Page 46 of The Picasso Heist

DEENA MAXWELL GREETS us with a huge smile as we walk through the door of the Sisterhood Foster Home. “Hi there, Michelle! Did you have fun with Halston today?” she asks.

Deena’s official title is facility director, although everyone calls her “Miss D.” The woman’s a saint. In the chaotic lives of these girls, Miss D is the definition of calmness. Their port in the storm.

“I had such a great time,” says Michelle, beaming. “I went to my first museum today. It was really neat.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” says Miss D. “Tell you what, why don’t you go wash up for dinner. I’m just going to talk to Halston for a minute, okay?”

From day one Michelle has always been polite with her goodbyes to me, always saying thank you. Today, for the first time, she hugs me.

“I can’t wait for next weekend,” she says.

“Me neither,” I tell her.

“And guess what? A few weekends after that, you get to meet my mom!”

I’m about to say how much I’m looking forward to that when I catch Miss D’s eye. It’s just for a second, but that’s all it takes—something’s up. Miss D intervenes.

“Okay, sweetheart,” she says, cupping the back of Michelle’s head. “You don’t want to be late for dinner. Go wash up, okay? It’s pizza night, you know.”

“Yum!” says Michelle, racing up the stairs.

Miss D waits until Michelle’s out of earshot. “I’ve got a horrible poker face,” she says to me. “You saw that, huh?”

“Is there a problem with her mother?” I ask. “Has she—”

“Relapsed? No, that’s not it. In fact, from what I’ve been told, she’s doing very well in the halfway house.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’s what happens next,” says Miss D. “Michelle keeps looking at the calendar, counting down from six months because that’s how long the rehab program is.

Her mother hasn’t had the heart to tell her that it’s going to take longer.

The two were living well below the poverty line beforehand.

The state will help with at least a minimum-wage job and, eventually, housing, but not until they’re convinced that Michelle’s mother can hold down a job while staying clean. ”

“How long will that take?”

“It depends. There’ll be a caseworker assigned, and it will ultimately be based on his or her recommendation. The goal is for Michelle’s mother to be able to deal with the daily pressures of life without succumbing to the temptation of her addiction.”

“But on average?” I ask.

“Figure another four to six months.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I were.”

“That will absolutely crush Michelle.”

“It will, yes, at first,” she says. “But in the end—”

“I don’t know if Michelle will make it to the end.”

“You’d be surprised how resilient these girls can be. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

Trust me, I’ve lived it. “What keeps Michelle going isn’t spending Saturday afternoons with me or pizza nights,” I say. “It’s only one thing— hope. And it’s the only thing she has left. Take that away from her, and she’s lost.”

“We all want the same thing for this little girl, Halston. We want Michelle to be reunited with her mother. But without changing what caused the problem in the first place, the circumstances, there truly isn’t any hope. They can’t live in a homeless shelter. There needs to be an income, stability.”

“So it’s about money.”

“It’s about more than money, but, yes,” she says, sighing, “it’s about money. The biggest gateway drug in the world is poverty.”

Miss D is the way she is for a reason, and I know she’s not wrong.

“When’s Michelle going to be told?” I ask. “And who’s telling her?”

“It can only come from her mother. That’s why I stepped in when Michelle mentioned your meeting her.”

“I understand. I get it.”

“I know you do,” says Miss D.

“But, again, it’s not me I’m worried about.”

“I know that too.”

“What if there was another way?” I ask.

“For Michelle to hear the news?”

“No. What if Michelle didn’t have to hear the news at all?”

“I don’t follow,” she says. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Miss D smiles. I don’t blame her for thinking I’m a bit naive. I’d be thinking the same thing. I’m a lot closer to Michelle’s age than hers.

She says, maybe only to placate me, “When might you be sure?”

“That depends,” I say. “When’s her mother coming to visit?”