getting me and Justine away from that place and our father was the bravest thing anyone could have done. I donât remember a lot about him, but I know that he beat you, and that Iâd hide under my bed, and I still get nightmares about that night he came and tried to take us back.â Her eyes misted. âThose werenât mistakes, if I can be even half as brave.â
âHush,â Ruth said, wrapping biscuits in tinfoil and throwing them into the paper bag along with a bottle of iced tea, a sandwich, and something else covered in foil. âI was out of my mind. I donât think I was brave, more scared than anything, and too young and stupid to realize the risks I took. I knew if I stayed with your daddy it was only going to get worse.â
Barrett felt torn, desperate to get back to the office, but hungry for these scraps about her early childhood and the family her mother had left when she was only twenty, and which she rarely spoke of. âDonât you ever miss them?â she asked, having seen her mom weep over Christmas cards that arrived each year from her mother â a grandmother Barrett couldnât even picture.
âOnly my mother,â Ruth said, âbut just like I donât want you to repeat my mistakes â and yes, I made my choices and some were just plain stupid â I wonât repeat hers. I remember something she used to say about my father after heâd yelled at her, or called her stupid, or embarrassed her in front of company, sheâd tell me, âI pick my battles.â Problem is, I donât think she ever won any. And wouldnât you know, the first time I fall in love, itâs with a man just like my daddy only better-looking and meaner. That night we left Georgia, I truly believed he was going to kill me. I canât even remember what set him off. All I could think with him pounding away at me,â she continued, now pouring batter into just-purchased loaf pans, âwas,
Iâll be dead and whoâs going to take care of my girls?
When he finally passed out, I just grabbed you and Justine, got in the car, and drove. I remember thinking,
Please God, just let me win this one battle.
â
âI remember some of it,â Barrett said. âYour face was horrible, by the end of the ride you had huge black eyes.â
âI was a mess, twenty years old, two babies, and a Chevy station wagon that blew its transmission on the Bowery.â
Barrett glanced again at the clock; 12:15, her paperwork was not going to get done, but she loved the next part of the story. âAnd thatâs when you met Sophie and Max,â she said, reluctantly standing, as loving memories of the elderly Polish couple â Holocaust survivors who had taken them in â flooded her. She rubbed her nose against her babyâs and put him back down in the pen. He looked at her wide-eyed, his arms reached toward her, and he tumbled forward.
âI love that you named the baby after him,â Ruth said, heading toward the door as Barrett buttoned up.
âIf heâd been a girl I would have called her Sophia ⦠I miss them both so much.â
âMe too,â Ruth said, while trying to stuff the too-full paper bag into the gaping side pocket of Barrettâs briefcase.
Barrett was about to protest â she had no time for lunch â when her eye caught the blinking light on her phone. âWho called?â
âSomeone from the hospital, some kind of review board or something.â
Barrettâs island of calm evaporated, replaced by a dull dread. She pressed play and heard a secretaryâs practiced lines. âDr. Conyors, this is to inform you that the six-month review for James Cyrus Martin IV is scheduled for July 15th. If you wish to give testimony at the hearing please respond to the office of the Release Board no later than June 30th.â She left the number and the machine clicked off. She looked at her