“Look, Beth…” I say as I see her to the door, “if you want me to… if it would help… I could come to the court hearing?” I’m not sure what makes me suggest it, only that she seems so alone. “Only if you want me to.”
To my surprise, Beth nods rather vigorously. “Actually, Ally, that would be really great. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Thanks.” She smiles at me, and then, again to my surprise, she gives me a quick, clumsy hug. “Bye,” she says, her voice choking a little, and she walks quickly out of the house, swallowed up by the wintry darkness.
That night as I’m tucking Dylan into bed, I wonder if I should say something to him about tomorrow. I haven’t, because I don’t want to make him anxious and nothing is certain, but it feels wrong to not say a word and have it all kick off so suddenly, so he’s yanked from one home to another.
Yet as I’ve seen so often on the message boards, that’s how it often works with foster care.
I don’t say anything, but maybe he senses something anyway, or maybe Beth said something earlier, because it takes a lot longer for him to fall asleep. Finally, after about an hour of lullabies, he drops off, and I kiss his forehead before I creep out of the room. It feels so strange to think this is most likely the last night he will be in our home.
As we’re getting ready for bed, I tell Nick about going to the hearing.
“That’s nice of you, to offer the support.” He smiles wryly. “I’m really going to miss the little guy, but it will be good to focus on our family again.”
“I think Dylan has been good for our family,” I protest as gently as I can. “I think he’s helped both Emma and Josh.” That evening, Josh gave Dylan a hug before he went to bed. It was just an arm quickly slung about his shoulders, but it made me smile. “Josh has played more Lego in the last few weeks than he ever did as a kid.”
“I know Dylan has helped,” Nick says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” I sigh, not wanting to be prickly.
Nick pulls me into a hug. “I know you’ll miss him,” he says, and I nod, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. I really will.
The next morning, I wake up suddenly, as if someone has poked me. Nick is in the shower and, outside, the light looks pale and gray. It’s a little before seven, but I have a sense of being late, of missing something.
And that’s when it hits me. Beth isn’t going to show up at the court hearing. The thought falls into my head as if from the sky, and lands with the solid thud of total certainty. Her distant demeanor, the way she hugged me goodbye, how she asked me if I loved him, even the mention of those other mothers who gave up their parental rights. It all makes sense now. Too much sense.
I scramble out of bed and race into the bathroom.
“She’s not coming,” I tell Nick and he pokes his head out of the shower.
“What?”
“Beth’s not going to show up to the court hearing!”
He frowns. “She told you that?”
“No. I just know.”
“Ally…”
“I know,” I say, and then I rush back into the bedroom to get dressed.
31
BETH
So how do I get from a hopeful there to a dead-end here? From fighting tooth and nail, heart and soul, for my child, to being willing to give him up completely, without looking back, like the most heartless of mothers? I’m no better than Diane or Angelica or even the worst bleary-eyed, skinny-wristed druggie of a mother that I saw skulking around the Juvenile Court back in October.
It happened by increments, but it also happened all at once. A realization that crept in so slowly, and yet then seemed to emerge fully formed in both my head and heart, carved into my consciousness with painful letters. He’s better off without me.
It hurts more than I can bear to think that, to know it, but it’s an idea that started when Susan first took him away, and it is fully borne now, as I sit on my sofa, clutching a pillow to my chest, and watch the clock tick its minutes towards the court hearing I’m not going to show up for.