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He was nothing more than a sensitive little boy looking for love. And acceptance. And a place to belong.
Kirk wasn’t saying much all of a sudden and, looking at his face, Valerie suspected she knew why. He’d just realized he was partially to blame for Abraham’s current state. Right before her eyes, he shut down. The energy that pulsated through him with such tangible force slid away; the sparkle of determination in his eyes grew dim.
He didn’t give up on the boy, though, telling Valerie more about himself, about his motivations and priorities, in those few minutes than any amount of evidence could have done.
“Let’s make a deal, shall we?” he asked the boy, leaning forward as though the two of them were alone.
“What kind of deal?” Today’s experience appeared to have humbled the boy.
“I’ll see to it that you play basketball on a competitive team if you cooperate with your new living conditions. You’re going to be in a treatment center for a little while, probably not long, but when you return to the Mortons you’re to give them a real chance.”
The boy’s eyes shadowed. “They might not want me back.”
“Oh, they do,” Mrs. Morton said from the doorway, her plump form bringing cheer into the room.
Kirk stood to give the foster mother the seat next to Abraham. “What do you say, sport?”
The boy’s big brown eyes, peering so trustingly up at Kirk, almost broke Valerie’s heart. “I miss my mom. I need to be home with her.”
Valerie stepped forward then, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “Your mom needs some time to herself, Abraham,” she said softly. “Time in which she can learn to be the mom to you that she wants to be. This isn’t forever, you know. Just long enough to make things right and then you can go home again….”
The boy was frowning, clearly not trusting her.
“It’s the best shot you’re going to get, son,” Kirk said sternly.
“I’ll think about it,” Abraham said, clearly not convinced. “But not unless I get to see my mom.”
“We’ll talk about this in court, Abraham,” Valerie said. “I’ll set a hearing for next week.”
It was the best she could do.
KIRK DIDN’T SAY a word once they left the hospital. Watching for any expression that might cross his face—but didn’t—Valerie started to worry about him in earnest. She tried repeatedly to engage him in conversation, but by the time he pulled up at her car parked outside his house, he still hadn’t said more than five words.
He expected her to get out before he drove into his garage. She couldn’t.
“Just go,” he said after a long uncomfortable minut
e.
“You know,” she said slowly, quietly, “my husband and I had such incredible dreams when we graduated from law school. We were going to make a real difference, change the world one step at a time. It never occurred to me that we wouldn’t. So when the dreams started to disappear, I didn’t even see it. I was taking myself so seriously, I’d completely lost perspective. I could no longer see beyond the daily tasks, the routine. And Thomas—after a while Thomas couldn’t see beyond the power. And the winning.”
She had no idea where the words were coming from, no conscious plan; she just knew she couldn’t leave him like this.
So she talked.
“Every day I go to work and tell myself it’s just a job. I tell myself I do my best and no one expects any more of me than that. But it’s a huge amount of pressure, you know? Holding the lives of young kids in my hands day after day. Sometimes I wake up in the night in a cold sweat, afraid I might not get one right.”
She sat straight in the seat, both feet on the floor, gazing out the windshield to the darkness beyond.
“You start to play games with yourself to live with that fear, to pretend it isn’t there.” She was putting into words feelings to which she’d never given form. “Somewhere along the way, I started to see everything in black and white. I stopped looking back. Refused to second-guess myself. My decisions.”
He wasn’t moving. He might not even be listening. But neither was he kicking her out.
“My husband said something to me years ago that I’ve never forgotten. Something I never understood until the past couple of days. He talked about a very thin line of gray. Describing it as something very few people found—the perfect middle between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law.”
She wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Or even if it mattered.
“Go on.”
