When Savannah returned she noticed right away. “You said you weren’t gonna drink alcohol.”
“This is a party.” Maria kept her tone happy, but under the table she dug her fingers into Savannah’s arm, to warn her against saying anything else. “We made a hundred and twenty-two dollars today, baby girl. I’ll drink what I want.”
One pitcher became two and then three and the room was spinning hard. A waitress told her it was time to leave, but Maria didn’t want to go. She was having a party with her daughter, and what was wrong with that? But then the waitress had two people with her, two big ol’ guys, and they told her she needed to pay for her tab and be on her way.
“Listen!” She stood and pushed the nearest guy in the shoulder. “No one tells me what to do!” She was yelling, but she didn’t care. “I’m a millionaire. I do what I want!”
Savannah shrank down in her seat and covered her face.
“Ma’am, if you don’t pay your tab and leave, we’ll have to call the police.”
“Mama!” Savannah shrieked at her. “Please just pay him.”
“Shut up.” Maria was sick of the girl, sick of playing the role of perfect mother. She slapped Savannah hard across the face. “I hate being your mama, can’t you see that?”
The man from the restaurant grabbed her arm. “That’s enough,” he hissed at her. Then he turned to the other guy. “Call nine-one-one.”
Nine-one-one? The police couldn’t come or everything would be ruined. They wouldn’t give two million dollars to a drunk who slapped her daughter. And if the guy called the police then everyone would know that’s what she’d done. “No, you don’t!” Maria screamed right in the man’s face. Then she reeled back and took a swing at him, but she missed. Somehow the action sent her spiraling to the floor, and on the way down she hit her head on something sharp and hard. The table, maybe.
When she next opened her eyes, a roomful of policemen stood around her. They pulled her to her feet and put handcuffs on her. Maria cussed and kicked at them, but they took her anyway, threw her into a police car, and drove off with her. Not until they pulled into the precinct parking lot did she remember Savannah.
“My little girl!” she screamed. She leaned as far forward as she could. “Where’s my little girl?”
“We took care of her.” The policeman behind the wheel glared at her. “Sit back and shut your mouth.”
Maria realized how badly she’d blown it. She would have to work harder than ever to make the lawyers and the judge believe she was a good mother now. Her head hurt as she pressed herself into the back of the cruiser. On the good side, she was getting a break from Savannah, from the girl’s constant questions and scrutiny. The kid was more a spy than a daughter. But she’d have to find a way to make the girl happy, to keep herself sober and in line, or Maria knew she’d lose everything.
After they booked and printed her, they pushed her into a stinky cell and slammed the door shut. Maria felt afraid and alone, drunk, and depressed over the mistakes she’d made that night. She curled up on a wooden bench along one wall of the cell and hoped she hadn’t blown it. Because for the first time in her life, she had reasons to believe things would be good again, reasons to believe she would have the house and the car and the future she’d always wanted. With or without Savannah. If she could get herself out of this mess, she had reasons to believe in tomorrow.
Two million wonderful reasons.
Savannah lay in the dark in the strange bed and held tight to the only thing that mattered. The photograph of her daddy. After the trouble at the restaurant, a nice policeman had taken her to Freddy’s house. Savannah wasn’t sure how they knew where to go, but they looked through her mama’s wallet and maybe something in there told them the directions.
At Freddy’s, the lights were out and the nice policeman took her hand and walked her inside so she could get her things. He turned on the bedroom light when they reached the room Savannah shared with her mama. Savannah got down on the floor and crawled under the desk. One at a time she pulled out her pillow and her blanket and her pile of clothes.
“Is this your bed?” The policeman pointed to where Mama slept.
“No.” She felt shy about not having a bed, because maybe other kids her age didn’t sleep on the floor. She pointed to the spot beneath the desk. “I sleep down there.”
The nice man’s face said that he wasn’t happy with that news. Savannah was scooping her things into one pile, but the officer said she didn’t need her blanket or pillow. “Your foster parents will have all that, sweetie.”
Foster parents. Wasn’t that what Mama had always said might happen? If Savannah complained too much, then the police would take her to foster parents? She was suddenly very afraid about that news. “Who are the foster parents?” Her voice sounded quiet and little and scared.
“They’re very nice people.” He patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry, Savannah. It’ll be okay.”
“I want Mama.” She wasn’t sure why she said that, because her mama didn’t want her. She even said so out loud in the restaurant. But Mama was all she had until the day her daddy came to get her.
The policeman looked closer at her arm. “What’s this?” He ran his finger over the marks on Savannah, the ones her mama had put there.
She tried to be brave, but she moved a little because the spots hurt. “Nothing.”
“Your mother did this, didn’t she?”
“She didn’t mean to.”
The officer shook his head and said, “I’ll bet.” Then he took Savannah’s things from her so she didn’t have anything to carry except her small bag with the plastic cross and the picture of her daddy.
They drove for a long time and crossed two bridges before they pulled up in front of a nice house, nicer than anything Savannah had ever been inside. She heard the officer tell someone on the radio that the foster family lived in Queens, so that’s where they must be. Together they went inside. An old man and lady lived there. They showed her to a room upstairs with a bed that was just the right size for Savannah, gave her a new toothbrush and some toothpaste, and said it was time to brush. Then they gave her a new nightgown and told her it was bedtime.
“Do you believe in Jesus?” the old woman asked her. She had nice eyes.
“Yes.” Savannah remembered Grandpa Ted. “Are we going to talk to Him?”
“We are.” The old couple sat together on the edge of her bed and talked to Jesus for a long time. “We know You have plans for Savannah. We pray that You protect her and help her find those plans. Please be with her mother and let her know that with You she can find true and lasting change.”
After that they said good night and sweet dreams and they left her alone. But they kept one small light on. “Just in case you’re afraid,” the old woman told her.
As soon as she was alone, she snuck out of bed and pulled the picture of her daddy out of her bag. She had Jesus in her heart, but when she was really afraid she would sleep better if she had Daddy in her hands. She looked at his smile and his friendly eyes. Daddy, where are you? Why aren’t you coming for me? She felt little stinging feelings in her eyes and she blinked back some wetness. Dear Jesus, it’s me, Savannah. Can You tell my daddy that I’m waiting for him? She sniffed real quiet, so the nice people wouldn’t come back in the room. Tell him I’m at the foster house and Mama doesn’t want me anymore. So now would be a good time to come find me.
She talked a bit more to Jesus, and then she yawned two times and looked at the picture again. Her daddy was so handsome, so strong. He never would have let anyone put marks on Savannah’s arms. She yawned once more, and her eyes started to close. The picture was rough around the edges, but Savannah didn’t care. She hugged it close to her heart and pushed her face deeper into the pillow. Her mama’s voice came in all around her, all the mean things she’d said at the restaurant.
Shut up! I hate being your mama!
The words lined up again and again in her mind, until finally she th
ought about Jesus again. Because Grandpa Ted said Jesus loved her, and that meant it was up to Jesus to bring her daddy to her. As she fell asleep, she begged Jesus to love her enough to make that happen. Because she needed to be with her daddy right away, before the foster people gave her back to Mama and something really bad happened. Her daddy better hurry and get here, because she needed her Prince Charming to rescue her.
Even if she had to find him herself.
TWENTY-ONE
Annie was aware that she’d lost the first round. Maria’s attorney was some creep from Manhattan, and he’d insisted that Maria was a single mother whose routine couldn’t be disrupted simply because some jilted family members didn’t want their son’s settlement money going to his own daughter. At least that’s the way Thomas had depicted the scenario to them. Apparently, the judge was convinced, because he ruled that more evidence would need to be presented, enough to make a decent argument that Savannah wasn’t Josh’s daughter in any way other than by blood.
If they could make that argument strong enough, then the judge would consider ordering Maria out to Denver for a hearing.
Annie was reading through the documents on Josh’s computer, and her determination had never been stronger. How dare the woman get an attorney and battle for Josh’s money? Could she honestly sleep at night knowing she was fighting for money that should never be hers? She rubbed her eyes and looked around the apartment. They’d moved Josh’s furniture out this past weekend. Nate rented a U-Haul and took his bedroom set to what would now be the guest room in their house in Black Forest. The rest—the sofa and chair, his pots and pans and dishes and linens—all had been donated to Goodwill.
When the place was empty except for Josh’s computer and desk and several boxes of things they’d already gone through, she and Lindsay and Nate spent a day cleaning. It was important that they leave the place the way it had been given to Josh. He would have wanted them to do that much for the manager.
Now, with only a few days left in October, Annie was glad they were nearly finished. She still had to decide which boxes of his personal belongings they should keep, and which— like the box of hiking magazines—should be dropped off at the recycling center. When she needed a break from the paperwork, she spent time on Josh’s computer, opening one document at a time and either printing or deleting it.
She opened Josh’s iTunes library, selected his Favorites playlist, and hit the play button. The heartrending, haunting sounds of Josh’s favorite song filled the space around her. The plink of the piano chimed in, and then the words that Josh loved.
“I can only imagine, what it will be like . . . when I walk by Your side. . . .”
Sorrow, like an old friend, put its arms around her, and for the hundredth time since her son’s death, she felt tears in her eyes. You don’t have to imagine anymore, Josh . . . never again. She pictured her baby, her son, walking alongside Jesus, looking long into His face. Was he hurt that his own parents hadn’t really known him? Was he angry, disappointed in her the way she had once, a lifetime ago, been disappointed in him?
She knew him so much better now. Her discoveries made her want to have Lindsay write a story about his life for the Gazette. That way the busybodies with the public library and the teachers union and the PTA could know that Josh Warren had been a success in all the ways that mattered. No matter how his life looked to people who didn’t know him.
Shallow people, like Annie had been.
She breathed in deep and let the words of the song fill her soul. A ray of light warmed the cold, dark sadness inside her. Josh wasn’t angry with her or disappointed, he had no regrets. His only concern now was whether to dance for Jesus or fall to his knees in awe of a God so merciful, so loving. Josh was okay, and one day she’d have the chance to hold him in her arms and tell him what she hoped he already knew.
That she couldn’t possibly be prouder of him.
The music kept playing, but she returned her attention to the files on Josh’s computer. The next one was marked Hours. She opened it and saw a spreadsheet with Josh’s assigned hours for the month. Next to each calendar date, Josh had added a check mark—designating, it seemed, that he had completed the shift in question.
Thomas had told her to print anything dealing with his work as a tow truck driver, so she hit the print button and waited. As she did, someone knocked at the door. Carl Joseph and Daisy had been by several times now, once with a plate of cookies and most recently with a seedling pine tree. “Because when you see it you’ll remember Josh,” Daisy had told her.
“And Josh was too good to forget.” Carl Joseph’s earnestness was refreshing.
She figured they were probably back again, maybe to check if she’d enjoyed the cookies or to bring her a pitcher of iced tea. Daisy had asked last time if she liked iced tea on hot days. Annie smiled to herself as she turned the knob and opened the door. But standing there instead was a striking dark-haired young man with high cheekbones and eyes deep enough to fall into. “Mrs. Warren?”
“Yes.” She stepped aside. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Cody Gunner, Carl Joseph’s brother.”
“Ah. Your brother speaks very highly of you.” Annie made the connection immediately. “Come in.” She motioned to a couple of bar stools that remained along Josh’s short kitchen counter. “I’m afraid there aren’t many places to sit.”
“That’s fine. I won’t be long.” He gave her a polite smile and moved to the closest seat. He waited until she was seated opposite him before he began. “My wife and I were talking recently about a conversation I had with Josh a couple of weeks before he died.” The grief in Cody’s eyes told Annie that he, too, had cared about her son. “I left a message for you. I’m not sure if you got it.”
Annie didn’t remember the message from the apartment manager until just then. She frowned. “We got the message. I meant to call you the next morning, but . . .” She looked around.
“I know, you’ve been distracted.” He gave her a sad smile. “I was at my brother’s and I saw your car. I decided to take a chance.”
“I’m glad you did.” Annie was no longer surprised by anything she might learn about Josh. Whatever piece of Josh’s life story Cody was bringing with him now, Annie didn’t fear it. She craved it the way women in wartime craved the next letters from their sons on the battlefield. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thanks.” Cody put his hands on his knees and looked at the mantel over Josh’s fireplace. The photos were still there, where they would stay until they closed his door behind them for the last time. Cody turned his eyes to her. “What do you know about the little girl in the photo?”
“Much.” Annie sighed. She turned her attention to the picture of her granddaughter. “Our attorney had a paternity test done, and it was conclusive. She’s Josh’s daughter, Savannah.”
They were quiet for a few moments. “That’s what Josh believed—that she was his.” Cody seemed uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say. “This is none of my business, Mrs. Warren, but Josh’s settlement . . . Has there been a determination about where the money will go?”
Annie was surprised by Cody’s question. He was right, the topic was none of his business, but if this had something to do with a conversation he’d had with Josh, then . . . Her insides tightened sharply. “Actually, we’re working with Josh’s attorney on that. The money will automatically go to Savannah by way of her mother unless our lawyer can convince the judge otherwise.” She felt the strange need to defend herself. “Obviously, we’re contesting the fact that Savannah is a rightful heir to the settlement. We’re trying to set up a college fund for her, anything to keep the money out of the hands of her mother. We don’t think she’ll use it for Savannah at all.”
“Yes, well, that’s what Josh and I talked about that day. We were on our way home from church.”
Again Annie felt the loss of all she’d missed out on. She never believed Josh had found his way back to God, and so her
son had spent his last two months attending services with people who were virtually strangers. She hid her heartache and forced herself to listen.
“We were talking about Savannah, how Josh’s attorney didn’t want him to mention her if the subject came up during one of his depositions. That was before anyone knew for sure whether she was his daughter.”
Annie wondered if they might have avoided all this if Josh had only taken his lawyer’s advice.
“Josh said he knew why his attorney wanted him to deny having any children. It was because of the settlement, so the money would go to his family if something happened to him before the case was settled.”
Annie felt for her son, troubled by the conflict between his certainty that Savannah was his daughter and the urging of his lawyer to publicly say otherwise for the sake of a pile of money. She could almost sense where Cody’s story was headed. “Did he—did he tell you his wishes?”
Cody hesitated. “Yes, ma’am. That’s why I’m here.”
“Hold on.” Air, that’s what she needed. She stood and slid the patio door open and breathed in until her lungs were full. Then she returned to the seat opposite Cody. She had prayed for God’s wisdom, His leading. Now she needed to listen very carefully, no matter how she thought things should go. She searched Cody’s eyes. “Tell me. Please.”
“He wanted you and your family to be repaid. Everything you ever loaned him.” Cody narrowed his eyes, empathy flooding his voice. “But after that, he wanted the money to go to Savannah.”
“All of it?” Annie felt suddenly light-headed, as if the moment were something from a dream or a nightmare. She had ideas for how to use the settlement, once Josh’s debts were repaid. She pictured setting up a college fund for Ben and Bella, and of course for Savannah, and then maybe they would use the money to help Nate get reelected one more time. There would be money for their church and several of their charities, and something for Carl Joseph and Daisy, so they might never have to pay for bus fare again. She and Nate would pay off their house, because Josh had worried about their retirement when he’d had to borrow so much from them, often bringing up the financial concerns that plagued some retired people. That sort of thing. She asked the question again in a tortured whisper. “The entire settlement?”