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She wavered from doctor to lawyer to princess (which, of course, she knew was impossible), to CPA. She wanted to be the CEO of a company and captain one of the cruise ships that came into port during the summer months. Palmer, or Faith back then, saw herself as one of the lead characters in her own rags-to-riches story, like Oprah Winfrey or Dolly Parton.
Palmer and the other kids would watch Annie on the home’s VCR, thankful they weren’t alive during the Great Depression and that their home wasn’t like the Hudson Street orphanage. They were even more grateful they didn’t have Miss Hannigan watching over them. But Palmer watched with rapt attention and saw how Annie got adopted.
Palmer told people about her goals and dreams, and she did it with flamboyancy. She practiced in the mirror the night before each open house. Her hands up in the air when she was excited, or on her hips when she was joking but trying to be serious.
Nothing worked.
Every dream she had about gaining parents, people who would love her and offer her a home, diminished after each open house. By the time she was seventeen, she didn’t care anymore and rarely tried. If someone asked her a question, she gave one-word answers. She figured no one wanted to adopt a child who had big dreams and grand hopes. Children like that were expensive. No one, except for the kids in foster care and group homes, knew what it was like to dream of something as simple as a family. That’s all she wanted. She would’ve given up every notion she ever had if it meant she had someone to tuck her in at night.
The hallway grew quiet, and she closed her eyes. Palmer counted sheep, took deep calming breaths, and tried to clear her mind. She was on the cusp of falling asleep, only to startle awake again because it felt like she was about to fall over the edge of a cliff—something she’d never stand on the edge of. She was afraid of heights. Even more scared of places with deep valleys, and she shuddered at the image of bungee jumping. Palmer had added the Grand Canyon to her list of places she’d like to see, because it felt like a bucket list item.
When Palmer started the list, she’d had good intentions of fulfilling as much as she could. The more she thought about it, the more she concluded she never would. She didn’t drive, and even if she did, it would be unsafe to drive in her condition. She could have a seizure and kill someone. She could fly and hire a car service to take her places. That was much better than public transportation.
Palmer fooled herself with those thoughts. She would not be around long enough to accomplish any of them.
The following Monday, Palmer put her impending death aside, got dressed, and went to work. Hopefully, the meds she’d started over the weekend would allow her to function like her old self. So far, her pain was tolerable and nothing like the pain she felt when she had a migraine. She had missed a week of work since her ill-fated fainting spell and had told no one what was wrong with her. She wasn’t going to either. Palmer had a plan. It wasn’t a great one, but one that worked for her.
Palmer arrived at work, bright eyed and with a beaming smile on her face. She was in a fake-it-until-you-make-it mode and was determined to act like the week before had never happened. When she walked in, all eyes were on her. She waved, offered her normal smile, and went directly to her office. She was relieved that her desk looked the same as she remembered it. Palmer had spoken to Frank only twice during her absence, when he’d assured her that her health was important and to only return when she felt better.
She sat down at her desk, turned her computer on, and waited for the desktop to boot up. One by one, her coworkers came into her office. First Laura, who brought her a tray of cookies.
“Hey, Laura,” Palmer called before she could leave. Laura turned and waited. “I never got the chance to thank you for inviting me out for your birthday. I had a really great time that night and wanted to let you know how much I appreciated it.”
“Of course, Palmer. You’re invited anytime. You don’t need an invitation.”
Palmer smiled softly and dipped her head in acknowledgment.
When Celine came in, she pulled Palmer from her chair and gave her a hug. At first, Palmer’s arms stayed at her side, and then she relaxed and gently wrapped her arms around her. Palmer wasn’t a hugger and rarely liked to be touched. Emotional contact of any kind made her feel uncomfortable, and it wasn’t something she was used to.
