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  Half a Heart

  Kim Hartfield

  Half a Heart

  Published by Kim Hartfield

  Copyright © 2020 Kim Hartfield

  All Rights Reserved

  May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.

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  Prologue – Jenelle

  “God fucking dammit.”

  The phone was ringing, which never meant good news. No one ever called to say they were giving me a hundred bucks, no strings attached. Or taking me on a two-week vacation to Mexico, no kids allowed.

  With a last glance at the stovetop, I crossed the kitchen. My cell had been off for a week – I didn’t have the money for minutes. The landline never got turned off. Anyone who knew me well enough to call knew how they could reach me.

  The floor was littered with dolls and plastic figures, one of which jabbed into the underside of my foot. A shriek tore out of my throat as I kicked it away from me. “Mercy, you need to pick your shit up!” I yelled into the other room.

  With the TV blaring like that, she probably hadn’t even heard me.

  I yanked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

  “Hi, Jenelle.” Chandra somehow managed to sound condescending within only two words. “You should really watch how you pick up your phone. If I were an employer – ”

  “You’re not. You’re my sister, and you know damn well I haven’t had a spare minute to apply to any jobs lately. I have two of them already.”

  She said something I couldn’t hear through the racket of high-pitched cartoon voices. “Mercy, turn that damn thing down,” I yelled.

  The TV went silent altogether, and my shoulders relaxed slightly. “What’d you say?”

  “I said I can’t make it tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t babysit.” No hint of apology in her voice. “Darius got back before he thought he would, and he wants to take me on a date night, just the two of us.”

  “Fuck Darius!” Her on-again, off-again boyfriend was good for nothing anyway. “You promised me you’d do this.”

  “That was before I knew he was coming.”

  “You know I have a shift tonight!” It was starting in less than an hour. I was going to be late, and that was even without worrying about the time it’d take to pick up gas on the way. With what money, I didn’t know.

  “You’ll have to make other arrangements, Jenelle. I thought I could do this as a favor, but I can’t. Especially not with the attitude I’m getting from you.”

  “I’m not giving you any fucking – ”

  The dial tone sounded in my ear.

  “God fucking dammit.”

  The beans and rice had overcooked, turning into mush in the time it’d taken for Chandra to turn my night upside down. I jammed a spoonful into my mouth, knowing I wouldn’t be able to eat anything else until hours into my bartending shift.

  I wiped the back of a palm across my forehead. The make-up I’d carefully applied was already sweating off. Good thing smudged eyeliner and ripped jeans were in these days, because I had that look down to an art.

  Soft footsteps padded into the room. Mercy was already in her pajamas, her jet-black curls puffing around her face. Her look of tired confusion made me ache inside. Everything I did was for her… and sometimes I hated her for it.

  “Can I put the TV back on, Mommy?”

  “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Quieter, though.” A migraine hovered at the edges of my temples, threatening to make itself known for real.

  Mercy backed up a few steps. “Is Auntie Chandra coming?”

  “No, she can’t.” My back stiffened, and I tipped my neck to one side in a futile attempt to ease the tension. How could Chandra take that sanctimonious tone with me when she was the one leaving me in the lurch at the last minute? “We’re going to – you’re going to – well…”

  I couldn’t take her to work with me again. It’d worked a few times, but the manager had caught on. Too much of a risk to have a seven-year-old in a strip club, he said, even if she was safely hidden in the back room where the dancers changed. To my mind, the worst she was going to see there was a few titties, and she’d been sucking on mine not so long ago. But he disagreed.

  My jaw tight, I went back to the phone. “We’ll get you a sitter.” They’d probably charge double – it was the absolute last minute. I’d get cash back on my card and pray I’d find enough to pay it off by the end of the month. What else could I do? There was no way I could skip my shift. If I called in this late, I’d get fired. There was no shortage of young women willing to pour drinks in a push-up bra in Miami.

  But three phone calls later, none of the girls who’d babysat Mercy before were even picking up. I left each of them a message, increasingly desperate by the end. I begged them to call back, or to have a friend call if they knew anyone – anyone – who could look after Mercy.

  A white spot flickered in my peripheral vision. This was definitely going to be a migraine, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to prevent it.

  Mercy was at the stove, her nose wrinkling as she looked into the pot. “Mommy, I don’t want to eat this.”

  “Too bad you don’t have a choice, baby.” I spun toward the phone again, pressing my hands to my temples. What could I do now? My throat dry, I dialed Chandra’s cell again.

  No fucking answer.

  All right. This was okay. This was fine. I rubbed my temples, praying that’d give me some relief. Mercy was seven – old enough to put herself to bed. It was already six o’clock. She’d be on her own for two hours, maybe three if she stayed up past her bedtime. The TV would keep her entertained. What kind of trouble was she going to get herself in? The worst that could happen was that she’d eat some cookies and not brush her teeth.

  Yes, this was the only solution. I could even call home on my break and make sure she was okay.

  I took her by the shoulders and bent down to meet her eyes. “Mercy, I need you to be a big girl for me, okay?”

  Her eyes growing wide, she nodded.

  One – Sylvia

  “The next family we’ll be seeing is a single mother and her seven-year-old girl,” Max said. “We’re really keen to reunite them as soon as possible. We just need to be sure the girl is completely safe with her mother.”

  I nodded, jotting notes in my Moleskine notebook. Bringing families back together was the whole point of my job as a Children’s Aid worker. So far, though, it seemed like most of the parents didn’t deserve to be with their kids. “What’s her issue? Drugs? Mental health?”

  “Neither, that we can see.” My supervisor looked sharply at the door as if he was afraid the family would overhear. They hadn’t arrived at the agency yet – they were due here any moment. “It seems that Jenelle left her daughter at home alone.”

  “At seven? Uh-uh. That’s way too young.”

  “Exactly.”

  I didn’t like this woman already.

  Max suppressed a smile. “I can see the wheels turning in your mind. Don’t go too hard on her, okay? She must’ve had a reason for doing what she did.”

  “For neglecting her daughter? I don’t believe there could be a reason.”

  “Just reserve your judgment until you meet her.”

  I went over the family’s file over the next few minutes. Apparently Jenelle Emory was twenty-three, only three years younger than me. Like many of our clients here, she’d been a teen mom.

  These days, she was a grocery store cashier during the day and a strip club bartender by night. She rented an apartment in Hialeah, one of the poorer parts of town. She’d been late on the rent several times, although she’d never missed a month. There was nothing on
record about her being in trouble with the law, or otherwise deviant.

  In her photocopied driver’s license picture, she stared out defiantly. Beneath the crown of afro curls, her full lips were set in a thin line and her deep-set eyes were hard.

  “All right, Jenelle,” I murmured. “I’m ready for you.”

  The child arrived first, accompanied by the foster parents she’d been placed with. They stayed in the waiting area with Max while I took little Mercy into the playroom where she’d meet her mother.

  The room was set up like a living room – a couch and two armchairs by one wall, a huge toy box and shelves of picture books along the other. The walls were painted hues of soft pastel, and they were decorated by inoffensively generic artwork. The effect was calming for most kids, at least those who came from some semblance of a normal home.

  Mercy looked younger than her age, with wide brown eyes and curly hair that frizzed out along the edges of her ponytail. Her lips trembled a little as I greeted her, and I would’ve sworn her long eyelashes were lengthened by mascara.

  “Hi there,” I said. “You must be Mercy. My name’s Sylvia Fuller. I’m here in case you need anything during your visit with your mom today.”

  Her voice came out so softly, I had to strain to hear her. “Anything like what?”

  I shrugged lightly. “Some juice or a snack, maybe.” I wasn’t going to tell her I’d be taking notes on everything her mother said and did, as well as on how comfortable she felt around the woman. I’d be evaluating whether Jenelle was fit to have custody of her.

  Mercy said something else, and this time I had to ask her to repeat herself.

  “I want to go home to Mommy.” Her big eyes pleaded with me.

  “We want that for you, too. We’re working on it.” My stomach knotted as I wondered if she really belonged at home. What kind of person could leave this precious girl on her own? I had a feeling Mercy might be better off with the foster family.

  I glanced at my watch. Jenelle was already five minutes late. Did she care about her daughter at all? Mercy had officially been moved from her home over a week ago, and they hadn’t seen each other since. If she were my child, I would’ve been here an hour early.

  Mercy’s gaze darted to my movement, and I set my arm by my side with a forced smile. “Do you want to see inside our toy box? We have every kind of toy you might want to play with. Games and puzzles, too.”

  The little girl’s face was downcast. “I want to play with Mommy.”

  “She’s coming, sweetie. I can play with you until she gets here.”

  By the time Mercy managed to select an LOL Surprise! Doll and a set of outfits, the door had swung open again.

  The woman stepping through looked exactly the same as her photo. Her curls were just as wild, her eyes as hard, her stare as defiant. She wore skin-tight jeans and stiletto heels, and a low-cut glittery top emphasized her curvaceous figure.

  Trashy was the first word that came to mind – but the little girl in front of me didn’t seem to notice. “Mommy!” she yelled, running toward Jenelle.

  I stepped back so she wouldn’t crash straight into me. Drawing my shoulders back, I watched as the child threw herself into Jenelle’s arms. The woman’s face immediately softened as she murmured loving words to her daughter. She picked her up and squeezed her, twirling around while the girl shrieked in excitement.

  I felt like I was intruding on their moment as I cleared my throat. Jenelle quickly set the girl down, her expression returning to a combative one as she looked at me.

  I introduced myself again, holding a hand out to her. Her nose wrinkled, and she made no move to shake my hand. Okay, then. We’ll do this your way. I let my arm drop to my side.

  “I’d like to work together with you to get Mercy back into your care as quickly as possible, Ms. Emory.” And if you don’t deserve it, I added silently, I’ll get her to a family that does.

  “Right,” Jenelle said. “I’m sure you really care about doing that. People like you make me sick.”

  “People who observe parents’ interactions with their children to make sure they’re fit to look after them?” I quirked an eyebrow slightly upward, making it clear I was deliberately baiting her.

  And it worked. “I gave birth to her,” she snarled, a fierce hand gripping Mercy’s shoulder. “I carried her for nine months. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. Who are you to tell me if I’m capable or not?”

  I’d been yelled at worse than this before. I stayed calm, even smiling despite a slight increase in my heart rate. “That’s my job,” I said firmly. “I’ve been trained for this – just like the people who took Mercy from you in the first place. I trust that they knew what they were doing, which means there’s a reason Mercy is with a foster family right now.”

  A tint of red appeared in her cheeks. “Fuck you, lady.” She raised a hand as if to hit me, then pointed at me instead. Her voice rose higher with every word she spoke. “You think you’re so high and mighty with your ‘it’s just my job’ bullshit. Your job is bullshit. You don’t know shit about me, my life. You try living one day in my shoes and see if you’d do any better. I do what I have to do, and all of it is for Mercy. There’s nothing in the world that’s more important to me than this little girl.”

  “Then you’ll understand why this is necessary.” I gave her a small shrug.

  She had a hot temper, that much was for sure – but if she was trying to intimidate me, she wouldn’t get far. In the six months I’d been working here, I’d already gotten used to being yelled at.

  What about Mercy, though? The poor kid was clearly shy, and watching her mom’s outbursts had to be terrifying. I wondered if Jenelle ever turned that temper on her daughter. The file had mentioned a neighbor had overheard yelling and screaming on a regular basis.

  “Who the hell are you to say what’s necessary?” Jenelle demanded. “Do you even have kids of your own?” Her eyes flickered down to my bare ring finger.

  My back stiffened. “That’s irrelevant.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I don’t think it is. I think – ”

  “Mommy. Mommy.” Mercy tugged on Jenelle’s arm. “Can we play with the dolls? They have the new one that I wanted.”

  Jenelle nodded, her face instantly softening again. It was like watching a magic trick – her turning from one person to another. “Okay, baby. Go get the doll.”

  As Mercy scampered over to the toy box, Jenelle poked a finger toward my chest. “I don’t care what you say,” she hissed. “I know you want to take Mercy away from me, and I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to get my baby girl back.”

  I kept my expression neutral. “I’m glad to hear we share that goal. The best way to do that is to cooperate with us at every step.”

  Mercy returned, pushing a doll into Jenelle’s hands. “Here it is, Mommy. Let’s play!”

  Nice timing. I was pretty sure that kid knew exactly what she was doing.

  I stood back and watched as Jenelle crouched down on the floor. The two of them fell into a clearly familiar routine, bopping their dolls along the ground and waving their hands at each other.

  “My name’s Terry,” Mercy said in a high-pitched voice, making her doll bend at the waist like she was taking a bow. The toy had bright pink hair in two ponytails, and it wore a glittery tank top not unlike Jenelle’s own. “What’s yours?”

  Jenelle’s doll wore a leopard-skin dress, and its black hair was streaked with bits of purple. “My name’s Carrie,” Jenelle said instantly. “What do you want to do today?”

  “I want to go driving!” Mercy squeaked.

  “Okay, let’s get in the car.” Jenelle pulled her doll over to Mercy’s and bent her at the knees like she was sitting down. “Let’s drive to the park.”

  “No, I want to go to the zoo!”

  I scribbled notes as they played. J is combative and aggressive with staff. Shows evidence of anger management issues – possibly directed at M?
Shows no regret for child neglect, only defensiveness. Refuses to take responsibility for own actions.

  The two of them zoomed their dolls around the perimeter of the room. “We’re at the zoo,” Jenelle said breathlessly as they came to a stop. “What should we see first? The monkeys?”

  “Yeah, the monkeys!” Mercy might as well have been talking about unicorns. The wondrous look on her face said she was talking about a fantastical creature she’d never seen in real life.

  “Look at them,” Jenelle said, pointing to the blank wall. “They’re so cute, aren’t they? And they use their feet to swing off the trees. So cool!”

  Mercy nodded seriously. “Let’s go see something else now.”

  “How about the giraffes? Do you remember what those ones are?”

  “Umm… the ones with black and white spots?”

  Jenelle shook her doll’s head. “Guess again.”

  “I dunno.”

  “A giraffe has a long…”

  “Oh!” Mercy made her doll jump up and down, squealing in a way I wouldn’t have expected from the shy little girl she’d been with me. “A long neck!”

  Grudgingly, I took more notes. J interacts competently with M. M appears comfortable with interaction. J engages M in pretend play, allowing M to direct and explore. Uses play as an educational opportunity, employing child’s imagination to deepen the experience.

  I dug through the toy box. I knew there was a giraffe in here somewhere. After a moment of searching, I plucked it out and crouched down next to the mother and daughter. “Look, a giraffe!”

  Jenelle turned a cold gaze on me. From up close, I could see how deep of a brown her eyes were. Her impeccably winged eyeliner made them look sharp, even severe. “We don’t need your giraffe.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t need to be part of the game. I just thought you might like to use real toys. We have monkeys and lions and zebras, too.”

  “We don’t need your bullshit toys,” she snapped. “In fact, we’re not going to use these.” She tossed her and Mercy’s dolls at me. “We’re fine with just our imaginations, aren’t we, baby?”