Chapter Twenty-eight
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I spend the next week racing to the hospital every afternoon following my last homebound session. I don’t care what the social worker said, I’m going to spend every last minute with this baby. Each time I touch her silky black curls or rub her downy skin, I pray these tender moments will somehow take root in her memory and trail her for a lifetime.
Nurse LaDonna sidles up to the reclining chair and bends down to take the baby from me. “Kirsten Schertzing just called. She’d like you to call her before five o’clock.”
My heart soars. Maybe Ms. Robinson changed her mind! Or maybe the court denied her custody!
I race down the hall to a bench in front of a window that overlooks the city, the only place in the hospital that has decent cell phone reception. Austin is mine, I feel it. But didn’t I also feel pregnant? And that Brad was the man of my dreams?
“Kirsten,” I say, gripping the phone. “It’s Brett Bohlinger. What’s going on? I’m here at the hospital now. I can come down to your office—”
“No. That’s not necessary. I’ve just received information about the custody hearing. It’s scheduled for tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Judge Garcia at Cook County Courthouse will be presiding.”
I let out a breath. “Nothing’s changed?”
“Nada. Tia Robinson is back in town now. Short of a miracle, she’ll leave the courtroom tomorrow with custody of her granddaughter.”
I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming, and tears flood my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Brett. I just wanted you to know in case you’re still determined to contest it.”
I manage a thank you and punch off the phone. An elderly patient teeters down the hall, wheeling his IV pole alongside him.
“Bad prognosis?” he asks when he passes in front of me and sees the tears streaming down my cheeks.
I nod, unable to utter the word terminal .
W hen I return to the neonatal unit, Jean Anderson sits on a sofa in the reception area, holding a bright pink package on her lap. She startles when she sees me.
“Well, well,” she says, pulling herself to her feet. “Look what the cat drug in.” She thrusts the pink present at me. “From the women at Joshua House.”
I take the gift, but I don’t trust my voice to speak.
She narrows her gaze. “You all right?”
“Sanquita’s mother is taking the baby.”
She scowls. “But Sanquita wanted you to keep the baby. She told me.”
“There’s a hearing tomorrow morning with Judge Garcia. The woman is crazy, Jean. I’m so scared for Austin. Can you come tomorrow? Can you tell the judge what Sanquita told you?”
She huffs. “And waste my time?” She lets loose a cruel cackle. “It doesn’t matter what Sanquita told me. It’s all hearsay. We don’t have a lick of proof. And because of that, grandmother trumps the schoolteacher, crazy or not.”
I stare at her. “Then we’ve got to convince Judge Garcia it’s in Austin’s best interests for me to adopt her. We’ll tell him how Sanquita didn’t want her child to live in Detroit, and how…” My voice trails off when I see Jean shaking her head.
“You think everybody plays by the rules, don’t you? You think if you smile real pretty and tell that judge the truth, he’ll see things your way.” Her eyes narrow, and she breathes heavily. “No. I’m afraid the truth won’t set you free this time.”
I break into tears.
“Look at me.” She grips my arms so tightly they hurt. “Those crocodile tears probably worked wonders all your life, but they’re not going to help you get that baby, you hear? If you want that child, you fight for her. Play hardball, don’t you know?”
I sniff and wipe my eyes. “I will. Of course I will.”
I’d love to play hardball. But the only equipment I’ve got is a plastic bat and a Nerf ball.
P ainted the shade of a cardboard box, Cook County’s musty old courtroom looks as lonesome and forsaken as I feel. Six empty rows of pine pews, separated by a center aisle, face the judge’s bench and witness stand. To the right of the witness stand, the chairs reserved for jurors sit vacant today. This is a bench trial. Judge Garcia will decide this case.
Brad reviews his notes and I glance at the table to our right. Huddled together, Tia Robinson and her court-appointed attorney, Mr. Croft, speak in hushed tones. I look behind me at the empty pews. Nobody cares about this trial. Not even Miss Jean.
At precisely eight o’clock, Judge Garcia takes his place on the bench and calls the court to order. We learn that Ms. Robinson will not be testifying today. I’m no attorney, but even I know it’s too risky to put that woman on the witness stand. Besides, it’s an open-and-shut case. She has nothing to gain by testifying.
Suddenly I’m being called to the witness stand. I’m sworn in and Brad asks me to state my name and my relation to Sanquita Bell. I take a deep breath and make myself believe everything hinges on this testimony, that the case hasn’t already been decided.
“I’m Brett Bohlinger,” I say, working to steady my breathing. “I worked with Sanquita Bell the five months preceding her death. I was her homebound teacher and her friend.”
“Would you say you had a close relationship with Sanquita?” Brad asks.
“Yes. I loved her.”
“Did Sanquita ever mention her mother to you?”
I take care not to look at Tia Robinson, seated less than twelve feet from me.
“Yes. She told me her mother moved to Detroit, but she refused to go. She said she didn’t want her baby to have that kind of life.”
With one hand resting on the edge of the witness stand, Brad looks as comfortable as if we were chatting it up at P. J. Clarke’s. “Can you tell me what happened at the hospital?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling sweat trickle down the back of my neck. “It was after her surgery, about six o’clock in the evening. I was alone with Sanquita. She woke up suddenly. I went to her bedside and that’s when she told me she wanted me to take the baby.” I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. “I told her she wasn’t going to die, but she was insistent.” My throat tightens and my voice is strained. “She knew she was dying. She made me promise to take her baby.”
Brad hands me a handkerchief and I blot my eyes. When I lower the hankie, my eyes lock on Tia’s. She sits with her hands folded, showing not a trace of emotion for her daughter’s dying words.
“I plan to keep that promise.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bohlinger. No further questions.”
Mr. Croft’s sickly sweet cologne arrives at the witness stand ten seconds before he does. He hikes up his brown slacks before turning to me, his belly looking more impregnated than Sanquita’s ever did.
“Ms. Bohlinger, did anyone hear Sanquita tell you she wanted you to take her baby?”
“No. We were alone in the room. But she did tell someone earlier, Jean Anderson from the Joshua House.”
He wags his finger at me. “Please answer yes or no. Did anyone else witness this miracle you say happened, when Sanquita came out of her coma just long enough to tell you to keep her baby?”
He thinks I’m lying! I search out Brad’s face, but he simply nods for me to continue.
I force myself to meet the runny gray eyes behind Mr. Croft’s wire-framed glasses. “No.”
“Did Sanquita know she was dying?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “So she wanted to have all her ducks in a row.”
“Exactly.”
“Did Sanquita strike you as a smart girl?”
“Yes. She was very bright.”
“Then naturally, she put her wishes in writing, yes?”
The air is sucked from the room. “No. Not that I know of.”
He scratches his head. “That’s extremely odd, don’t you think?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” He paces in front of me. “A smart girl who knew she was going to die wouldn’t plan ahead for her baby’s future? Perplexing, wouldn’t you agree? Especially when her home environment was as deplorable as you claim.”
“I…I’m not sure why she didn’t.”
“This life that Sanquita referred to…the life in Detroit with her mother? Did she happen to mention that she was in Detroit when she became impregnated?”
“Yes.”
“So you are aware that she slipped out of the apartment against her mother’s wishes and had unprotected sex?”
I blink. “No. She never told me that. I don’t think she slipped away, as you suggest.”
His face is a portrait of self-righteousness, nose aloft and head angled so he’s looking down at me. “Did she tell you she wandered down to the Detroit Jazz Festival that very night and had sex with a stranger? Someone whose name she didn’t even remember?”
“It…it wasn’t like that. She was lonely…and very upset…”
He raises one eyebrow. “Did she tell you she stayed six weeks? That she left Detroit only when she found out she was pregnant?”
“I…I didn’t know she stayed six weeks. The point is, she left. Like I said, she wanted her baby out of that environment.”
“And she wanted to get herself out of that environment as well, yes?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Did she tell you that her mother wanted her to terminate the pregnancy?”
My head snaps to attention. “No.”
“Sanquita’s kidney disease was so severe, the doctor recommended an abortion in order to save Sanquita’s life.”
My mind reels. “That’s what Dr. Chan told her, too.”
“And did she listen to Dr. Chan?”
“No. She said she wanted the baby more than life itself.”
He smirks in a way that makes me want to pinch it off his face. “The truth is, Sanquita was a stubborn girl. She refused to believe her mother had her best intentions in mind.”
“Objection!” Brad cries.
“Sustained.”
Mr. Croft continues. “Sanquita left Detroit the very day she and her mother argued about terminating the pregnancy.”
I’m stunned. Could this be possible?
Mr. Croft turns to the judge’s bench. “This has nothing to do with Ms. Robinson’s home environment, Your Honor. Ms. Robinson was simply trying to save her daughter’s life.” He hangs his head. “I have no further questions.”
My hands tremble so violently, it takes effort to fold them. They’re making Ms. Robinson out to be Sanquita’s savior…and Sanquita to be the wild child who refused to listen.
“Thank you, Mr. Croft,” Judge Garcia says. He nods to me, indicating I can step down. “Thank you, Ms. Bohlinger.”
“Would you like to call your next witness?” he asks Brad.
“Your Honor, I’d like to request that we take a break.” Brad says. “My client needs a short recess.”
Judge Garcia checks his watch, then slams down the gavel. “The court will resume after a fifteen-minute recess.”
B rad practically drags me through the double doors and into the corridor. My body has turned to lead and I can’t think straight. My baby is being given a life sentence. I need to save her, but I’m powerless. I’m the one person Sanquita trusted. And I’m forsaking her. Brad props me up against a wall and grips my arms.
“Don’t you dare break, B.B. We’ve done everything we can. It’s out of our hands now.”
My breath comes out in jagged spurts and my head feels light. “He made Sanquita look like a juvenile delinquent.”
“Could it be true?” he asks. “Is it possible she left Detroit over an argument about her health?”
I throw up my hands. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway. What matters now is Austin. That woman didn’t shed a tear when I described Sanquita’s final moments. And you know what she did to her son. She’s heartless, Brad!” I grab his jacket sleeve and stare into his face. “You should have seen her last week, when she was being hauled away by security. It was disgusting. We can’t do this to Austin. We’ve got to do something.”
“We’ve done everything we can.”
I start to cry, but Brad shakes me. “Buck up, now. You’ll have time to cry later. We need to finish this trial.”
Fifteen minutes later, we shuffle back into the courtroom. I drop into my chair beside Brad. I’ve never felt so useless. My baby’s life is about to take a horrific detour, and I can’t do a thing about it. Garrett’s words come back to me: You can’t save them all . Just this one, I pray. Please, God, just this one.
As I pray, I work to breathe, but my lungs won’t fill. Panic sets in. I’m going to pass out. I can’t do this. I cannot survive another loss.
Just as the bailiff pulls shut the double door in the back, I hear her voice. My head snaps to attention and I spin around. Jean Anderson lumbers down the aisle, dressed in a smart wool suit. But the back of her hair is matted, and she’s wearing sneakers instead of her usual pumps.
“Jean?” I say aloud. I turn to Brad.
“Just sit tight,” he whispers.
Instead of scooting into one of the pews, Jean marches directly up to the judge’s bench. She whispers something to Judge Garcia, and he mumbles something in return. Then she takes a paper from her purse and hands it to him. He puts on his reading glasses and examines it. Finally, he looks up.
“Will the counsel please approach the bench?”
The four of them mumble for what seems an interminable length of time. I hear Mr. Croft above the others, and the judge telling him to lower his voice. When they finally return to their seats, Brad and Jean are smiling. I warn myself not to get excited.
Judge Garcia holds the paper aloft for all to see. “It appears Ms. Bell put her request in writing, after all. We have a notarized statement dated March fifth, several weeks prior to her death.” He clears his throat and reads aloud in a monotonous voice. “I, Sanquita Jahzmen Bell, being of sound mind, do hereby declare my intentions for my unborn child, should he or she outlive me. It is my heartfelt desire that Ms. Brett Bohlinger, my best friend and my homebound teacher, get sole custody of my child.” He takes off his glasses. “It’s signed, Sanquita Jahzmen Bell.” He clears his throat.
“In light of this notarized request, I’m granting temporary custody to Ms. Bohlinger until adoption procedures are finalized.” He slaps the gavel on his desk. “This court is adjourned.”
I drop my head into my hands and sob.
I never ask Jean about the notarized paper. I don’t want to know how she got it, or when. It doesn’t matter. We’ve done right by Sanquita and her baby. That’s all that matters. Brad suggests we three celebrate after the hearing, but I can’t. I head straight to the hospital to see my baby. My baby! I round the corner and scurry down the hall. The doors to the neonatal unit open and I practically sprint to room seven. I enter and my heart skips a beat.
Dressed in khakis and a navy sports coat, Herbert sits in a rocking chair, with Austin in his arms. He’s smiling down at her, watching her sleep. I come up behind him and kiss his neck.
“What are you doing here?”
“Congratulations, love,” he says. “I came here as soon as I got your message. I knew you’d be right behind me.”
“But who let you in?”
“Nurse LaDonna.”
Of course she did. Every nurse in the unit is half in love with the incredible, gift-giving Herbert—and now that they’ve laid eyes on him, there will be no going back.
“Since you’re now Austin’s custodial parent,” Herbert continues, “you’re allowed one support person. You don’t mind, do you?”
I push away thoughts of Shelley, or Carrie, or Brad, and stare down at my beautiful daughter. I wrap myself in a hug. “I can’t believe it, Herbert. I’m a mother!”
“And a fine one you’ll be.” He rises and holds out the sleeping bundle to me. “Have a seat. Perhaps you want to properly introduce yourself to this little one.”
Austin punches a fist into the air before settling back to sleep against my chest. Her eyes are at half-mast and I plant a kiss on her nose—a nose free of oxygen and feeding tubes. “Hey there, pretty girl. Guess what? I’m going to be your mommy. And this time I promise.” Her eyebrows furrow, and I smile through tears. “What did I do to deserve you?”
With his camera poised before him, Herbert moves in to get a close-up. The camera seems intrusive at this moment of intimacy. But he’s excited, and what more could I hope for than this kind of enthusiasm and support?
He retrieves sandwiches and coffee from the cafeteria, and we stay with Austin until visiting hours end. Strangely, it’s easier to leave tonight, knowing she’s mine. I’m not going to lose her, now or ever. As we walk to the elevator, Herbert stops suddenly and snaps his finger. “Forgot my coat. Be right back.”
He returns—with a khaki Burberry trench coat draped over his arm.
I gasp. “That coat!” I say, staring at it as if it were a magician’s cape.
He looks embarrassed. “Yes, well, it was a bit nippy this morning.”
I laugh and shake my head. He’s not the man from Andrew’s building, the man I saw on the train, or on the jogging path. But maybe, just maybe, he’s my Burberry man.
T he April evening is warm, and the sweet smell of lilacs tints the air. To the east, a moon as slender as a fingernail clipping hangs low in the slate-colored sky. Herbert walks with me to my car, his Burberry coat slung over his shoulder.
“If she continues to thrive, she could come home within the next two weeks. I’ve got so much to do to get ready. I’ve asked for a leave of absence from work. School’s going to be out in a few weeks and Eve said she’d substitute for me. I need to get the bedroom ready, a rug and some baby furniture. I’m thinking just a bassinet and changing table for now, since that’s about all that’ll fit in our tiny bedroom.” I laugh. “And I thought—”
He turns to me and places his index finger on my lips. “Stop. I’m hearing too much about what you have to do. You and I are partners. Let me help you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. It’s what I want.” He takes me by the arms and gazes into my eyes. “I love you. Do you realize that?”
I stare up at him. “I do.”
“And if I am to believe what you’ve been professing, you love me, too.”
I take a step back. “Uh-huh.”
“Let’s revisit this life list you’re expected to complete.”
I shake my head and turn away, but he moves closer. “Look, it doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I want to help. You should consider each and every one of those goals accomplished, do you understand?”
Before I can answer, he takes my hands in his. “I realize we’ve only known each other a short time, but given the fact that you now have a child, as well as the fact that I am completely, head-over-heels in love with you, I think we should consider marriage.”
I gasp. “You mean…you want…?”
He chuckles, and gestures at the parking lot. “Don’t worry, darling. I would never choose such an unworthy backdrop for an official proposal. I just want to plant the seed. I’d like you to mull it over, start thinking of us as a couple—a permanent couple—sometime down the road.” He grins. “And I’d prefer it be an expressway rather than a meandering country lane.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come.
He reaches out and touches my cheek. “I know it sounds crazy, but from the moment I met you, that very first night at Jay’s, I knew you’d be my wife someday.”
“You did?” My thoughts immediately turn to my mother. Is she responsible, in some way, for this man falling in love with me?
“I did.” He smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. “But the last thing I want is to pressure you. Just promise me you’ll think about it, won’t you?”
His thick hair is mussed, and his eyes are like two sparkling sapphires. When he smiles, it’s as if a lily has bloomed. This man is the closest to perfection I’ll ever find. He’s smart and kind, ambitious and loving. My God, he even plays the violin! And for some crazy reason, he loves me. And best of all, he loves my daughter.
“Yes,” I say. “Of course I’ll think about it.”