Granger looked at me and must have noticed my surprise. I couldn’t believe he was telling me what he was, that he was calling people by their names and dealing in specifics.
“Everything I’m telling you right now,” he said. “Is public record. You can walk right down to the courthouse and ask to see the file.”
“Is that right?” I said.
“That’s right,” he said.
“So where’s Kayla Hawthorne now? Is she in jail?”
“Jail?” he said. “Hell no, she’s not in jail. They don’t put you in jail for being a shit mother and a drug addict. She’s wherever she usually is, doing whatever it is she usually does.”
“So what’s going to happen at the trial?”
“They’re going to take the baby away and she’ll probably be adopted by the foster family that has her now. Kayla could fight it, but she’s already lost one and it would be a long shot. Then again, she might not even want to try and keep it. If she doesn’t, she can call the court and they’ll be over in zip-point-shit with the paperwork. Family Services wants that baby out of the home. That much I can tell you for sure.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is good.”
“And the baby’s okay?
“She had a hell of a fever, but it come down. She’s got a clean bill of health, far as I know.”
“And what about the father?”
“What about him?” Granger said. “Your guess is as good as mine. Good as Kayla’s probably. Now, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said.
“What are you going to do? After all this mess?”
“Portland,” I said. “I think I’m going to Portland.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I said. “To move in with Starr.”
“As long as you’re not running off with some dipshit you met on the Internet.”
“As you know,” I said. “I don’t have the Internet.”
“You taking the truck?”
“Yeah,” I said. “And Wolfdog.”
“I won’t worry about you out on the highway then,” he said. “Not with her riding shotgun. Just don’t get pulled. I assume she isn’t registered.”
“I won’t get pulled,” I said.
“I got some gift certificates,” he said. “Meal deals at BK, if you want to take them for the road. I got a whole stack over there clipped to the fridge.”
“You trying to get rid of me or something?”
“No,” he said. “It’s just that you got to get out while you can. This place has a way of sucking you in if you let it. Like quicksand.”
“I won’t let it,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “Then take the damn gift certificates.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for helping with Portis and for everything else.”
“Protect and serve,” he said. “You know how it is.”
“Granger,” I said. “I do have one more favor to ask. If you wouldn’t mind.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The foster parents were Matthew and Rebecca Farmer. Granger didn’t know them personally, but had heard they were good people. That they’d been on the wait list for some time and were thrilled when the court called about Jenna.
He scratched out their names and address and I was glad to see it was on Williams Street in West Cutler. It was all oak trees and wide sidewalks over there—a nice neighborhood with a Montessori school and beautiful old homes—none of that tacky new construction like you see along the water.
Granger left for work and told me to crash out on the couch for a while if I wanted. He said I looked tired and that I should get some rest before I drove clear across the country. I told him I would, but sat at the kitchen table instead and wrote out my letter.
Granger had notebook paper and some envelopes right there on the kitchen counter and I was resolved to tell the Farmers everything. Everything I believed they needed to know.
I refilled my coffee and I wrote. I described finding Jenna by the window and the way the snow was slanting in. I told about the pickup being buried and walking along the river with Portis. Then we’d hiked to the shanty and tried to drive out and when we couldn’t Portis had died trying to save me and Jenna both.
I left out the part about Carletta in the trailer. I didn’t see what good it would do anybody to know what Mama had done, so I kept my focus on Jenna and how strong she had been. How incredibly brave she was. I wrote about the papoose and the blanket and how we’d fed Jenna on formula and melted snow. I told about Shelton Potter in the trailer and how he’d done the right thing and let me take Jenna. I could not say that he was a good man, but I could say Shelton Potter was more than the bad things that he had done.
It came as a surprise to me, but it felt good to put it all down. To tell my story and see it in black and white. To see it on the page and as something outside of myself. I felt lighter for the truths I’d told, but saw no profit in revealing who I was.