a note
on my to-do list to call Legal and start the termination of her parental
rights.
Nona went on. “Nice article in the paper
this morning, huh?”
“Tell me about it. Have you seen
Ashley?”
“I went by there about an hour ago.
She’s so sad.”
“I know. I made sure she’s on suicide
watch. What’s got me puzzled is that, according to Detective Brighton, she’s
going to plead guilty. Has she said anything to you about that? Or anything
about what happened?”
“She wouldn’t talk to me at all, which
is unusual. She always confided in me, even during the worst part of her
recovery. I was there for her detox. I’ve seen her at rock bottom. She’s never
clammed up like this. I’m worried.”
“Same here. Listen, Michael’s former
foster parents want to donate money for his funeral. I told them to call you.”
“Thanks. We’re trying to set the service
for next Tuesday. I’ll be in touch.”
I was grateful to Nona for planning
Michael’s service. But what could you say about an existence that was so short
and filled with so much trauma? There wasn’t an apology big enough to cover
what the grown-ups in his life had put him through. As I gathered my things to
go see Dee, Michael’s grandmother, I wondered if she would want to eulogize him
in any way. Or, considering her rocky history with her daughter, if she would
even show up at his memorial.
Chapter Six
It was just past three thirty when I left
DHS for Ashley’s mom’s place. She lived in the northwest corner of the county
in a tiny coal mining community called Adger. To get there I navigated to
Allison-Bonnet Memorial Drive, named for Neil Bonnet and Davey Allison, two
deceased NASCAR drivers. With the Talladega track only about an hour away, this
town was crazy about racing.
As I drove northwest, suburbs turned
into towns and soon became hamlets. When the street names changed to county
road numbers, I knew I was getting close and had to consult the directions I’d
copied from the case file.
I hoped Dee was home. She worked at an auto
plant in the next county, on the assembly line. Truth be told, she probably
made really good money. Maybe even more than I did. But a string of bad
marriages had left her living paycheck to paycheck. From what Ashley told me,
her previous husbands stuck her with mounds of debt she was still trying to pay
off. She managed every month to scrape together enough for the bills. Her third
husband, Al, drank or gambled away what was left.
I made a final turn onto the gravel
driveway in front of the Mackey’s house, a double-wide prefab on a wooded acre.
Some of the cream vinyl siding was mildew stained, and parts of the bottom
skirting were missing, showing the pipes underneath. A fire pit in the side
yard was used to burn trash since no pick up was available out here. Around the
blackened area lay a few plastic cups and cardboard beer boxes that hadn’t made
it into the inferno. I walked up a narrow dirt footpath, past an algae-covered
birdbath, and up four steps to the front door. An air conditioner jutted out of
the window next to the door, so I knocked loudly to be heard over its whirring.
Dee opened the door. Some of her
features were similar to her daughter’s, especially the long, straight brown
hair. She was shorter and heavier than Ashley, but the resemblance was there. I
guessed she was about to leave for work, since she wore a navy jumpsuit with
the car company’s logo on the left side of her chest. She greeted me and
invited me in.
Al was there too. No surprise, since he
didn’t have a job. He had thin brown hair and two days of stubble on his face.
He wore shorts, and over his large belly a T-shirt sported the slogan of a New
Orleans oyster house. “Eat Me Raw” was emblazoned on the front. He was focused
on a baseball game on TV, the Braves versus someone I couldn’t make out. The
Blue Jays, maybe. He lounged in an enormous green recliner and didn’t bother to
get up when I
on my to-do list to call Legal and start the termination of her parental
rights.
Nona went on. “Nice article in the paper
this morning, huh?”
“Tell me about it. Have you seen
Ashley?”
“I went by there about an hour ago.
She’s so sad.”
“I know. I made sure she’s on suicide
watch. What’s got me puzzled is that, according to Detective Brighton, she’s
going to plead guilty. Has she said anything to you about that? Or anything
about what happened?”
“She wouldn’t talk to me at all, which
is unusual. She always confided in me, even during the worst part of her
recovery. I was there for her detox. I’ve seen her at rock bottom. She’s never
clammed up like this. I’m worried.”
“Same here. Listen, Michael’s former
foster parents want to donate money for his funeral. I told them to call you.”
“Thanks. We’re trying to set the service
for next Tuesday. I’ll be in touch.”
I was grateful to Nona for planning
Michael’s service. But what could you say about an existence that was so short
and filled with so much trauma? There wasn’t an apology big enough to cover
what the grown-ups in his life had put him through. As I gathered my things to
go see Dee, Michael’s grandmother, I wondered if she would want to eulogize him
in any way. Or, considering her rocky history with her daughter, if she would
even show up at his memorial.
Chapter Six
It was just past three thirty when I left
DHS for Ashley’s mom’s place. She lived in the northwest corner of the county
in a tiny coal mining community called Adger. To get there I navigated to
Allison-Bonnet Memorial Drive, named for Neil Bonnet and Davey Allison, two
deceased NASCAR drivers. With the Talladega track only about an hour away, this
town was crazy about racing.
As I drove northwest, suburbs turned
into towns and soon became hamlets. When the street names changed to county
road numbers, I knew I was getting close and had to consult the directions I’d
copied from the case file.
I hoped Dee was home. She worked at an auto
plant in the next county, on the assembly line. Truth be told, she probably
made really good money. Maybe even more than I did. But a string of bad
marriages had left her living paycheck to paycheck. From what Ashley told me,
her previous husbands stuck her with mounds of debt she was still trying to pay
off. She managed every month to scrape together enough for the bills. Her third
husband, Al, drank or gambled away what was left.
I made a final turn onto the gravel
driveway in front of the Mackey’s house, a double-wide prefab on a wooded acre.
Some of the cream vinyl siding was mildew stained, and parts of the bottom
skirting were missing, showing the pipes underneath. A fire pit in the side
yard was used to burn trash since no pick up was available out here. Around the
blackened area lay a few plastic cups and cardboard beer boxes that hadn’t made
it into the inferno. I walked up a narrow dirt footpath, past an algae-covered
birdbath, and up four steps to the front door. An air conditioner jutted out of
the window next to the door, so I knocked loudly to be heard over its whirring.
Dee opened the door. Some of her
features were similar to her daughter’s, especially the long, straight brown
hair. She was shorter and heavier than Ashley, but the resemblance was there. I
guessed she was about to leave for work, since she wore a navy jumpsuit with
the car company’s logo on the left side of her chest. She greeted me and
invited me in.
Al was there too. No surprise, since he
didn’t have a job. He had thin brown hair and two days of stubble on his face.
He wore shorts, and over his large belly a T-shirt sported the slogan of a New
Orleans oyster house. “Eat Me Raw” was emblazoned on the front. He was focused
on a baseball game on TV, the Braves versus someone I couldn’t make out. The
Blue Jays, maybe. He lounged in an enormous green recliner and didn’t bother to
get up when I
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