Little Mercies Page 26

  “Oh, thank God,” I say with relief. “Thank you. Can I hold her when she wakes up?”

  “You can hold her right now if you’d like,” Meredith tells me.

  “Really?” I ask in surprise. “Even if she’s asleep?”

  “There are worse things than waking up in your mother’s arms. Sometimes that’s the best medicine. I can get a more comfortable chair in here for you,” she offers. “Another recliner if you’d like. Those chairs are brutal.”

  “That’s okay,” I assure her. “This is fine. I just really want to hold her.” Meredith is already lowering the side of the crib. “Here, I’ll hand her to you. We just have to be careful of her IV tubing and monitors.” Carefully, Meredith transfers a still slumbering Avery into my awaiting arms. Immediately she snuggles more closely to me, as if even in sleep, she knows it’s me, recognizes my scent, my touch, the beat of my heart against hers. “Thank you,” I whisper gratefully to Meredith.

  “No problem,” she answers. “I’ll stop back in a little bit to see if you need anything or press the call button and I’ll come running.” Meredith turns to leave, hesitates and walks back to me. “Two weeks ago,” she begins, “there was a little boy in here who was electrocuted when he poked a bobby pin into a light socket. Last week there was a little girl whose neck somehow got tangled up in a window blind cord and a little boy who choked on a hot dog.” I cannot respond. We have safety covers on every single one of our electrical outlets in our home. We have trimmed our window cords so that not even Leah can reach them. I rarely buy hot dogs, but when I do I cut them crosswise and lengthwise so there is no chance a piece will get lodged in my children’s throats. But I understand what she is trying to tell me. Accidents happen every day to everyday people. She’s trying to be kind, to offer some kind of comfort. She turns to leave but before she reaches the door I call out to her in a loud whisper. “Are they okay?” I ask.

  Even in the dim light I can see her measuring her words. “I can’t comment on the specific situations,” she explains. “Some of the kids are going to be just fine. Some are not.” I want to ask if she knows if Avery will be one of those who ends up in the just fine group, but know that she doesn’t have the answer. That none of us do just yet.

  There is something about holding a sleeping child. I remember when Leah was an infant and I had the time to just sit and hold her for hours at a time. It didn’t matter that there were stacks of dirty laundry piling up or dirty dishes in the sink. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t swept a floor, cleaned a toilet or cooked a decent meal. Leah didn’t care. All that mattered was that I was able to sit on the couch, cradling my newborn. I could sit and stare at her for hours. A few years later, when Lucas was born and Leah was a busy toddler demanding my full attention, I had less time to just hold him. When Leah was taking her nap or was off with Adam, I would greedily snatch Lucas from his crib or playpen and just sit and look at him. The arch of his eyebrow, the slope of his nose, the minuscule indentation in his chin. Then when Avery came along, it was nearly impossible. When I was able to hold her, I was either feeding her or carting her from one room to another while I picked up the dirty laundry or ran the vacuum cleaner or was helping Leah with her homework or tying Lucas’s tennis shoes for him. I wish I would have held Avery more. I wish I would have held that time as sacred for her as I did with Leah and Lucas. I would go back and take the time to memorize the way her dark hair curled around her ears, the curve of her cheek, the way her dimpled fingers clutched at my breast as she drank. I never paid attention. Now as I stare down at her, I try to see past the IV, see past the identification band wrapped around her ankle, the pulse oximeter attached to her foot, to memorize all that is Avery. Little mercies, I remind myself. Little mercies.

  Epilogue

  I never thought I would get used to the institutional smell, the sight of worn-down women in orange with the word prisoner inscribed down one pant leg. The Iowa Correctional Center for Women in Cravenville houses over five hundred and forty women, including Deidra Olmstead. It could have been my home, as well, if it wasn’t for Joe Gaddey, Ruth Johnson and Jade Tharp, my former client and the woman who gave my daughter CPR when she was pulled from the car.

  That was the first miracle. The second was Avery. Just two days after I was allowed to see her again, she was moved to the regular pediatric floor and three days after that she was discharged. I’m not so arrogant as to believe that my daughter’s recovery was due to my reentry into her life. I know it had everything to do with the excellent medical care she received and the prayers that so many had thrown up to the heavens on our behalf.

  Her homecoming was a wonderful day. Adam, my mother, Lucas and Leah—we all went to the hospital to bring her home. I invited Joe to join us, as well, but he declined. He said that this was a special time and we needed this time alone as a family. I told him that he was like family to us and he smiled, a little sadly, I think, and said he would stop over once we were all settled in. We gathered up all the balloons, stuffed animals, cards and flowers that people had sent us over the weeks and piled them into our newly purchased car. The van could have been fixed but forever I would think of it as the place where my daughter almost died, so we traded it in and got an SUV. Once at home, we had cake and ice cream and Leah and Lucas showed off the huge “Welcome Home, Avery” sign they created.

  My mother stops by almost every single day and when she doesn’t, we go over and see her or talk to one another on the phone. After taking several weeks of personal time to help me out with kids, she has returned to work at the restaurant. I know she is sad about Jenny going back to Nebraska, but she knows that it’s the best thing for Jenny, whose mother is now in prison at Cravenville for the murder of her husband. She pleaded guilty to manslaughter and will serve up to ten years. She was Prieto’s new project once he figured out that I wasn’t going to be the big case for him anymore. He initially charged her with first-degree murder and if Iowa had the death penalty would surely have fought to have Deidra die by lethal injection. With a little begging on my part, Ted Vitolo served as her pro bono attorney and as part of her defense requested the exhumation of little Madalyn’s remains. The judge denied the request.

  I don’t think Deidra should have to serve ten years after what James Olmstead did to Jenny and to Madalyn, but I also know that Deidra is by no means innocent in all that had happened. She knew that James was abusive. She saw what James was capable of doing. She was his victim, as was Jenny, but she is Jenny’s mother and should have protected her. At the very least, she should have left James after she saw the beating he gave Jenny. But she didn’t. She went with him, had another child. And that child died. Deidra should have called the police, let them deal with James, but she didn’t. She shot him with his own gun while he slept in their bed.

  I visit Deidra every few months at Cravenville, give her an update on how Jenny is doing, which by all accounts is amazingly well living with Connie. Deidra tells me that she writes letters to Jenny every week, asking her to come and see her. I advise her to give Jenny some time, that one day maybe they will find their way back to one another.

  I resigned from my job as a social worker with the Department of Human Services. I didn’t have to, but thought it would be best for my family and for the department. Right now, all I want to do is be with my children. I take Leah and Lucas to school every day and then spend the day at home with Avery. I know that each minute with them is a gift. I also know that I will have to return to work one day soon. Adam’s teaching and coaching salary doesn’t cover all our expenses and I’m thinking about applying for a job as a social worker at a nursing home or with a hospice, but for now we are content having our family back together again.

  I watch my children closely for any long-term damage that my inattentiveness, my neglect, has left behind. They seem fine, but I don’t know, not for sure. Leah is a bit clingier than she used to be, Lucas is the same w
orrier that he has always been and Avery appears, remarkably, back to normal both physically and emotionally. I guess time will tell.

  For now, I will hug my children, will talk to my mother, kiss my husband, and tell them all every single day that I love them. Each day, each hour, each minute we have together is all I have. It restores me, slowly helps me forgive myself. Leaves me a little bit less broken. It’s all that I dare hope for, but it’s everything.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from ONE BREATH AWAY by Heather Gudenkauf.

  Acknowledgments

  My gratitude goes to so many in bringing Little Mercies to life.

  My parents, Milton and Patricia Schmida, and to my brothers and sisters, Greg, Jane, Milt, Molly and Patrick, for their unwavering support; Dr. Ghada Abusin, Dr. Tami Gudenkauf and Jeff Doerr for their medical expertise; Chief Mark Dalsing and Natalia Blaskovich for law enforcement and legal information; Teena Williams for her honest and touching insights into the social work profession; Marianne Merola, my agent, for always being there and her encouragement; Henry Thayer for his behind-the-scenes work, Erika Imranyi, my editor, for her attention to detail and wise suggestions; and to Miranda Indrigo and the entire MIRA team for their hard work and support.

  As always, my love and thanks to Scott, Alex, Anna and Grace—I couldn’t do it without you.

  Little mercies, one and all.

  LITTLE

  MERCIES

  Heather Gudenkauf

  Reader’s Guide

  Questions for Discussion

  Like many parents, Ellen struggles to balance her personal and professional lives. Discuss how you face maintaining that precarious balance between home and work.

  Ellen’s former client Jade steps in to save Avery’s life and Ellen finds herself being seen as an unfit mother. Talk about this reversal of roles. How do you think this changed Ellen’s view of the parents she works with and how they think of Ellen? Does this change your opinion of parents who might have experience in the child welfare system?

  Discuss the ways parenthood and adult-child relationships are portrayed in the novel. Think about Jenny’s relationships with her father, mother, Maudene, her father’s friend-girls and Ellen’s relationship with her own children and the children she works with as a social worker.

  Ellen’s distractions have catastrophic effects on her daughter’s health, her family, and her professional life as a social worker. Talk about a time when you may have had a close call in your life. How did you feel? How did the experience change you?

  Ellen is charged with a felony and potentially faces a prison sentence. Do you think she should have to serve time behind bars? Why or why not?

  What scenes or developments in the novel affected you most?

  Adam quickly forgives Ellen for leaving Avery in the hot car. How would you react in a similar situation? Does Ellen deserve forgiveness? Do you think she will be able to forgive herself?

  Maudene places herself in a precarious situation by taking a wayward Jenny into her home. Discuss the possible implications of this decision. What would you have done if faced with a similar situation?

  How do Ellen and Jenny change over the course of the novel? Which character changes the most, which the least?

  How did your opinion of Jenny’s mother change over the course of the novel?

  In Jenny’s young life she has already faced so many obstacles: poverty, abuse, struggles with school, a runaway mother and an unpredictable father. What do you think will become of Jenny?

  What does the title Little Mercies mean to you?

  A Conversation with Heather Gudenkauf

  Little Mercies is an emotionally charged, ripped-from-the-headlines drama about a woman who makes an honest mistake that has life-altering consequences. What was your inspiration for this story and the characters?

  When I was a young mother I was always hypervigilant in trying to protect my children. We baby-proofed our home in every way possible. I would cut grapes and apples into tiny choke-proof pieces. Each night I peeked in their cribs to make sure they were still breathing and I always kept a watchful eye on them while they played. Over the years, like most mothers, I relaxed a bit, realizing that no matter the safeguards put into place, I couldn’t always prevent the scrapes, bruises and heartbreaks that accompany childhood.

  But then I heard a news story about a well-meaning and, by all accounts, a loving and responsible mother who accidently left her infant in a hot car and, tragically, the child died. This and similar stories sent me reeling. These harrowing accounts of mothers and fathers who love their children and are constantly trying to balance work and home in order to care for their families and manage all that life tosses at them forced me to ask myself, Could this happen to me? To someone I love? From these inner conversations, Little Mercies emerged.

  In addition to your career as a writer, you spent many years working in the education system. Why did you choose to focus this novel on a social worker, and how did your experience as an educator inform and influence the story?

  Just like so many women, Ellen is a loving mother and conscientious in her professional life as a social worker. We all know someone like Ellen, in fact, many of us could be Ellen. I wanted to explore how a regular woman, trying to navigate life in the midst of a harried, unrelenting schedule, faces an unthinkable tragedy.

  As an educator I’ve had the opportunity to get to know social workers, school counselors, teachers and other educators who work tirelessly to protect children and help families learn and grow stronger. Oftentimes, we forget that those who spend their lives serving and helping others can also make mistakes, at times with shattering results. Also, during my years as a teacher, I have met or learned about many children who share the same vulnerability, courage and feistiness as Jenny.

  Little Mercies is told in alternating perspectives between Ellen and Jenny. Why did you structure the novel this way, versus focusing on a single perspective, and what do you hope each character will offer?

  Little Mercies is my fourth novel and like the previous three I chose to tell this story in multiple perspectives. I think that by offering alternate points of view, I give readers the chance to experience one very difficult situation through the eyes of a guilt-ridden mother and an innocent but determined child.

  My hope is that readers recognize Ellen’s good intentions and the sincere love she has for her own family and the families with which she works, despite her terrible mistake. She reminds us of our own frailties and the importance of having a supportive network of friends and family. Through Jenny’s eyes we see a worldview filled with hope despite her challenging home life and many disappointments. We have so much to learn from the perseverance and resilience of children.

  What is the significance of the title Little Mercies, both in the story and in the message you want to send to readers?

  I think there are many times when we find ourselves hoping for the big miracles in life such as a cure to a horrible illness or picking the winning lottery numbers, but I truly believe it’s the small kindnesses—the little mercies—that really get us through the difficult times. In the novel, for Ellen, the little mercies come from her family and friends who help her navigate an incredibly difficult time. For Jenny, it’s the compassion of strangers that she meets along her journey who come to her aid. My hope is that readers find ways to pas
s little mercies on to complete strangers as well as to their loved ones. It can be as simple as a smile and a cheerful hello; it can be a shoulder to cry on or the gift of time. The possibilities are endless.

  What was your toughest challenge, your greatest pleasure, and your biggest surprise as you were writing Little Mercies?

  I’d have to say that delving into the emotional devastation that Ellen experienced in the novel was the most challenging part for me. As a mother, it’s crushing to see your child suffer.

  My greatest pleasure while writing Little Mercies was the people I met and the wonderful conversations that ensued. I tend to be a bit shy and reserved, so seeking out experts to help inform my writing doesn’t always come easily to me but is always rewarding. During the course of writing Little Mercies I met a dedicated social worker who shared the joys and challenges of serving families. In order to learn more about the medical profession and legal system I visited with doctors, a paramedic, an attorney and the chief of police. I even got the chance to tour a police station and walk through the steps of the booking process.

  As it is with all my novels, the biggest surprises come from the characters and the directions they end up taking me, and Jenny and Ellen from Little Mercies did not disappoint.