At the end of the service, we played "Imagine" by John Lennon, which elicited smiles from a few faces, and disapproving frowns from many more. Forty-two white balloons—one for each year of Mama's age—were released in the warm blue sky.
It was the perfect funeral for Diana Truitt Jones. I think my mother would have loved it. When the service was over, I felt a sudden fierce need to rush back to Carrington. I wanted to hug her for a long time, and stroke the pale blond curls that reminded me so much of Mama's. Carrington had never seemed so fragile to me, so vulnerable to every kind of harm.
As I turned to glance at the row of cars, I saw a black limo with tinted windows parked in the distance. Welcome is not what you'd call limo country, so this was a mildly startling sight. The design of the vehicle was modern, its doors and windows sealed, its shape as streamlined and perfect as a shark's.
No other funeral was being held that day. Whoever was sitting in that limo had known my mother, had wanted to watch her service from a distance. I stood very still, staring at the vehicle. My feet moved, and I suppose I was going over to ask if he—or she—wanted to come to the graveside. But just as I started toward it. the limo pulled away in a slow glide.
It’s me. The thought that I would never find out who it was.
Soon after the funeral Carrington and I were visited by a guardian ad litem. or GAL, who had been appointed to assess whether I was fit to be her legal guardian. The GAL's fee was one hundred and fifty dollars, which I thought was pretty steep considering she stayed less than an hour. Thank God the court had waived the fee—I didn't think my checking account would cover it.
Carrington seemed to know it was important for her to behave well. Under the GAL's observation, she built a block tower, dressed her favorite doll, and sang the ABC song from start to finish. While the GAL asked me questions about the baby's upbringing and my plans for the future, Carrington climbed into my lap and pressed a few impassioned kisses on my cheek. After each kiss, she glanced significantly at the GAL to make certain her actions were being duly noted.
The next phase of the process was surprisingly easy. I went to Family Court and gave the judge letters from Miss Marva. the pediatrician, and the pastor of the Lamb of God, all offering good opinions as to my character and my parenting abilities. The judge expressed concern over my lack of a job, advised me to get something right away, and warned me to expect the occasional visit from Social Services.
When the hearing was over, the court clerk told me to write out a check for seventy-five dollars, which I did with a purple glitter pen I found at the bottom of my purse. They gave me a folder with copies of the petition and information release forms I'd filled out, and the certificate of guardianship. I couldn't help feeling like I'd just bought Carrington and been handed the receipt.
I went outside the courthouse and found Lucy waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, with Carrington in her stroller. For the first time in days, I laughed as I saw Carrington's chubby hands clutching a cardboard sign Lucy had made for her: PROPERTY OF LIBERTY JONES.
CHAPTER 12
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I have always hated flying. The idea of it is an affront to nature. People are meant to stay on the ground.
I put down the classifieds and glanced at Carrington, who was sitting in her high chair and feeding long strands of spaghetti into her mouth. Most of her hair was fastened into a sprig of hair at the top of her head and clipped with a big red bow. She was dressed in her
diapers and nothing else. We had discovered that cleanup after dinner was a lot easier if she ate topless.
Carrington regarded me solemnly, with a big orange smear of spaghetti sauce across her mouth and chin.
"How would you like to relocate to Oregon?" I asked her.
Her small round face split into a grin, displaying a set of widely spaced white teeth. "Okeydokey."
It was her latest favorite phrase, the other being "No way."
"You could stay in day care." I continued, "while I go up in a plane and serve little bottles of Jack Daniel's to cranky businessmen. How does that sound?"
"Okeydokey."
I watched Carrington meticulously pick out a shred of cooked carrot that I had sneaked into her spaghetti sauce. After divesting the strand of pasta of as much nutritional value as possible, she put the end in her mouth and sucked it up.