Chapter 3 - The Motel RoomI left Vivian's porch, drove until I found an empty parking lot, and called my daughter.
"I know who Reese is."
Silence on the line. I could hear a baby fussing softly somewhere behind her.
"Mom…"
"Where is she, Emma? I want the real address. I want to hear this from her, not you, not Vivian."
An hour later I was standing outside a motel room that smelled like it hadn't seen a renovation in a decade.
The door opened. Reese looked younger than nineteen, thinner than I expected, one hand wrapped around a phone charger like it was the only solid thing left in her life.
"You're Emma's mom."
"I am. Can I come in?"
She stepped aside without a word. The room smelled like stale coffee and cheap detergent. I hadn't even sat down before she started talking.
"Vivian would take her away from me."
"She told me enough that I believe you."
Reese's face changed. "You saw her?"
"This morning."
"I wasn't going to let her decide whether I get to be my own daughter's mother."
"So you and Emma made a plan."
She nodded, jaw set. "She was only supposed to keep her a few days. I'm working doubles all week. Once I get paid Friday, I'll have the deposit for a room."
"And then?"
"I take her back. That's it. Emma was never going to raise her — I just needed somewhere safe until Friday."
I looked at this girl — exhausted, chapped hands, barely out of high school — and understood that she and my daughter had somehow convinced each other they had to carry this alone, two teenagers building an entire underground railroad out of a diaper bag and a promise.
"Reese, you shouldn't have to do this by yourself."
Her shoulders went rigid immediately. "I'm not doing anything wrong."
"I never said you were. Come home with me."
"No."
"You and your daughter can stay at my house. No conditions attached."
"You don't understand what you're offering."
She stood up fast. "If Vivian finds out where I am, she'll show up. And if she finds out where my daughter is —"
"She won't hear it from me."
Reese let out a short, bitter laugh. "You're her mother. Of course you'd say that."
"I'm Emma's mother."
She looked straight at me then. "And you went through her things. You called the resort. You went to Vivian. Now you're here."
I stopped, because she wasn't wrong. I'd spent two days chasing this because not knowing had made me a little bit crazy — and somewhere along the way I'd talked myself into believing that made it okay.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
Reese blinked, clearly not expecting that. "I shouldn't have to trust you just because Emma does."
"No. You shouldn't." I let that sit for a second. "My house is open. For you and your daughter. No strings, no conditions, no Vivian."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I give you my number and I go home."
"You'd actually leave."
"If that's what you want."
Reese's eyes went to the half-built crib crammed into the corner of the motel room. "I get paid Friday. I'm almost at the deposit."
"Then maybe you don't need rescuing."
She looked back at me, something loosening in her face for the first time.
"Maybe you just need somewhere safe until Friday."
Then a new worry crossed her expression. "The paperwork — everything from the hospital's in my name. Emma wasn't supposed to have her this long. What if they think —"
"Then we stop hiding. All of us."
"What if they think I'm a terrible mother?"
"Tell them the truth. All of it."
She looked at me for a long beat, then picked up her phone with a hand that was still shaking, just a little less than before.
"Will you stay while I call?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
May you like
I sat beside her while she made the call to the hospital. When it ended, she grabbed her bag off the bed without hesitation.
"Take me to my daughter."
