Page 58 of The Strawberry Field
I blink.“What?”
The woman sighs.“Her grandma, the driver, was her only relative around here. That poor child’s mother died when the girl was just a baby. Overdose,” she adds, lowering her voice.
“Oh,” I say, fresh sorrow washing over me.“Surely there’s someone…”
“I hear the grandmother has a sister who moved to Georgia a long time ago. Apparently, she’s in a nursing home though and wouldn’t be able to care for her.”
“That’s awful.”
“It is,” she says.“I just hope she ends up somewhere kind.” She finishes bagging my items and hands them over.“Thank you again for what you did.”
I murmur my thanks and leave the store.
In the car, I sit for a moment, absorbing the weight of what I’ve just learned. I pull out of the parking lot and start driving.
I don’t think about where I’m headed until I turn into Jake’s driveway.
I park beneath the shade of an old tree. Across the field, I spot him near the strawberries. Hattie sees me first and runs, tail wagging, to meet me.
“Hey, girl,” I say, bending to rub her head. She sits at my side like she’s been waiting for me all morning.
Jake waves from the field and walks toward us. We meet halfway.
“Hey,” he says, a little breathless.
“Hey.”
“Everything okay?”
“I went to Carl’s to get gas and a few groceries, and…”
His eyes search mine.“What is it?”
“The woman at the register told me something I didn’t know. That little girl… she doesn’t have any living relatives. Her grandmother was all she had.”
Jake’s face changes, his mouth tightening, eyes dimming. He looks like I felt when I first heard it.
“That’s terrible,” he says.
“It’s unimaginable.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then, “I guess they’ll place her in foster care?”
“I assume,” I say, though the words feel heavy and insufficient.
Silence settles between us—thick and weighted by yesterday’s tragedy. Then Jake speaks again.
“A guy from the volunteer rescue squad called me last night,” he says.“He said they think she’s going to be okay. But she’s still in the hospital.”
A quiet pause passes between us before I ask,“Do you think we could go see her?”
He looks surprised by the question, then nods.“I don’t know if they’ll let us in, but we can bring something for her. Want to go now?”
“Yes,” I say.“I really do.”
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
—Anaïs Nin,Diaries, Vol. 1
