“I know you did. You told the truth, and a lot people are afraid of the truth. But you have to keep shouting it until someone hears you. Make them listen. Your mom hears you, and your grandma. And I do. I always will.”

She nodded. “Who is this?” she said, reaching for the Terry Johnson sculpture on the bedside table.

The real Terry walked across everyone to investigate Zola.

“Oh, it’s you!” she said, and rubbed the real Terry’s ears.

I put the sculpture back on the table.

“My prized possession,” I said. Kira tried not to smile.

“Oh, here.” I reached in the pillowcase and put the Allen wrench in Zola’s hand. “In case you get lonely.”

“You don’t need it anymore?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

—

When everyone else was gone, Francine made us toast. She put the polar bear on her own bedside table, and we sat on the porch steps, watching Terry Johnson eat grass in the yard like a very small cow.

“Francine.”

“Hmm.”

“That foster mom blamed Zola because she was the only black kid in the house.”

“I know,” she said. “Joellen is reporting her.”

“How did you know?”

“Because she’s a middle-aged white woman, and so am I, and I know we are very often the absolute worst. When you are a middle-aged white woman, never forget to call your brethren—sisteren—out on their shit. And your own.”

“I won’t forget. Barb was doing it to Kira, too. But Kira shut that shit down.”

“Oh, Lord. See what I mean? Every damn time.”

“Did that cop even need to be here?”

“No,” she sighed. “But they can’t ever get to you without going through me first. No one can. And they won’t get through me. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I want to. I think so.”

“Okay then.”

“I’m not…” I watched Terry Johnson jump after a moth. “I’m nervous. I have friends.”

“I know.”

“I have a job walking around a forest with little kids. And I have Terry Johnson. And you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I feel guilty.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“No one else gets out like this. Other kids don’t deserve it less because they got in trouble, because they don’t have a ‘perfect’ record, because someone abused the crap out of them. It isn’t fair. It doesn’t happen.”

“Okay, then do something about it. Don’t waste your energy wallowing in guilt. Take this one time things turn out right, go to school, figure out who you are, and work to change the legislation. Or work in social service, be a judge, run for office, or you know what? Be a foster parent. You would be a really good mom. Guilt never fixed anything. Hard work fixes shit all the time.”

Exactly the right thing. Every single time. How was she doing this?