“You can’t, ma’am.”
Knowing that she’s right, I allow her to lead me through the back of the building and out to the car, stewing the whole way because Isis and Imani’s faces won’t leave my mind.
“How does someone like that end up taking care of kids?” I ask, directing the question at no one in particular. Agent Morgan is in the passenger seat while Shaw is behind the wheel, and she turns to look at me.
“You’d be surprised how often it happens, ma’am. My sister is a social worker, and she says the foster system is filled with awful people.”
“There are some good ones too,” Agent Shaw adds, meeting my eye through the rear-view mirror.
“Yes, but Joanna West is not one of them.”
“No. She is not.”
Shaw’s tone is as dark as my mood, and the car goes quiet. I pull out my phone, hoping for a distraction from my thoughts of the girls and, thankfully getting one immediately. It comes in the form a text from Monique.
Monique: Got your email. This sounds like a great idea. We can discuss it at length when you get back.
My brow furrows as I type out a response.
Selene: Get back from where? I don’t have any trips planned.
Monique: Yes, you do. You’re flying to Kentucky tomorrow night.
I open my calendar and see no changes to my schedule, which makes no sense given every move I make is tracked and documented by Allegra and Nichelle, then return to our messages.
Selene: What’s in Kentucky?
Monique: Not what. Who.
Selene: Who’s in Kentucky, Monique?
Impatience flares in my gut as I wait for her response. After that interaction with Joanna, and the persistent worry lingering in my bones for Imani and Isis, I’m not in the mood for these kinds of games. Monique must sense my restlessness because she texts back immediately.
Monique: Peter and Janice Ellsworth.
My jaw drops, and before I can recover from one bomb, she drops another.
Monique: They want to talk to you.
14
SELENE
Sutton’s childhood home is nothing like I thought it would be.
In the one conversation we’d had about her upbringing, Aubrey made it sound like she grew up in a shack on the side of the road not in a large Colonial style house in the suburbs of Lexington, Kentucky with a picket fence and the American flag flying proudly from one of the white columns bracketing the red brick steps leading to the front door. He’d also said she had no one to fall back on, but after weeks of watching Peter and Janice Ellsworth gush over their daughter in interviews, I now know that’s a lie as well. A warped reality presented to me for the sole purpose of inspiring pity for someone who never needed it.
Both of Sutton’s parents stand inside the entryway welcoming me, Agent Shaw and Agent Morgan into their home, and as they lead us into the cozy den right off their kitchen, I wonder if this is the first time they’ve had this many Black people in their home.
If Monique were here, she’d laugh at the question and tell me they’ve probably never had a Black person in this house at all. The thought makes me smile even though I’m still annoyedat my best friend for going out of her way to facilitate this trip and then refusing to tag along. I’d had to jump through multiple hoops to get out of Washington without anyone finding out. An impromptu trip to Camp David for Aubrey and his consorts that began yesterday plus a private jet chartered in Monique’s name had made that incredibly easy, but now I have to do the hard part.
“You can take a seat here, Mrs. Taylor,” Peter says, gesturing to the cream couch with American flag themed pillows perched in the colors. “Janice loves decorating for upcoming holidays,” he adds, sitting down across from me in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the coffee table.
Agent Shaw moves to the window to my right, peeking through the blinds into the blanket of darkness covering the backyard and then pulling the curtains closed tight. Morgan does the same thing on my left, and I take a small comfort in the calm they’re both emanating. Janice enters the room carrying a tray of coffee and cookies.
She leaves it on the table between us and takes a seat next to her husband. “No one in the neighborhood is up at this hour, and we haven’t had a news van parked outside in days.”
Meeting this early in the morning had been my idea, and I’d been surprised when the Ellsworths agreed to host me before sunrise without so much as a question about why I’d flown to Kentucky only to spend a few hours on the ground. I was glad I didn’t have to explain what might happen to them, and me, if word of this little fact finding mission made its way back to Aubrey.
