Page 75 of Mountain Freedom
“That’s true,” I admitted.
“Jackson was cautious when he met us, and rightfully so. Part of being a foster parent is proving that you’ll be a safe, trustworthy person. That takes a lot of time.”
“I’d never thought about that.”
She nodded. “For weeks, no matter what we did, it felt like he was walking around on eggshells, just trying not to be noticed. He didn’t have any interest in an actual relationship with us at that point. He was biding time. He’d come home from school and I’d ask how his day was and get a quick, ‘Fine, thank you,’ with a timid smile before he disappeared into his bedroom to do homework. I’ll never forget the day it all changed.”
“What happened then?” I asked, entranced by the story. It was hard for me to imagine a version of Jackson where he was timid and quiet. This was a chapter of his life I had completely missed, and I was fascinated by it, even as my heart ached over the way life had chewed him up and spit him out.
Her eyes grew misty. “He had been living with us for a few weeks and was starting to relax a little,” she said, smiling as she looked back out at him. “One day, he didn’t disappear into his room when he came home from school. I was baking cookies—this same recipe, actually. It was a deliberate bribe, an attempt to entice him to hang around in the kitchen until they were done. It worked.” She gave a gentle laugh. “Food always does with that one. Anyway, he sat down at the bar and watched me fold the chocolate chips into the dough. This time, I decided to try asking about something other than school.”
“What did you ask him?”
“I told him I’d like to get to know him better. I said, ‘Jackson, I’d love to know something that makes you happy. Something that makes you feel better when you’re down.’ I’ll admit, I was expecting an answer like pizza or maybe a favorite TV show. I thought if he shared something with me that we could recreate, we would make it part of his life with us.”
“That was sweet of you,” I said, feeling a swell of gratitude for this woman who had cared enough about my childhood friend to want to make him feel more comfortable.
She just smiled. “He sat there thinking for a moment. Then his whole face changed. He gave me the first real smile I’d had from him, along with his answer. And you know what that answer was?”
“What?”
“You.”
“Me?” Her statement caught me completely off guard.
She nodded. “You. He told me about his best friend, Allison, and how you two would slip off after school and play down at the creek. He told me no matter how bad the day had been, you made him feel like everything was going to be okay. It was the first real thing he had ever told me about himself.”
Tears stung my eyes. “He meant a lot to me, too. Still does,” I said, struggling to get the words out over the lump in my throat. I felt wave after wave of conflicting emotions. It was so hard to imagine Jackson living through everything he had, and I was so grateful to have been a source of comfort to him the way he’d been to me. But it also felt like I had abandoned him during the hardest period of all, and even though I hadn’t had a choice in the matter, I hated it.
Jenna reached over and squeezed my hand. “I called his social worker the next day and asked if we could get you two back in touch,” she said. “I even offered to drive here once a month so he could see you. It was clear your friendship had been a lifeline for him, and I didn’t want him to lose it. But she did a little digging and said you had moved away too, and she didn’t know where you were.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Not long before Jackson went into foster care, my mother decided to move away. She wanted a fresh start and let me know visits were out of the question. I sent Jackson a letter but never heard back. He told me he never got it. I didn’t know what had happened.”
Her smile was empathetic. “You lost each other. But you’ve found each other now. And I hope I’m not crossing the line when I say I hope you’ll have each other forever.”
I was left speechless at her words.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jackson
“Am I in trouble?”I joked as I approached Dad, repeating the phrase I had asked a million times as a kid, always needlessly worried that the good life I’d been given was going to get ripped out from underneath me if I made a mistake.
Dad stuck his hands inside his pockets, his face wrinkling up in that familiar smile. He was getting older now, with more lines on his face and white in his hair than the last time I’d seen him. Yet he was still young at heart, the same man who’d taken me in and taught me how to smile again.
“Oh, huge trouble,” he said, joking back. He glanced through the windows, where we could see Mom offering Allison a cookie. He looked back at me and winked. “At least, I think your heart’s in trouble. But I reckon she’ll take good care of it.”
I stilled beside him. “It can’t be like that,” I said.
He leaned back against the deck railing, shuffling change in his pocket. “Your mom said you’d say that. Care to tell me why not?”
I braced myself, leaning back beside him, thinking back to all the dad talks we’d had before. He had always been more of a goofball, the kind of guy who liked to chuck the ball around the yard with you or have water gun fights in the summer. Mom was usually the one who did most of the heart-to-hearts. But occasionally, she’d send him in for a “dad talk,” just like this one. And though they were few and far between, I’d cherished every one of them.
He, more than anyone else, was the one I’d been able to talk to about growing up with Russell. I’d told him things I’d never told another soul—probably because those talkswereso rare and I’d known there was a safety in his easygoing nature, that he’d never turn into one of those parents who wanted to rehash the hard stuff all the time. Like me, he’d rather leave some things unsaid and find joy in the present. It made him the easiest person to talk to when it really counted.
“You know about Russell,” I said.
“What about him?”
