“WOW,” HAILEY SAID as she pulled up in front of the large Victorian house. “Is this where you live? You must be rich.”
Despite the seriousness of tonight’s situation, Chelsea laughed at that. “Librarians don’t make enough to afford all this. I rent one very small apartment in the house.”
“If she owned the whole thing we wouldn’t be having to stay with Mr. Mannion,” Hannah pointed out, a bit more sharply than the comforting way Chelsea had always heard her talk to her sister, revealing that she was under even more stress than usual. As bad as things had gotten in her family once Annabelle had gotten sick, Chelsea had never had to carry all her possessions in a heavy-duty Glad bag. She could, however, relate, in a way. Back when she’d essentially been taking care of both herself and her mother, if anyone had tried to put her in a foster home, she might well have taken the ferry to Seattle and lived on the street with the runaway kids she’d seen in a television documentary.
Not wanting to leave the children alone in the car, even for the few minutes it would take her to toss a few necessities into an overnight bag, she brought them both inside, well aware of how exhausted they must be by now. As bad as things admittedly were, at least they’d soon be settled into that palatial mansion everyone, in the understated way of Pacific Northwesterners, referred to as a cabin.
She’d just entered when Mrs. Moore popped out of her door. The very same woman who Gabe had made giggle like a young girl, swept a stern, hard look over these girls. “Have you forgotten that I have a strict ‘no children’ rule, Chelsea?” she asked.
“They’re only going to be with me a few minutes,” she said. “I’m packing a bag, then we’ll be on our way.”
“Well, then.” She huffed out a breath. Then wagged her finger. “Just see that it doesn’t turn into an overnight visit.”
“That’s against the law,” Hannah said.
“What did you just say?” Her landlady’s mouth gaped open like a hooked steelhead trout and her eyes turned googly in obvious surprise at being talked back to by one of those children she apparently didn’t like. At all.
“I said,” Hannah repeated, biting off each word, “that the Fair Housing Act prohibits a landlord from refusing to rent to people with children. If Police Chief Mannion knew what you were doing he could arrest you and have a judge fine you a lot of money. Maybe even put you in jail.”
“Well,” Mrs. Moore huffed, her face turning as red as a boiled Dungeness crab. “I never.” This time her stern look was directed at Chelsea. “You need to speak to that child about her smart mouth.”
“She was merely stating a fact,” Chelsea said. “But it’s a moot point because, as I told you, we’re only going to be here for a few minutes.” Wanting to end this confrontation before it escalated, Chelsea ushered the girls upstairs and into her apartment and, although she had an impulse to slam the door, firmly closed it behind her.
“She’s a real bitch,” Hannah said.
“A bitch,” Hailey echoed loyally, though Chelsea suspected she had no idea what she was talking about. That she adored her older sister was obvious. The fact that the feeling was returned was, as well.
“She was unpleasant,” Chelsea allowed. “But that’s an impolite word I’d rather none of us use.”
“Okay,” Hannah muttered. But Chelsea knew she was still thinking it. She wasn’t alone.
It didn’t take long to throw a few clothes and toiletries into a bag and they were back in the car in under ten minutes. As they passed by her landlady’s apartment, Chelsea noticed that the door was opened a crack in order to make sure they left, and decided that once this situation was settled, as much as she loved her cozy little apartment in the beautiful landmark building, she was definitely going to move.
Unsurprisingly, Hailey fell asleep in the booster seat Chelsea had bought after that first day driving the children two blocks to what, until tonight, had been their foster home.
“I’m very proud of you,” Chelsea told Hannah as they headed out of town.
“Why? For nearly burning down the house?”
“Captain Farraday told you that it was the wiring. It could have happened to anyone. No, I’m talking about how well you handled things and what a strong support you are for your sister.”
“I’ll bet you weren’t proud when I called that old lady a bitch.”
Chelsea shrugged. “It’s not a nice word, and you do need to set a good example for Hailey, who’s going to copy everything you do because she looks up to you, but I can’t argue the sentiment. No, I was talking about how you argued with Mrs. Moore about the law.”
“You’re the one who said it was illegal.”
“True. But when I was your age, I never would’ve had the nerve to speak up.”
Dark had finally fallen, their’s was the only car on the road, and when a light night rain began to fall on the windshield, it added to the intimacy of the moment. “I told you my sister died.”
“Yeah. That sucks. I’d want to die if I lost Hailey. We’ve been all each other have had most of her life.”
“I know. Aiden told me.”
“How did he know?”
“I had him look you girls up after I took you home that first afternoon.”
She could feel the sharp look directed her way. “Because you wanted to see if we were kids like the ones who end up in juvie? Were you afraid we’d steal something from the library?”
“No. I was worried about you and when you didn’t seem to have anyone looking after you, I asked him for information. Granted, that was a violation of your privacy—”
“You think? I’ll bet he could get in trouble for that.”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure. I suspect checking on calls about concern for children’s safety falls under his jurisdiction. But here’s the thing, I just want you to know that I sort of understand. Because, whatever happens, whatever foster home you and Hailey might be moved to, from now on, you’ll always be in my life.”
“I’ve heard that before.” There was a lot of pain underlying the cynicism.
“I’m sure you have. I’m certain a lot of adults have failed you. But they weren’t me... My sister was sick for three years. From the time she was two until she was Hailey’s age. It was hard on my entire family. Her last summer, my parents sent me to a camp at Mirror Lake. I realize they were trying to protect me, but it only made things worse.”
“Because they separated you.”
“Exactly. So, that’s only one reason I totally get where you’re coming from, and believe me when I say that will not happen.”
“Like you could stop it.”
“Yes. I could.” Of this, Chelsea was perfectly sure. “And I will, if it comes to that. I’ve no idea how, but it’s not going to happen. So, that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about anymore.”
“Okay.” This time her voice sounded small. And near tears, reminding Chelsea that although Hannah might appear tough as nails, she was still just a child, trying to do the best in an impossibly difficult situation.
“Anyway, my sister, Annabelle, passed away shortly after I got home from camp. I hadn’t wanted to go and it took a lot of years before I could forgive my parents for causing me to miss her final weeks. But I held my anger in because they’d already been through so much and the three years had taken a terrible toll on our family. Annabelle’s death was like the final blow.”
“Mom and Dad’s death was the start of ours.”
“So, you had a good life until then?” Chelsea had been afraid to ask.
“Yeah, it seemed great. Up until Dad slept around with the mom of a girl on my soccer team.”
Ouch. She hadn’t seen that coming. “You were young,” she tried to smooth things over. “Perhaps you misunderstood.”
“They started drinking a lot and I’d hear them fighting through the wall to their bedroom. I started putting my earbuds in to try to shut them out. Then Dad got into a fight with the other girl’s dad. Right there on the soccer field. We were playing a team over at the coast for the divisional semifinals. I was so embarrassed I thought I was going to die.”
There was a long pause, the only sound the hiss of tires on wet asphalt and the swish of the wipers. “Mom was yelling at him on the way home. He was yelling back that she was so busy with us kids she fell asleep as soon as she went to bed every night, so it wasn’t his fault he had to go somewhere else to find comfort.”
Suspecting that was a direct quote that had deeply embedded itself in a little girl’s memory, Chelsea felt her eyes welling up.
“I’m sorry.” And wasn’t that both the truth and an understatement? And undoubtedly did nothing to ease Hannah’s still-fresh pain.
“Yeah.” She sighed heavily. Swiped at her own eyes with the back of her hands. “Me, too.” Without saying a word, Chelsea reached into the console and took out a small pack of tissues and handed them back between the seats.
“Thanks.” She blew her nose. Chelsea was so in over her head here. Why had she started this conversation? She wasn’t a professional therapist, which both girls, but especially Hannah, undoubtedly needed. Another thing she added to her to-do list.
“They were fighting when a deer ran in front of them. Dad tried to miss it and drove over the cliff. It was raining...like tonight. When the car finally stopped rolling over, I realized that Hailey and I were all alone and it was up to me to take care of her from then on.”
“For someone who was so young, you’ve done a remarkable job. If I’d met Hailey any other way, I never would have realized all you two have been through.”
“Thanks.” Again the voice was small and choked with tears.
“I like to think that I’d have done everything I could for Annabelle. But I don’t believe I’d be as strong fighting the bureaucracy. I took a psychology course in college, where they determined personality types from our answers to a questionnaire. I turned out to be a friendly helper type, which, according to whoever created the test, essentially meant that the more stressful things get, the friendlier I get, trying to smooth things over.”
What she didn’t say was that the negative part of that personality was those times when helpfulness had come from an underlying central fear of worthlessness.
Obviously her own father hadn’t found her worth staying around for. He’d walked away from the rubble of his marriage and shattered family and began a new life, with a new wife and children in California, where his sun-filled days were the exact opposite of Washington’s gray skies and rain. He still didn’t remember her damn birthday.
She understood her mother’s pain. Within a few short months, she’d not only lost a daughter, but her husband. Which would have been bad enough if it had been in an accident. Like driving over a cliff. But by the time of his desertion, she’d been worn down to a fragile shell of the pretty, laughing woman she once was.
And, although Chelsea had tried and tried to make up for that loss, she hadn’t been enough to keep her mother from spiraling down until she’d finally overdosed on alcohol and pills. The medical examiner had declared the death accidental, but even if it had been, Chelsea had always viewed it as a slow, years-long suicide.
She shook off the pain that was always lying beneath the surface, something rising up like a troll from beneath a bridge, reminding her that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she’d never be nice enough, good enough, worth enough. Having gone through therapy, she understood that her insecurities were illogical. Yet, emotions were, by their very nature, often illogical. She could tell herself all day long that she shared a personality type with Alan Alda and Bishop Desmond Tutu, but the other side of that coin was Gone with the Wind’s mealymouthed, overly self-sacrificing Melanie.
Hannah had fallen silent. When she seemed to be taking a very long time to respond to something Chelsea had never shared with anyone, she looked into the rearview mirror and found that she, too, had fallen asleep.