Then a young Latina woman comes in and brings a whole different climate with her. The click of her heels on the linoleum seems to wake up the room and her smart red suit overcomes the dreary paint job. She takes my hand in both of hers and tells me her name is Anita Esteban and that Mattie’s told her all about me and she’s going to take care of everything.
“Where’s Oren?” I ask.
“Child Welfare is placing him in a temporary residence.” Her phone buzzes and she holds one finger up, looks down at the screen, then smiles. “Okay, this is good news, just give me a second.” She goes out again, talking fast into her phone, leaving me with the dreary paint and stale air, and I feel deflated. Oren’s already been swept up by the system. I’m not his mother. I have no claim on him. I’ve got a record. We’re just two pieces caught in the cogs of a machine, being moved farther and farther apart—
But then Anita Esteban comes back in smiling. “Good news. Oren’s been placed at Horizon House, which is an at-risk youth center run at St. Alban’s—”
“The convent?” I say sharply. “He won’t like that. He was scared by that building.”
“Hmm,” Anita says. “It can look a little daunting from the outside, but it’s a good place. The best part is that in the other wing of the building they run a women’s shelter, and I got you in there. That is, if you want it. You could see Oren—”
“Yes,” I say, “that’s perfect. But what about Mattie?”
“She had to run out because of an emergency with her friend, but she sent me to take care of you.” Anita smiles at me. “Don’t worry. Mattie saved my life. That’s what she does. There are hundreds of people in this county who owe their lives to her. We’re all going to help her and you and the boy. Okay?” She takes both my hands and looks into my eyes. “The first thing I’m going to do is get you in a better room. This place stinks. You okay with that?”
I nod because my throat is closed up and I’m afraid I’ll start bawling if I speak. I feel like I’ve just gotten a Get Out of Jail Free card and landed on the big ladder that takes you to the top in Chutes and Ladders. I feel like I’m part of the game.
IN THE DAYS that follow, Mattie marshals an army of lawyers and social workers on Oren’s and my behalf. She does all this even though her friend Doreen is in the hospital recovering from a failed suicide attempt. She does all this even though her own case is looking difficult. No one seems to mind that it’s the week before Christmas or that everyone is still digging out from the blizzard. Whoever Mattie calls shows up to help. A man from DSS visits to help me fill out paperwork for Section 8 housing. Alana, the volunteer I was so mean to, brings a basketful of clothes for me. An old woman from Saugerties shows up to alter them for me. While she sews she tells me her story.
“My husband was mean as dirt and hit me and our kids regularly. I blamed it on the work he did—he was a guard at a juvenile detention center—and I blamed it on myself for not knowing how to stop him. Then he got fired because he raped a girl at the facility where he worked. I was grateful when he went to prison—and I was grateful when he killed himself two years in. But then I found out that we wouldn’t get his pension. I’d like to say things got better, but the next ten years were a struggle. I drank. I hit my kids. I would have lost them, but this social worker showed up at my hearing and recommended me for a counseling group at Sanctuary. I thought I’d just go along with it to get my kids back . . . but then I started hearing the stories of other women who’d been through the things I’d been through and worse. I told the group one day that my dream was to open a quilt shop. The next day I found all these sewing supplies on my doorstep and Mattie Lane called to say that the Rotary Club was going to give me a business loan to open a quilt shop. It changed my life. It wasn’t just the handout that did it, it was . . .” Her voice falters.
“Someone believing in you,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed. Then she put down her needle and thread and leaned forward. “You’re not on your own here, Alice. There are people here who believe in you.”
Only after she left did I put it all together. A guard who raped a teenager at a juvenile detention center. Mattie. Mattie had found the wife of her rapist and had helped her put her life back together.
And that old woman was right; I wasn’t on my own at St. Alban’s and it’s not a bad place. The nuns are kind and quiet. The other women are kind and loud. We have our own common room and kitchen. We cook dinner together and watch movies and talk late into the night. It’s what I imagine college must be like.
The best part is that I see Oren every day. He looks well fed and happy. He’s also got new clothes, including a brand-new Star Wars sweatshirt that I suspect Mattie got for him.
Mattie comes every night. She brings bags of groceries, toiletries, and clothes—not just for me but for all the women and children at St. Alban’s. All the nuns and volunteers know her, and she gets to break whatever rules she wants, like getting Oren permission to come over to the women’s wing to watch movies at night. She brings all the DVDs of the Star Wars movies and we have a marathon.
Mattie tells me that Doreen has a friend at Children’s Court working on my petition for custody. It may take a while but they think they will prevail in the end.
“Is Doreen okay?” I ask.
Mattie nods, her face tightening. “She will be. It helps her to have your case to work on.” Then she tells me her plans for me. She’s got a friend who runs a B and B in Mount Tremper, on the outskirts of Delphi, who needs a housekeeper. The job comes with a cottage out back. It’s not much, but it’s a place that Social Services will deem suitable for Oren to live. She’s got another friend at Ulster Community College who can talk to me about going back to school. She’s even got a friend (Well, Wayne actually, she says, blushing) who has an old car I can use.
Anita Esteban was right. Mattie has hundreds of friends and she’s calling on them all for my sake.
“What about your case?” I ask.
She sighs and I think it’s going to be bad news. “When the police searched Frank’s house and computer they found evidence that he’s been taking money from Pine Crest for delivering young people to a judge in Albany who always sends them to Pine Crest. That kind of backs up my story, so Anita’s hopeful I won’t be charged.”
“You don’t sound happy about that,” I say.
She turns to me, her violet eyes shining in the reflection of the television set. “How could I have not seen what had happened to Frank?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s really asking. That she wants my opinion. I look at her, at this woman who has spent a lifetime helping the most powerless and helpless people, who has built a safety net wide enough to catch me and Oren in our most vulnerable moment, and I know what to say. “You see the best in people, Mattie. You see what they once were and could be again if only someone would give them a chance. Look at what you’ve seen in me.”
Mattie smiles, transforming her face into that beautiful teenager in the Polaroid photograph. She puts her arm around me. “Oh, that was easy, Alice. With you I see a woman who got stuck in a bad situation to save a little boy. I see a mother who loves her son. I’d have to be a lot older and blinder not to see that.”