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Chapter 6 BRIDGES AND BOUNDARIES
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2025-04-06 17:31:31Meekey did not sleep that night.
She sat in Vanessa’s small kitchen with the lights off, staring out the window at nothing. The phone call looped in her mind—Natalie’s voice, cool and controlled, cutting through her like glass. “You don’t get to be sorry now.” She wasn’t wrong. Meekey had disappeared when Natalie was eight. Arrested in the middle of the night, dragged from their apartment in handcuffs while Natalie cried and begged the officers to stop. No warnings. No goodbyes. Just gone. And now, she wanted back in? That wasn’t how the world worked. But still, Meekey wasn’t giving up. Not again. The next morning, she called the outreach center again, this time from a different payphone. A woman named Tasha answered. She had a warm, easy tone—kind, the way people sound when they work with too many broken kids and still believe in hope. “Hi, Tasha,” Maya said, adjusting her voice. “I’m trying to get in touch with Natalie Cole. I’m... a family friend.” “Are you calling about the community drive?” Tasha asked. “No, nothing official. I just wanted to speak with her off the record. She didn’t answer my call yesterday and I… well, it’s personal.” Tasha paused, suspicious but polite. “She’s not taking personal calls right now. Especially not from... certain people.” Meekey exhaled. “Look—I’m her mother. I know I don’t have the right to ask anything, but I’m not trying to hurt her. I just need to talk. One conversation, face to face.” A long silence followed. Tasha didn’t hang up. “She doesn’t talk about you,” she said finally, voice lower. “But I know who you are. And I know what happened.” Meekey closed her eyes. “Then maybe you know I didn’t want any of it. And that I paid more than enough.” “You didn’t just disappear,” Tasha said. “You left her in the fire. Alone. She got herself out. Don’t think for one second that didn’t leave marks.” “I know. Believe me, I know.” Another pause. Then Tasha sighed. “She volunteers Saturdays at Jefferson Park. Gives out meals. Talks to kids. Shows up, even when it’s raining.” That landed heavy. Meekey hadn’t even known her daughter liked the rain. “She always brings her friend Zoe,” Tasha continued. “They’ve been close for years. If you really want a shot at seeing her without breaking her heart again… talk to Zoe first.” “Thank you,” Meekey whispered. “I didn’t do it for you,” Tasha said. “I did it because she deserves closure—one way or another.” The line went dead. Later that afternoon, Maya made her way to the café near Jefferson Park. She sat by the window, sipping coffee she didn’t want, waiting. She had seen a picture of Zoe once smiling beside Natalie on a community newsletter website. Black braids. Sharp jawline. Big hoop earrings and a stare that said don’t mess with me unless you mean it. When Zoe walked in, Meekey knew instantly. She stood up slowly. “Zoe,” she said, voice calm. Zoe looked at her, surprised but not shaken. “You’re her mother.” Yes. Zoe crossed her arms. “She told me not to talk to you. I figured. so why are you here? “Because I made too many mistakes to count. But this one—I can’t let this one sit forever. I just want a minute. One minute with her. After that, if she says she never wants to see me again, I’ll walk away. No drama. No pressure.” Zoe studied her for a moment. “You know, she keeps a picture of you. Hidden in a book. I don’t think she’s looked at it in years, but she never threw it out.” Meekey's throat tightened. “I didn’t know that.” “I don’t trust you,” Zoe said plainly. “But I trust her to decide for herself.” She pulled a small notepad from her purse, scribbled something, and slid it across the table. “She’ll be at the shelter Friday night. After the meal run. If she wants to talk, she’ll step outside. If she doesn’t, don’t follow her. Don’t make this worse.” Meekey nodded, hands trembling slightly. “Thank you.” Zoe stood. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got one shot.” As she walked away, Meekey gripped the note in her hand like it was made of glass. One shot. And this time, she wasn’t going to miss.
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