Put that way, it made perfect sense. Clearly, something like that was at play here. Feeling better, Sharon drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Three
Sharon planned to talk to her daughter about the little girl in the window during their next conversation. The best approach would be to send the image through her phone so that Amy would have it for reference. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do it, though, until Amy walked her through the process of texting an image, and that would be starting something. Sharon dreaded asking for help. Amy was apt to be impatient at having to explain it again, something that made Sharon feel like an idiot. “It’s not that hard,” she’d say, and Sharon had to admit she was right. It wasn’t that hard. So why didn’t it stick in her brain?
She was pretty sure the icon used for sharing photos was the little V with the circles on each end, the one that reminded her of Star Trek for some reason, but she was afraid to try it without double-checking first. “Why can’t they just put the word share there?” she’d wondered aloud the first time they’d discussed it. “That would be so much easier.”
“No, this is easier, and better,” Amy had firmly stated, proceeding to make her case. “Because this way anyone can tell at a glance. The same way you instinctively know which symbol is the on button for all your devices.” Sharon didn’t have the heart to tell her that for the longest time the only way she could remember which one was the on button was by reminding herself that it looked like the outline of a teeny breast.
Amy was a real go-getter, an attorney who worked in corporate law. Her new job on the East Coast involved something with contracts for the shipping industry. It all sounded very dry and uninteresting to Sharon, but Amy thrived on the art of negotiation and studying the fine print. She was good at it, judging by her very large salary. Sharon was proud of her, even if she didn’t always understand her.
Before Sharon retired, she’d envisioned her golden years as a chance for her and her daughter to spend more time together, but after Amy moved, Sharon had revised the dream and thought it would be an opportunity for her to take classes and do volunteer work. In theory it was a good idea, but soon after leaving the world of employment, she had discovered the joy of having a wide-open schedule, and she’d never looked back. Sweet freedom was doing what she wanted, when she wanted, and not having to account to anyone. Sharon liked her life, even if it was a little lonely at times.
She wasn’t looking for trouble with the neighbors, but the little girl she’d glimpsed the previous night was on her mind first thing when she woke. Amy’s insight into the matter could only help.
But when Amy unexpectedly called later that morning, the topic of the mystery child flew out of her head. Sharon was eating breakfast at the time, but she set her spoon aside to answer.
After exchanging greetings, Amy got straight to the point. “Mom, I hate to ask this of you, but I need a favor.”
Sharon sucked in a breath. Amy never asked for anything. Even as a small child she’d shaken off Sharon’s efforts to help, determined to figure everything out on her own. If she was asking her mother for a favor, it was only because she hadn’t figured out any other way around it. “Sure, baby girl. What do you need?”
She could hear Amy’s relief coming through the line. “I knew I could count on you,” she said.
“Of course. Anything for you.”
“Well, it’s not for me, exactly,” Amy said. “It’s Nikita.”
Nikita? Sharon had a sinking feeling. Nikita Ramos was a foster child Amy had been connected with in her volunteer work as a CASA—court-appointed special advocate. At the time, Amy hadn’t said too much about Nikita—only that she’d been in foster care since she was twelve and that life was a constant struggle for her.
Sharon had only met Nikita once, and that had been before Amy moved to Boston, when Sharon had accidentally run into Amy and the girl shopping at the mall. Amy introduced them, and Sharon noticed how Nikita sized her up with one long look. Of course, Sharon did the same thing right back. Nikita struck her as one of those tough girls, both in body language and appearance. Her long hair was dyed raven black with one purple strip, and her T-shirt was black as well, with a large skull on the front, a snake dripping out of one eye socket. It was like she wanted to be stereotyped as someone not to be messed with. She seemed antsy, too, like she was overdue for a cigarette or something worse. Nikita had said hello and that it was nice to meet her, but the girl had never met her gaze, something that had struck Sharon as being suspicious.
“What about Nikita?” Sharon asked now.
“She needs a place to stay, and I thought, well, you’re all alone there with the empty bedroom upstairs.” Amy had a habit of making a statement and just letting it sit there, waiting for the other person to react. It wasn’t from reticence, Sharon knew. Her daughter could be shockingly bold when it was necessary. This pause was a strategy, an opportunity for Sharon to come around to Amy’s way of thinking.
“So you want her to live here?” Sharon said. Objections flooded her brain. She hadn’t been upstairs in ages and had no idea what condition the room was in. And having a teenager come and live with her? She’d barely known how to raise her own daughter, and Amy had been so easy. A model child, by most people’s standards. What did teenagers even eat nowadays? And who knew what kind of emotional baggage a former foster child would have. What if Nikita did damage to the house or was violent? What if she hurt the cat? Sharon shuddered at the thought. There were so many reasons to say no, but she knew Amy wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. And she certainly wouldn’t deliberately put her own mother in danger.
Amy said, “Just for a little while. She called and sounded desperate, said she couldn’t stay there another night. She was frantic, ready to leave right that minute, but I talked her into staying until I could figure something out. Honestly, I don’t know what the hell’s going on. She wouldn’t tell me, but I know she needs to get out of there right away.”
“Wait a minute,” Sharon said. “Back up. I thought she aged out of foster care.” She was certain of this, remembering how Amy had taken a role in helping Nikita find housing after her high school graduation. By that point Amy had moved to Boston, but she’d flown back to Wisconsin to make the arrangements. Amy had a good heart.
“Yeah, she did, and she’s lived in several places since then. I know what you’re thinking, Mom. You’re thinking that all this moving around makes her sound like she’s a problem.”
That was exactly what Sharon had been thinking, embarrassingly enough.
“That’s not true. Nikita’s gone through hell. All she needs is a room and a little support. Just someone to be in her corner, to let her know she matters.” Amy’s voice was firm. “I have friends I could have called, but I thought of you right away. I think you two would be good together.”
“How long would she be staying with me?”
“Thank you, Mom, thank you! You’re the best. I knew you would come through for me.” Amy’s gratitude burst through the phone in a rush, the words coming out so rapidly that Sharon’s question got lost in the whirlwind. “I’ll text you the address and Nikita’s number. How quickly can you get there to pick her up?”