“Callie was hell-bent on spending her life alone,” Rose says as we cross the street and head back toward Daphne’s House. “Look at her now. She’s happier than she ever thought possible.”
“I don’t know them well, but it seems impossible that Callie or Jessie would ever have been like that,” I confess as we reach Daphne’s House and start up the steps. “It gives me hope that if they can end up in love and happy then maybe Alex can too.”
“Good. It should,” Rose says as I unlock and open the front door. “Happy with you.”
That additional statement makes my heart skip. Rose freezes and her face lights up like she just remembered something. “I think this means you’ll be coming to my wedding!”
“What?”
She’s absolutely glowing. “He’s invited, obviously, and you can be his plus one now! I was going to invite you anyway, but thanks to Cupid I won’t need to. I love love!”
Selena walks into the hall from the classroom. She claps her hands excitedly. “Kids are all set to go, and the other teachers are here if you’re ready.”
“Yeah. Of course!” Rose says excitedly and hugs me before disappearing into the classroom. I peek in and am pleased to see five kids there, including Mackenzie. She glances up at me and gives me a hard smirk as if to sayHappy now?because I’m making her attend. I smile back at her because yes, I’m happy now. In more ways than one.
Later that night, as I watch Mackenzie’s favorite show,Riverdale, with her, my text message alert goes off.
Rose: Hey. Know you said to forget it but mentioned the scars to Luc.
He said Alex got them when he was a kid. Fell on glass or something.
I read the text over and over. I can’t pull my eyes away. All the words circle around in my head, swirling and banging together. He fell on glass. When he was a kid. The story isn’t complete by any means, but there’s enough of it for me to make the connection to my own life. And the similarity has me dazed.
“It can’t be…”
“Who cares? It’s Archie. I only watch this for Jughead,” Mackenzie replies, her eyes still glued to the television. She thinks I’m talking about the show. My phone buzzes again with another text.
Rose: Anyway, I won’t bring it up again. I promise.
Unless you change your mind and want me to.
See you Thursday!
I text her back with a simple “okay” and then stand. Mackenzie looks up. “I need to grab something of mine from the closet in your room. Okay?”
“It’s your room, your house. You don’t have to ask me,” she replies quietly. “Do you want me to pause the show?”
“No. Keep watching.” I start toward the hall but stop. “And it’s your room. Okay?”
She nods cautiously like she doesn’t believe me, but I know that will only change with time, not with words, so I leave her to her show and head up to her room. It’s a bit of a disaster with her clothes in random piles and the bed unmade, but I don’t care. It’s actually nice to have her here. Her mess is somehow comforting. I didn’t have a messy room as a kid because we had a maid that came three times a week. I always wanted a messy one though. It seemed like a “normal kid” thing to have and I was always struggling to feel normal. I head to the closet and the small filing cabinet I wedged in the back corner when I moved in. I pull open the top drawer and it only takes me a minute to find the file.
My parents gave it to me when I really started hounding them with questions when I was fourteen. I always knew I was adopted and what had happened to my birth mom, but eventually I started to ask a lot of questions about the time between my birth family and my adoptive parents so they gave me my file from the social worker.
I move Mackenzie’s backpack off the corner of her bed and sit down with the folder in my lap. I haven’t opened this in years. I don’t like revisiting it; besides, once I read it at fourteen the information was seared into my brain. I flip it open and scan to the section that Rose’s texts made me think of.
I read the words over and over and over.Removed from home when it became apparent that children were being physically abused. A child found locked in a closet in the basement. Another child had been pushed through a window.
I must’ve been staring at it for a long time because Mackenzie appears in the doorway. “You okay?”
I blink and nod. “Yeah. I just…Something made me think of my childhood and I wanted to look something up.”
That couldn’t be vaguer if I tried but she doesn’t question me. Her pale eyes fall to the folder and she narrows her eyes on it. “Gabrielle Laflamme. Is that you?”
I nod. “It was before I was adopted. When I was in foster care like you.”
“How did you end up there?” she asks, leaning against the door frame. “Was your mom a selfish crack head like mine?”
I try not to frown. There is work to be done on her outlook on her mom, who died of an overdose two years ago, but now is not the time. I shake my head. “My mother was a single mom, like yours, but mine was older. She was forty-one when she had me, by herself. No husband.”
