Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Allison

Jenna gave me a warm smile. “Allison, I’m so glad you made it.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” I said automatically.

“Of course,” she said. “Now, I don’t want to pry into anything that isn’t my business, but you’ve clearly been crying and I know it can’t be over Russell. Is everything okay between you and Jackson?”

“Um, yes,” I stammered. “I mean. We’re just friends.”

“Hmmm,” she said, giving me a knowing smile. “So that wasn’t a breakup I just walked in on? Sorry to be so forward.” She lifted a tray and offered me a cookie. “I suppose I can’t help myself.”

It was such a motherly thing to do that I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s okay. I don’t mind you being forward. But to answer your question, I’d had a rough morning at the clinic and was telling Jackson about it. That’s all.” I took a bite of the cookie and jerked my head back in surprise. “Wow, that’s delicious. Like really, really delicious.”

“I like to bake, and I tend to think chocolate makes everything better,” she said, shrugging.

“Same.” I adored her already.

“You know,” she said, giving me a long look before taking a cookie for herself. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time.”

“Me?” I asked, surprised. “Why?”

She turned her gaze toward the big windows off the kitchen, where we could see Jackson and his dad having a quiet discussion away from the rest of the group. “When Jackson first came to us, he was closed off. Wouldn’t talk to us at all, other than ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, ma’am.’ He was respectful, quiet, and probably scared out of his mind. Not that I blame him. Foster care has to be a terrifying experience for children.”

“Better than where he had been, obviously,” I pointed out.

She nodded. “Yes. But kids don’t always know that at first. The devil you know is never as scary as the devil you don’t. Besides, foster care seems like a crapshoot to me. There are too many horror stories about awful homes where children are neglected and abused just as badly, if not worse, than they were before.”

“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.