Chapter 21: March to April 3, 1987: Part I

We spend hours talking to our advisors, student housing, financial aid, the school's daycare manager, and social workers. We spend even more hours reading in the libraries.

Late Wednesday afternoon, we sit on the couch, each holding a notebook, our legs tangled together. I take the pros, he takes the cons, and for over an hour, we discuss every aspect of this decision: finances, workload, aid, potential medical concerns, purchasing baby items, Shannon and Derek’s involvement, and parenting style.

Finally, we set our notebooks down, and Colin takes a deep breath. "It's possible, but not easy. We can afford it, but it will drastically change our lives, which are pretty great right now."

I nod. "I know we agreed to leave emotion out of it, but really it’s a logical tie. So, there are two questions. One, are we emotionally able to care for a child? Two, do we want to start a family when we're twenty years old and still in college?"

"I think our relationship will survive either way." He holds my hand in both of his. "You've come a long way in the last couple of years, Ra'Shelle. You're more secure, confident, and open. You've worked through a lot of your neuroses, and you're realizing your dreams are actually possible. Even in the last eight months, you've changed so much."

"I'm sassier." I grin.

He laughs. "For sure. But also, you're taller and stronger. You hold your head up when we walk and things don't upset you easily. You're even better than me at keeping your cool, and you don't let the little things unnerve you."

"You’re still the patient one."

He smiles. "Every relationship needs a patient person, especially to balance out the sass of the other." His smile fades. "Seriously, Ra'Shelle, you know the inner workings of your head, but I think you're emotionally fit to be a partner and a parent, and so am I."

I lean in and kiss him. "Thanks, babe."

"So, I'm in, if you're in. Do you want to start a family?"

I bite my lip. "I need to sleep on it one more night."

He stands up, pulling on my hands to bring me with him.

I chuckle as I stand. "I didn’t mean right now.”

He places his lips against my ear and whispers, “Sleep can wait.”

His voice is so warm and inviting that I’m still turned on by any pickup line, and we shed our clothes so quickly that I’m nearly naked before we even step into the bedroom.

He reads me like an open book now, and I’ve learned to communicate what I need. He knows when I can be swept away in a moment and when he still needs to ask, “Can I touch you?”

I’ve never felt as seen as I do when he makes eye contact during sex.

I’ve never felt as heard as I do when he whispers, “Tell me what you want.”

We’re both so attentive that if either of us begin to escape into the dark corners of our mind, we tell the other, and we work together to recommit to the moment.

And that’s what happens tonight.

All the questions lingering over us, the crossroads into our future, and the uncertainty of parenthood… it all falls away.

It’s just us.

Just him and me.

No one else exists.

***

The next morning, I awaken to find him reading next to me.

"Yes," I say hoarsely. I clear my throat. "Yes."

He puts down his book. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I want to start a family with you."

He grins and kisses my forehead. "Me too."

"I'll tell her this afternoon."

***

When he arrives home, I’m hunched over the desk.

"Hey, babe. Did you talk to Shannon?"

I don’t look up. "You can’t see an imprint of her hug?"

He laughs. "So, it went well."

I hold up a stack of papers. "She was so sure of our answer, that they already had the lawyer draw up the papers. I'm reading over them now. We'll all go to the Student Success Center in the morning for the appointment with a notary. We sign the papers, he notarizes them, and we can take the baby home from the hospital in August."

He drops his backpack and leans over me. "That happened fast."

"I think I misjudged how much she wanted our help."

"What do the papers say?"

"She and Derek are terminating all parental rights. We'll have full legal and physical custody of the baby. I didn't expect the language to be this… precise."

He strolls into the kitchen. "You want a sandwich?"

"Yes, please."

"Are you going to see what's-his-name tomorrow?" he calls.

"Tom Ledger?"

"Yes."

"Yeah. I'm done with class at eleven. I'll catch the two o'clock bus, and I'm supposed to meet with him at three."

"You excited?"

I turn the page. "Yeah. I think it'll be fun."

***

Derek is so agitated that he barely stays long enough to sign the papers before storming out without acknowledging either of us. Shannon tries, and fails, to assure us that he’s just preoccupied with classes and football.

I take the papers to class with me and find myself surprisingly excited. While I climb the dorm steps, I’m enthusiastically humming “Lean on Me'' and thinking about how many 80s bands have ruined perfectly good 70s classics.

Keys in hand, I look up to see two police officers standing at my door. The first is a tall, muscular Black man, with a short, gray fade and a manicured goatee, displaying the stereotypical presence of a police officer. Standing next to him is a tall, lanky, twenty-year-old White guy with a buzz cut.

Recognizing both of them, I freeze, then take a breath before continuing the walk to my door.

"Officer Daly," I greet the older officer. "I haven’t seen you in a while."

He nods. "How are you, Ra'Shelle?"

"I'm well, thanks."

"You probably know Jeff Keeting."

"We went to high school together. Joined the force, huh?"

Keeting’s voice is lower than I remember. "Received my Associate's in Criminal Justice, then signed up for the Academy."

"Cool," I say nonchalantly. I look between them. "Should I invite you in?"

“Yeah,” Daly says.

"All right then."

As I unlock the door and hold it for them, a White mother and her two young kids glance at me then quickly look away.

I set my bag on the desk, and my voice is impatient. "I don't think I've done anything arrest-worthy, so why are you here?"

Daly makes eye contact. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

I roll my eyes. "She needs me to post bail again?... I haven't talked to her in a year. What'd she do?"

His voice is soft but still tainted by the authoritarian tone of a cop. "She died, Ra'Shelle."

I exhale loudly and fall on the couch. Keeting pulls out the desk chair, but Daly sits next to me.

My nerves tap against my skin, requesting an escape.

I rub my forehead. "When? How?"

"The landlord–" Daly begins.

"Lassio," I spit.

"Lassio found her last night. It appears to be an overdose."

"Well, that was expected, wasn’t it?" I look at Daly. "I mean, did you really see her going any other way?"

"I'm sorry, Ra'Shelle."

I shrug. “Seriously, it's fine. We've barely spoken in the last three years, and those conversations didn't go well."

Daly swallows. "As far as we can tell, she didn't leave any arrangements or a will."

"I don't want anything to do with it,” I tell them. “The coroner can cremate her or whatever they do when they can't find the next-of-kin. I don't exist in that world anymore. I'm sure Lassio will take care of cleaning out the apartment or whatever. He can just keep everything."

Daly nods. "Okay, Ra'Shelle." He looks at Keeting. "Would you mind waiting outside, Jeff?"

Keeting stands up. "Good luck, Ra'Shelle."

"Thanks, Jeff. You, too." I hear my door open and close before I turn to Daly with an exasperated sigh. "What?"

"I wanted to apologize. For before."

"When would that be?"

"Nine years ago. Four years ago. Whenever."

I shrug. "I'm doing fine now. I'm married, have a full scholarship, and start an internship this fall. I'm fine, Daly."

"We couldn't build a case, Ra'Shelle. We–"

"Sure you could," I interrupt curtly. "As a matter of fact, you did. You spent, what? Seventy hours collecting witness statements and evidence?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"It's not your fault that your captain didn't want to pursue. It's not your fault that the DA didn't want to antagonize a guy as big as Lassio.”

I click my tongue. “But it is your fault that you didn't have the stones to rock the boat."

"I tried."

"I appreciate everything you did, Daly, really, but we both know you could've pushed harder."

He scratches his head. "Yeah."

I shrug. "So, that's your burden. Mine is having horrific nightmares, being infertile, and having no satisfactory closure. We all have crosses to bear."

I rub my eyes. "Did you volunteer to tell me?"

"Yes."

"Feel any better?"

"No, and I doubt I ever will… The captain is retiring at the end of the year. Do you want me to try again?"

I study his guilt-ridden face. "It's the same DA."

"I could ask him to recuse himself."

I smirk. "You really think a nine-year-old cold case is worth ruining your career over?"

"There are a few cases I will never shake off,” he tells me. “A murder, a kidnapping, and yours."

"What am I? Your therapist?"

He rubs his forehead. "No. Sorry."

I sigh loudly and soften my tone. "I don't want it, Daly. I don't want the medical exams. I don't want a resentful ADA and greedy defense lawyers grilling me; I don't want to have to justify who I was or the things I did."

"Justify what you did?! You were eleven years old!"

He’s not directing his anger at me, but I still silence him with a glare. "Don’t yell at me, Daly. I don’t need your version of my life."

He rubs his face. “You’re right; I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. "Look, it was a long time ago. Time to move on."

"Have you?"

"I found someone who loves me for who I am. That has to be good enough."

"Tillerman lost his license, you know."

I stare at him. "No… I didn't. When?"

"Last year. He's facing criminal charges for mishandling medications, but I doubt he'll receive more than probation."

I shrug indignantly. "Then that's the closure we accept. One guy receives probation and loses his medical license. My mother is dead. The other two guys are walking around, invincible. That's as good as we’ll ever have, Daly. Accept it."

He takes a business card out of his shirt pocket. "If you change your mind, call me."

I hesitate before reluctantly taking the card. "Yeah."

"Or if you need anything else. Anything. Even just to talk."

"Yeah."

We stand, but he hesitates awkwardly. He wants to hug me, but I know I won’t have the reaction he’s seeking. Instead, I extend my hand. "I'm happy, Daly. Things worked out for me."

He shakes my hand gently, almost pitifully. "I'm glad, Ra'Shelle."

I open the door for him. "Thanks for coming."

"Take care of yourself."

I close the door and take a deep breath. "Okay. I need a shower before I go to LFI. Wash that filthy conversation off of me."

***

I arrive twenty minutes early, as usual. As I climb the stairs to the second floor, I hear laughter and passionate conversations, one of which is evolving into an argument.

"I thought I was going to do more creative things!" a young man yells.

"When you accepted the job, you were told that fifty percent of your time was spent on design and the other fifty percent on administrative duties. You signed up for this," an older, calmer woman replies.

"I didn't know it would be so boring!"

I walk past the Creative Design Department and continue to the third floor. Last time, I was too nervous to appreciate the building’s aesthetic. Large windows flood the rooms with natural light, and vibrant paintings hang on colorful walls.

Creative souls definitely designed this building.

I smile at the assistant. "Sorry. I know I'm early again."

"Don’t apologize; he prefers it that way." She picks up the phone. "Ms. Dawson?" She hangs up. "Go on in."

He stands behind his desk when I enter. The tie remains, but the jacket is on the back of his chair, and his sleeves are slightly rolled. He looks professional, but casual, less intimidating. "Ra'Shelle, it's good to see you again."

"You too, Mr. Ledger."

Thankfully, he doesn’t try to shake my hand.

He gestures toward the chairs, and I sit, steadying my breath.

"Can I assume this means that you've decided to take the internship?" He grins.

"My advisor approved me for working ten hours a week in the fall and ten hours a week in the spring."

He claps once. "Fantastic!"

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," I chuckle.

A middle-aged woman throws open the door and barges into the office. I nearly jump, but Tom simply turns his head. "Marjorie?"

"Mario just quit!"

Tom nods. "That seems like something that could have waited until I finished speaking with Ra'Shelle." He gestures. "Ra'Shelle Dawson, this is Marjorie Black, Director of Creative Design."

Marjorie takes a deep breath and flips her long, gray hair behind her shoulder. "I'm sorry to interrupt. It's nice to meet you."

She looks back at Tom. "Is this the new intern for the fall?"

“Yes.”

Marjorie pulls a chair from the round table and joins us. "I heard you picked my designs."

I look at Tom, then back at Marjorie. "I'm sorry?"

"Tom gave you six designs. The three you chose were the ones that I moved forward. They'll all be in the fall line."

"By your designs, do you mean that you created them?"

Marjorie waves her hand. "Psh, no. My job is mostly administrative these days. Very talented people in my department created them, and I’m allowed to take credit."

She smiles. "Hey, how do you like dull, monotonous work?"

I chortle. "Well, I've taken business law and business statistics, so dull doesn't bother me too much."

Marjorie looks at Tom. "What do you think about her taking over some of Mario's duties during the summer? She could do most of it from home. Come by once or twice a week for a bundle of stuff that she could sort, run the numbers, all the tasks that no one wants."

Tom shakes his head, but smiles. "I think that's probably something we should have first discussed without her in the room."

Marjorie nods. "Right. Sorry." She looks at me. "I'm not usually this tightly wound."

"Mmm…" Tom says before focusing his attention back on me. "Are you taking classes this summer?"

"I haven't decided. My husband and I–"

"Husband?" Marjorie interrupts. "You're married?"

Yes, ma'am."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Hmm. Okay,” she says. “Sorry. Continue."

"Colin and I both have full-ride scholarships that pay for six hours of classes during the summer, and my advisor is pressuring me to finish classes for my business major, but we still have a couple of weeks to decide."

Marjorie looks at Tom. "Business. That's a nice bonus."

"And she's nearly fluent in Italian."

"Really?" Marjorie asks with raised eyebrows. "So, in the fall, you could call all our contacts in Italy, and I wouldn't have to flip wildly through a translation dictionary?"

"Sure."

Marjorie stands up and drags the chair back to the table. She points at me on her way out of the room. "This one's a keeper, Tom."