By the time Brooke was twelve, she had been in and out of ten foster homes and had been sent back to Hillcrest every time. But at the start of seventh grade, Gina took her to live in a two-bedroom apartment in North Seattle, near Green Lake. Claire, the woman who was to be her new foster parent, was different from the other people with whom Brooke had stayed. She was in her late thirties and had never been married or had any children, something she told Brooke over a dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup a few hours after Gina left the apartment. “I never thought I’d do something like this,” Claire said.
“Why did you, then?” Brooke asked in a guarded voice, looking over the main living area, where they sat at a two-person table. The room was highly feminine, decorated in pale pastels with plush furniture, silky sheer curtains, and lots of pillows. There was a big bowl of Hershey’s Kisses on the coffee table, along with a stack of fashion magazines like Glamour and Cosmopolitan. Claire was a short, curvy woman with wide hips and a big smile. Her hair was brown and straight, and that day, she wore a stretchy polka-dot headband to pull it back from her round face.
“Because I don’t have a mother,” Claire said in a quiet voice. “And I thought it would be a good thing to help take care of someone who doesn’t, either.”
Brooke wasn’t accustomed to grown-ups telling her private information about themselves—usually they just lectured her about everything they thought was wrong with her—so she blinked a few times before responding. “What happened to her?”
“She died when I was two,” Claire explained. “I was raised by my grandparents, because my father couldn’t handle taking care of me on his own.” She gave Brooke a long look. “I understand that you lost your mother, as well.”
Brooke bit her bottom lip, feeling a swell of emotion in her chest that she normally was able to keep pressed deep down inside. “I didn’t lose her,” she finally said, hoping that in taking this risk, telling Claire the truth, she wasn’t making a huge mistake. “She gave me away.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, and she dropped her eyes to the floor, unable to make eye contact. “I was only four.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “That must have hurt you so much.”
Brooke nodded, feeling a few errant tears slip down her cheeks. She never talked about her mother with anyone, and suddenly, here she was, discussing her with Claire. Maybe it was the fact that Claire hadn’t pushed her to talk; she’d simply shared a bit of her own story and made Brooke feel safe in sharing the basics of hers. And as the weeks passed by, Brooke found herself opening up more and more to Claire, and bit by bit, the weight she normally carried under her skin began to melt away. “I didn’t know how to stop myself from being bad,” she said after telling Claire about living with Jessica and Lily and how Scott had spanked her.
“Oh, honey, you’re not bad,” Claire said, pushing Brooke’s dark curls back from her face. Brooke was in bed, and Claire sat on the edge of her mattress. The only light in the room was that of the small lamp with the pink floral shade on the nightstand. “You were hurting, and sometimes, when we hurt, we lash out at other people so they will hurt, too. It doesn’t feel like that should make sense, but everyone does it at some point. Most of the time, we don’t even realize we’re doing it.”
“Really?” Brooke sniffed, allowing herself to feel a little bit better. “Have you?”
“Of course. I get lonely sometimes. And I get really sad, too. But the trick is not letting those feelings control you.”
“How do you do that?”
Claire thought for a moment, and then spoke. “Well, you know that saying ‘every cloud has a silver lining’?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Okay, good. So when I’m feeling sad or angry or lonely, I try to find something positive to think about, instead.”
“The silver lining?”
“Exactly.” Claire smiled and gave Brooke’s arm a quick rub. “I sit down and make a list of everything that I’m grateful for. All the good things I can think of. And pretty soon, before I know it, I feel better.”
Brooke pondered this. “What kinds of things?”
“That depends,” Claire said. “Sometimes it’s bigger stuff, like I’m grateful I have a job and a place to live. Other times I have to dig deeper and write down littler things, things I have to really think about to notice, like the way the sun sparkling on the lake makes me feel or how a bowl of ripe strawberries smells.” When Brooke didn’t respond, Claire screwed up her face into a funny expression. “That probably sounds weird, right? How smelly strawberries make me feel better?”
Brooke smiled and nodded. She liked how Claire wasn’t always so serious, like most of the other adults Brooke had known.
“I guess the point is forcing myself to focus on how there are so many good things in the world, even when I’m having a hard time,” Claire said. “I’ve found that the more I do it, the easier it gets, and the less often I feel bad.” She paused. “Tell me something. If you had to make a list like that right now, what would it have on it?”
“I don’t know,” Brooke said with a shrug.