Page 14 of A Mother’s Love

The ones who did survive and recover from the trauma had a remarkable endurance and indomitable spirit that seemingly nothing could break.

Halley had seen cases like that, which sometimes reminded her of herself.

It was hard to know why some children survived and others didn’t.

Many of them turned to drugs in their teenage years, with disastrous results, but some survived whole, and surprisingly solid, like flowers that had grown strong and beautiful in the ashes of war, and which nothing could destroy.

They were the lucky ones, protected by some blessing from the universe.

Halley knew she had been one of those. All she wanted was to steal the more vulnerable ones from the jaws of death.

She walked two blocks when she got out of the subway, and went up the chipped steps of the shelter.

It was an old brownstone that had been donated and hadn’t been renovated yet.

They had room for twenty women and children to live there, and others came for the day, or as outpatients for counseling and therapy.

It was entirely supported by private donations and benefactors, and Halley was a major donor.

The house had been an elegant home at the turn of the twentieth century, but had long been in poor condition.

It had been rescued and donated by one of their benefactors.

The house had come to life again in what was now a slowly gentrifying neighborhood, with most of the old homes turned into apartments for middle-class families.

The neighborhood was finally safe again, and the interior of the building had benefited from fresh paint and donated furniture.

It had a shabby look to it, but the atmosphere was warm and inviting.

There was a Christmas tree in the front hall, laden with decorations the children had made, and there were raucous sounds of shouts and laughter and Christmas carols coming from the living room, and the smell of homemade cookies from the kitchen.

Halley saw countless familiar faces as she walked into the living room, and several of the children ran up to put their arms around her and shouted her name when they saw her.

She had three of them in her arms at once within minutes, and they showed her the Christmas cookies they’d made that afternoon.

She smiled as her eyes met their mothers’, and the children who had no mother there were even happier to see her.

They clung to her like barnacles, and she needed ten arms to hug them all.

She had donated an amount to pay for Christmas toys for each of them, and gift certificates for the mothers to buy whatever they needed, and she had paid for the party.

She knew that she was by no means the largest donor, and that others had done as much, on an ongoing basis throughout the year, as she did.

The children constantly needed clothes and school supplies and everything practical.

They attended a public school nearby if they lived in the house for thirty days and intended to stay.

A few were placed there by the courts, arranged by social workers who knew about the shelter, but it was a small private operation, which was what Halley liked about it.

It had a family atmosphere and had remained personal.

Charles Barton House had been in existence for seventeen years, and had some notable successes, particularly with the children.

There was more hope for a subsequent good life for them than for their mothers.

The children were more resilient, and hadn’t become addicted to abuse, which often happened to the women.

The goal at the shelter was to break the cycle that kept the women trapped in abusive relationships forever.

The shelter’s greatest success story was a teenage girl who had been a resident in its first few years of existence, had been an outstanding student, had gone to college and medical school on scholarships, became a child psychiatrist, and saw the current residents pro bono whenever possible.

Halley had met her and she was an extraordinary young woman.

She was blind in one eye, from bleach her mother had thrown at her, and had scars on her face and body.

Halley chatted with the counselors and some of the women, played with the children, and was one of the last to leave.

She left, as she always did, with a warm feeling, and promising to come back soon.

It was the real meaning of Christmas for her, and one of the things that gave her life as much substance as her writing.

It was part of her life she didn’t discuss with anyone, not even her children.

She would have had to explain to them why she cared so much about it, and she didn’t want to.

She had never shared the details of her early life with them.

She took a taxi home wearing an arm full of the friendship bracelets the children had made for her, and a necklace of macaroni and wooden beads.

She carefully put them in a box of treasures they made for her.

And the next day she started packing for her trip.

—

The girls called her from the boat. They were still in St. Bart’s and were planning to stay there until Christmas, and would then set sail for Pinel on St. Martin’s, a rugged part of that island with no electricity.

Seth had planned their route with the captain.

He was Australian and the crew of eighteen was mostly from England and New Zealand, according to the broker.

They were known to be one of the most accommodating, popular crews for charters, and did everything possible to make the guests comfortable and keep them happy.

And the boat was one of the most beautiful available for charter.

After they talked to their mother, Valerie and Olivia went to lie on sunbeds on the upper deck. The others were still having a gargantuan breakfast in an outdoor dining area on the rear deck, served by three stewards, a man and two women.

The two girls looked at each other as they lay down, and Olivia laughed at her twin.

“You are going to get so damn spoiled, you’re going to be unbearable,” Olivia said to her sister. “You already were, and this is going to make you even worse.”

Valerie grinned and nodded. “Yeah, I know. Seth is very good to me.” She was grateful for it and didn’t take it for granted.

“Good to you? He spoils you rotten. You don’t deserve it, but I’m happy for you.

His mother is nice, by the way.” Olivia had talked to Katherine at dinner the night before, sitting next to her.

She wasn’t an exciting person, but she seemed like a decent woman, even if Seth said she had never been an attentive mother.

And she seemed somewhat ill at ease in his extravagant life.

Her husband had sold insurance and was retired, and she was in real estate in Palm Springs.

They were ordinary people. As a game show host, Seth’s father had been a big step up for Katherine.

She had been young and pretty then. Of the three husbands she’d had since, her current one was the nicest, though also not an exciting person.

Katherine enjoyed talking to Olivia, half the time she was confused and thought she was talking to her daughter-in-law.

Olivia finally stopped correcting her. It didn’t matter.

At least someone was talking to her. Katherine’s husband, Frank, was playing liar’s dice with two of the other guests.

The atmosphere among all of them was relaxed and easy, although the group was very mixed in both age and lifestyle.

Seth and Valerie had an eclectic, varied group of friends.

One of the couples they’d invited, Ted and Marie, were lawyers at Valerie’s firm.

And the other, Jaclyn and Basil, were British, worked in TV, and were friends of Seth’s.

Basil was a sound technician, and Jaclyn was a screenwriter. Everyone got along.

“Peter is nice too.” Valerie put in a good word for her brother-in-law.

She wanted Olivia to like him, and she knew she wasn’t impressed.

He was less serious and more extroverted than Seth.

He was smart, had a good career as a tax lawyer, and had a sense of humor.

“What do you think?” Valerie asked her, and Olivia rolled her eyes at her twin.

“Stop pushing. He’s fine. We have you and Seth in common, and that’s all, and we’ll see each other at your kids’ birthdays and christenings. That’s enough.” Olivia could tell Peter was a womanizer, and seeing him in action at the wedding had turned her off.

“His kids are adorable,” Valerie added as a selling point, and Olivia gave her a shove.

“I’m sure they are. And so are the fifty women he met online in the last month.

He’s a player, Val. I’m sure he dates hot girls in L.A.

I’m an artist, I don’t have breast implants, I hardly ever wear makeup, and everything I own is covered in paint, except what I bought for this trip.

I’m not his style, and he’s not mine. But he’s perfectly good company. ”

“How do you know who is your style?” Valerie said, exasperated. “You never date. All you do is paint.”

“I have a show in less than three months. And dating is too much work, and it seems so fake. I get dressed up to go out and seduce somebody, and then they get the real me and have to think I’m adorable in overalls covered in paint, with uncombed hair.

I had to buy a new hairbrush for the trip because I couldn’t even find mine. I think I threw it out by mistake.”

“You need to make more effort,” Valerie said primly. She always looked impeccable and killer chic. Olivia didn’t care what she wore.

“That’s probably true, but I’m perfectly happy the way I am.” The only time Olivia made an effort to look decent was when she went out with Valerie and Seth.