued. “As a child, Sophie said she never wanted to be a mother.”
Irene glanced up from her notepad, clearly surprised by the comment. “And why was that?” she asked carefully.
“Before her death, Sophie’s mother, Sarah, was not the most—” Ruby paused, looking as if she were searching for a palatable word. “Consistent mother.”
To Sophie, the statement was baldly mocking. Again said with a soft auntlike smile, but it was impossible to miss the edge beneath. Irene frowned, piercing her witness with a dagger glare. “And your point, Mrs. Owens?”
“My point is that, surprisingly, Sophie did decide to be a mother. And I’m glad that Sarah’s lack of mothering skills didn’t carry over to her daughter. I tried very hard to be a good role model for her.”
Sophie swallowed, pinching the palm of her left hand until the pain distracted her from the hurt that exploded inside her. This, then, was why her aunt had agreed to come here today. How could Sophie have been such a fool? Had she thought anything had changed? That Ruby might have softened her heart for the niece she had never wanted? Whose presence she’d resented every day of Sophie’s life in her house?
All these years, she must have hoped for a way to pay Sophie back for what she considered her lack of gratitude for giving her a place to live. Sophie could not call it a home, because to her, it had never been one.
“That will be all, Mrs. Owens,” Irene said, her expression blank.
Ruby made her way back to her seat without once looking in Sophie’s direction. She heard Irene call her name, stood and made her way to the stand as if pulled by invisible strings. She answered all of the basic questions—name, place of birth, age, occupation. Numbness had removed the life from her voice, and she heard the robotlike lack of emotion in her responses. Irene’s steady gaze held its own silent message: forget what you’ve just heard and speak from your heart.
Sophie put her thoughts on Grace, blanked from her mind Ruby’s painful vitriol.
“Tell us about your daughter,” Irene said.
Sophie pressed her lips together, and then said, “I used to imagine what it would be like to have a child. And I think a lot of what I expected is actually true. But there were so many things I had no way of knowing. How wonderful it is to hear ‘I love you, Mommy,’ every night when I put her to bed. How amazing it is to see her gently pick up a moth from the sidewalk and put it under a bush where she thinks it will be safe. How rewarding it is to see her learning how to do things, swim, climb the ladder to her playhouse. With Grace, I feel like I’ve been given a chance to see the world with new eyes. She has been an incredible blessing to me.”
“I have one question for you, Dr. Owens,” Irene said. “Could you please tell this court why you think Grace should remain in your custody?”
It was a question with no easy answer. Sophie glanced down at her intertwined hands and then lifted her gaze to the center of the room. “I did not give birth to my daughter. But I’m the person she asks to blow on her boo-boos, the one she asks to hold her when she’s tired. I’m the one who knows she likes her toast cut in triangles instead of rectangles, that she likes grape jelly but not strawberry. I know she can’t go to sleep at night without the scrap of a blanket she calls Blanky. These are the things that make up her world. I did not give birth to her, but I am the only mother she has ever known, and while I understand Mr. Tucker’s rethinking of his decision to give her up for adoption, I believe with all my heart that Grace should remain with me.”
Irene nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Owens.”
“You may step down, Dr. Owens,” Judge Hartley said.
Sophie returned to her seat and clasped her shaking hands in her lap.
“We will adjourn for lunch and reconvene at two o’clock.” Judge Hartley stood then and left the room.
Sophie glanced over her shoulder. Her aunt and uncle had already gone. Of course they had not waited for her.
IRENE TOOK HER to a little place near the courthouse where most of the attorneys ate lunch. Sophie ordered a salad, which she didn’t eat. Irene ordered a sandwich and did equally poor justice to it.
Sophie didn’t need to ask to know she was worried.
THEY RETURNED to the courthouse at a quarter to two. The fifteen minutes before the judge returned to the courtroom seemed like fifteen days.
Sophie sat straight in her chair, as if by forcing herself rigid, she might prevent her world from toppling.
A door opened. Judge Hartley swept into the room. Everyone stood.
She indicated that they should sit, her expression grave. “It is this kind of case that makes my job as a judge at times less than ideal. There is nothing black and white here. Many lives are involved that will be damaged in some way by the action of this court. It is my sincerest desire to minimize that damage to the extent that I possibly can. With that in mind, I am going to postpone further testimony and take a less than traditional approach to this very complicated situation.”
Sophie dug her nails into the palm of her hand, praying the same prayer she had been repeating over and over all morning. Please, dear God. Please don’t take her from me.
“Clearly, there will be no winners here,” Judge Hartley said. “I should hope both you, Dr. Owens, and you, Mr. Tucker, realize that. I would therefore like to put the weight of this problem on the two of you. I am convinced that Mr. Tucker’s decision to put the child up for adoption was made during a period of overwhelming grief, and I am also convinced that Dr. Owens has been a loving mother to Grace Owens, despite the somewhat regrettable testimony of her aunt.”
The judge was silent for a moment, before saying, “I am assigning a period of time during which Mr. Tucker will be given visits with Grace. These visits should occur once per week for no less than two days per visit. We will follow this schedule for sixty days and then reconvene here in this courtroom at which time I would like to hear what both of you feel is in the best interest of this child.”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, not sure whether she should cry or breathe a sigh of relief.
WITH THE JUDGE’S FINAL words, Amanda Donovan mouthed a quiet, pleased, “Yes.” She put a hand on Caleb’s arm and gave it a firm squeeze.
For Caleb, each of these things barely registered.
He should be pleased. This was a step toward fixing the mistake he’d made. And yet there was no pleasure in the moment.
He let himself look at Sophie Owens then. She sat straight in the chair but with her head tipped forward, one hand latched to the heavy wood table in front of her, as if without that anchor she might capsize.
Her attorney bent toward her, speaking quietly, the palm of one hand at the center of her client’s back.
He stood then, the back of his chair banging the divider wall behind him.
“Caleb. Are you all right?” Amanda asked.
“I have to go,” he said.
“I’ll call you.” Her words reached him halfway down the room’s center aisle.
Caleb cleared the courtroom in a few lengthy strides. His mother called out to him, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t face her now.
The elevator doors were open, and he bolted across the hall, jumping inside.
At the back of the elevator stood Sophie’s aunt and uncle.
The aunt smiled at him as if they had just completed some successful joint venture. She looked as if she might pull a bottle of champagne from her oversize purse and pop the cork right there.
“Congratulations, Mr. Tucker,” she said.
Something in her voice stuck to his skin like honey, sickeningly sweet. “I don’t think there were any winners here today, ma’am.”
Her penciled-in eyebrows lifted. “Really? My guess is that you’ll end up with the child. You got what you came for, didn’t you?”
Caleb let his gaze settle fully on her then. It was impossible to miss the satisfaction in those chilly eyes. The uncle standing next to her cleared his throat, shifted from one booted foot to the other. Clearly, Ruby Owens’s intent on that stand this morning had been to settle a score. “I might ask the same of you, Mrs. Owens.”
The elevator stopped two floors from ground level, the doors sliding open. A man in a suit stepped inside.
Caleb got out and took the stairs.
SOPHIE MADE HER WAY to the parking lot as if she were on autopilot, hardly aware of the steps that led her there. Her car sat in the far corner of the lot. A minivan backed out of a space several yards ahead and pulled toward her.
Uncle Roy and Aunt Ruby. Sophie raised a hand and asked them to stop. Roy did so, lowering the driver’s-side window, not quite meeting her eyes.
She stared at them for a moment, and then said, “You must hate me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ruby said, leaning across the seat, her lips a thin line of disapproval.
She shook her head. “How else could you have done that?”
“I simply told the truth.”
“You wanted them to believe I don’t have what it takes to be a good mother.”
“You chose to believe what you wanted, Sophie. Regardless of anything I said.”
“I feel sorry for you, Ruby. That you’ve carried that around all these years.”
“You always saw everything as being about you.”
Sophie gasped with the unfairness of the accusation. She had been a child in Ruby’s house. A child who had lost both parents and a sister.
Roy started to say something, stopped as if thinking better of it, then spoke. “Be quiet, Ruby. I think you’ve done enough damage for one day.” He glanced at Sophie. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes held the truth of that, and in his voice, she heard apology, not only for this day, but for the whole thing. For the first time, Sophie realized that Roy did not feel the same as Ruby. Maybe his going along with her had been about keeping peace in a life that was anything but peaceful.
She wished that he could have been different. That he had stood up to Ruby a long time ago. But he hadn’t. And would probably pay dearly for the stance he had taken just now.
He nodded once, raised the window and drove away.
SOPHIE LET HERSELF into the house, dropping her keys on the foyer table. Darcy came down from upstairs. “You’re back,” she said. “Grace is asleep. I just put her down a few minutes ago….” She stopped there, her voice trailing off.
Sophie met her friend’s concerned gaze.
“Oh, Sophie,” Darcy said, shaking her head.
With those two words, Sophie began to cry.
Darcy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. “No,” she said. “No.”
They stood there, holding one another up while anguish gripped them both, and Sophie tried to imagine how she would ever get through this.
THE FRIDAY MORNING marking the beginning of Judge Hartley’s custody assignment arrived, weighted with a sky of heavy gray clouds.
Sophie had tried to explain to Grace, days ago, what was going to happen, that she would be spending some time with the man who belonged to Noah. She had been excited about that part at first, but now that the morning had arrived, she was subdued, not eating her breakfast, clinging to Sophie’s side, as if afraid to let her out of her sight. She clutched Blanky in one hand and had started sucking her thumb, a comfort ritual she had given up at least a year before.
Sophie tried to act normal, sound normal, going about their morning routine as if nothing extraordinary were about to happen. But she heard the difference in her own voice, a note of fear that she hid from Grace no better than she hid it from herself. Finally, she picked Grace up, went into the living room and sat in the rocker by the window, holding the child close against her. Lily lay down on the floor beside them, not taking her eyes off Grace. They sat that way, until the sound of a car turning into the driveway made Sophie stiffen. She kissed Grace’s forehead and said, “There’s something I want you to remember no matter what. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you. Nothing is going to change that. Promise me you’ll remember that?”
“I don’t want to go, Mama.”
Sophie smoothed a piece of Grace’s blond hair from her face. “Everything is going to be all right. Just different. We’ll make this work, okay?”
“Mama, don’t make me go,” Grace said, her voice rising. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Oh, baby.” Sophie’s own voice broke. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the best little girl I could ever have hoped for.”
“Then why do I have to go away?”
On Grace’s face, Sophie saw hurt and confusion. How could she make her daughter understand that this wasn’t punishment? When that was exactly what it felt like?
She went to the door with Grace’s arms wrapped around her neck, her legs around her waist, face tucked against Sophie’s chest. The little girl sobbed as if her heart had broken in half.
Sophie prayed for strength, prayed for her knees not to buckle beneath the pull of her own grief.
She opened the door. A small-framed woman in khaki pants and a navy blazer greeted her with the solemnity of someone who deeply regretted what she was about to do.
“Good morning. I’m Carey Jones,” she said. “I’ll be taking Grace to Mr. Tucker’s house.”
“Her things are here in this bag. And please make sure she has her blanket.” Sophie’s voice was ragged as she added, “She can’t sleep without it.”
“I’ll make sure.”
Sophie hugged her daughter as tightly as she dared, wanting every ounce of her love to go with her out that door, carry her through these next two days.
The woman waited, and then said quietly, “May I take her now, Dr. Owens?”
Sophie pressed her face against Grace’s hair, squeezing the child hard against her. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she didn’t bother to try and stop them now. She kissed Grace’s forehead and said, “Be a good girl, okay?”
Grace clung tighter, her sobs heavy and heart wrenching.
Mrs. Jones reached for her, and Sophie had to pry Grace’s hands from her shoulders, telling her everything was going to be all right.
The social worker took her quickly, reaching for the suitcase and then hurrying down the sidewalk to the car.
Grace screamed, arching her back against the woman’s arm. “Mama! Maaa-maaaa!”
The sound put a permanent crack in Sophie’s heart, the pain so real it took the breath from her. Lily ran back and forth in the foyer, whining.
The woman put Grace in the car seat, then got in the front and started the engine.
Sophie stood at the door, one hand covering her mouth, not sure how she would live through the next moment.
Mrs. Jones backed out of the driveway, and still Sophie could hear Grace’s wail.
The car disappeared down the street. Sophie closed the door, dropped to her knees and wept.