The Christmas Hope(4)

“Claire’s waving, Justin.” I stopped at the end of the driveway for a moment to give him time to respond. He didn’t. She continued to wave. I pulled onto the road. “Justin, Claire’s waving at you.” He pressed his hands into his thighs. As I drove past their mailbox and front of the house Justin spun in his seat to catch the last glimpse of Claire. He threw his hand in the back window and waved till we rounded the corner. He clutched the gift and slumped back in the seat. At twelve, Justin had been in and out of foster homes since he was eight years old. It was always hard to leave the ones where he felt he was loved. In the past nine months he had been in two separate foster homes as his mother went through rehab. I knew he didn’t want to go back and live with his mother again.

“Your mom sure is excited to see you,” I said, turning my head to catch a glimpse of him.

He looked out the window and didn’t say anything.

“She said she’s going to wait for you to get home and then you both can go pick out a Christmas tree this weekend.”

He remained content to look out the window. I knew what he was thinking but I also knew he was wrong … at least I hoped he was wrong.

I pulled into a grocery store parking lot and turned toward him. I’d seen lots of parents come out of rehab and many times I knew that they’d fall back into the traps they weren’t strong enough to resist. But other times I knew when they were genuinely clean and wanted to get their life back in order. They no longer said things they knew I wanted to hear but talked to me from a broken heart. I knew Justin’s mom wanted her son and her life back. “She’s met every goal set by the state and she’s clean, Justin. And she’s going to stay clean.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, mumbling, turning toward the window again.

“Your mom has changed, Justin.”

He didn’t say anything but watched a man load groceries into the back of his SUV.

I pulled his face toward me. “Your mom is not the same person that you remember.”

His eyes welled up with tears. “She always says she’s going to change but she never does.” He slung the tears from his face, embarrassed. “She always promises that she’ll be different but she never is. She just lies to get people to think she’s different!” He ran his coat sleeve under his nose.

I reached for a tissue out of the glove compartment and handed it to him, pulling him onto my shoulder. “She has changed,” I whispered. “I know it’s hard for you to believe but I’ve seen her and talked with her and she’s a different person now.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.

“She found a job.”

“She won’t be able to keep it.”

I squeezed him closer to me. “She’ll be cutting hair again and she loves to do that. She was working in a factory before and she didn’t like that.”

“She couldn’t cut hair before because everybody always fired her.”

I turned his face toward me. “I know this is hard.” A single tear ran down his cheek. “But your mom loves you so much. She’s worked hard to get clean, Justin, and she wants you back to stay. I know it’ll be easy to act angry toward her but that’s not going to help her or you.”

He nodded.

“I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years and I know that your mom loves you very much.”

He fumbled with the package in his hands. “Will you come to our apartment a lot?”

“I’ll have to make my appointed visits, yes.”

“Will you come over even if you don’t have an appointed visit?”

I smiled. “Will you be able to provide some sort of liquid refreshment? Perhaps a soda or iced tea?”

“Okay.”

“How about a confection of some sort?”

“I guess so but I don’t know what a confection is.”

I laughed and put on my seat belt. “Well, you better find out, because I will need a confection of the chocolate persuasion!”

When we arrived at the apartment complex I put my hand on Justin’s shoulder and walked him up the two flights of stairs. Rita Ramirez opened the door before I could knock, and pulled her son to her, burying her face in the top of his head. She was only thirty but looked ten years older. She spoke in rapid-fire Spanish and I put up my hands.

“No fair,” I said. “English only. For all I know you’re criticizing my outfit or my hair and that would just ruin the rest of my day.”

Rita stood back and looked at Justin. “You’re so handsome,” she said, holding his face. “Are you hungry?”