At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [97]
Carrie said in her dulcet Louisiana drawl, “Let’s all sit down, shall we? Can I get anyone coffee? No? Well, then, I thought it would be nice if we all spent some time getting to know each other, and then we’ll talk about the best way to help Noah make the transition. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
It was Lindsay who spoke up first. “Well, yes, I have a few questions. For starters, how could you abandon a helpless infant to a brutal alcoholic even you were too afraid to stay with?”
“Lindsay!” Cici laid a calming hand on Lindsay’s arm.
Carrie said, “Really, Lindsay, I don’t think it’s appropriate—” But Mandy, shaking off her initial shock, said, “No—no, it’s okay. You have a right to ask. I know how it looks, but—I didn’t abandon him. I left him with my mother until I could get a job and take care of him. I sent money when I could. But . . .” Her hands tightened around the small brown purse. “I couldn’t even afford an apartment on what I made waitressing, much less take care of a baby, and . . . well, I moved around a lot. My mama was a good woman, a good mother. She raised me by herself and I never knew a moment’s want. I never expected her to die before she was even fifty. It was her heart, and it was so sudden. I thought he would be fine with her. I thought he’d be safe.”
Bridget spoke next, and her voice was much gentler than Lindsay’s had been. “I don’t mean to pry, but . . . when your mother died, didn’t you know your husband would get custody of the child? Couldn’t you have come back for him?”
Mandy chewed her bottom lip, her knuckles whitening on the scrap of brown vinyl in her lap. She said, without looking up, “I could have. But I didn’t know about it until almost three years later.” And then, with a visible effort, she flexed her fingers, straightened her shoulders, and met Bridget’s eyes. “I made some very bad choices,” she said steadily. “I was looking for an easy way out of the pain I was in. I don’t even know where I was when my mother died. There were times during those years when I forgot I had a son, and when I did remember I did my best to forget again because the last thing I wanted was to have something else to worry about, something else to take care of.”
She breathed in and breathed out. It made a trembly sound, but her voice was steady and the courage in her deep brown eyes was unwavering. “You’re nice ladies,” she said. “Look at you. You’ve had nice lives. You can’t understand how a mother could simply lose track of her only child. That’s good. I don’t want you to understand it. It’s a terrible thing, to have to go where I’ve been and do what I’ve done and know what I know. Because I lost track of more than my child. There are whole years that I don’t remember. And by the time I did remember . . . it was too late. I didn’t know where to begin looking for him. And the truth is, I didn’t feel as though I deserved to find him. And then”—a faint, wavering smile at Carrie—“a miracle happened. And here I am.”
The silence in the room was stifling. Cici looked at Carrie, widening her eyes slightly in helpless question, and Bridget murmured, “I’m . . . so sorry . . .” But it trailed off, as though she was not quite sure what she was sorry for.
Carrie said, “Mandy has been the drug recovery counselor at Safe Haven halfway house in Richmond for almost five years now. She works with troubled teens every day.”
“Noah is not a troubled teen,” Lindsay said acridly.
“No one suggested he was,” Cici intervened before Lindsay could draw another breath. She turned to Mandy. “Look,” she said, “I know you think this is none of our business, but we’ve all grown very fond of Noah and—well, of course we want the best for him. Do you really think . . .” Again she looked helplessly at Carrie. “Are you sure a drug rehabilitation halfway house is the best place to raise a teenage boy?”
“I already have an apartment lined up,” Mandy assured