“That’s basketball,” I laugh. “It’s called stealing, not travelling,”

“Well damn, we may need to go to a basketball game next, because I sure know a lot of basketball lingo. I’m like the sports whisperer.” She laughs and the sound is so contagious, that I can’t help but join in.

I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to me until I can nuzzle into her neck. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to, Cam,” I murmur against her delicate skin. “As long as you know you can’t get rid of me.”

The crack of the bat connecting with the ball sends the crowd around us to their feet. A roar of cheers makes it impossible to hear her, but her actions speak louder than anyone around us.

Pulling away from me, she momentarily searches my eyes. Grabbing my t-shirt and twisting the collar in her grip she smashes my body to hers. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says against my lips before she takes complete control and crashes her lips to mine.

If I ever had any doubt that Campbell would follow through on this new journey we have set course on, it evaporated in that moment.

She was mine, and for the first time ever, a woman has been able to say with certainty that I was completely hers.

Campbell

In light of everything that has gone on, Jen’s idea about taking a mini Vegas vacation doesn’t seem so bad, even if it’s a bachelorette party. Everyone has been preparing for the weekend that is supposed to surpass all weekends. I’ve stayed grounded though, wrapped in the reality of the present.

Since Sharon died, Evan has called or texted nearly twice a week, making sure I’m okay. I think more than anything, he just wants to hear a friendly voice that cared for his mom as much as he did. It took a while, but I’ve finally come to terms with her passing. I’ve spent a large amount of time either with Lakin or at the foundation. I’m hopeful each time I’ve been back that I will run into Leah again, but I have yet to see her.

While Lakin gave me the file on Leah the day Sharon died, I haven’t been able to bring myself to look through it. I guess I’m hoping she will tell me her story herself. That, or I fear what I might find will open old wounds. Those wounds have long ago scabbed over, but I’m still waiting for the scars to fade.

I don’t dig into my past often, but somehow this girl with just one meeting has brought it all back.

When I first arrive at the foundation, I walk down the hallway through the administration portion of the building. Vivian’s office door is open, but she isn’t in it. I step inside, take Leah’s file out of my backpack, and lightly lay it across Vivian’s desk. It’s thick, the manila folder barely able to hold the papers within it. Without even looking inside, I know she either has been in the system a long time or has had several placements.

I slowly roll the chair from the desk and slide my body into the seat. I inhale deeply and release every bit of air in my lungs before I flip open the front cover of the folder. If anyone was walking by at that moment, they probably would have heard the sound of my heart cracking into shattered pieces and would have seen all resemblance of bravery spilling out onto the paper.

I attempt to read the first page, but as my eyes scan it, the words blur with tears. The red ink in large print at the bottom, reads loud and clear though:

PARENTAL RIGHTS TERMINATED. AVAILABLE FOR ADOPTION.

In the six years she has been in the system, it looks as though Leah has had multiple placements. She bounced from foster home, back to her mother, and then back to foster homes over and over again until last year when her mother’s rights were finally terminated by the court and she was placed in a group facility.

There are no reports of sexual abuse or even physical abuse. She was removed from her mother’s care because of neglect. Documentation outlining a life with drugs in the home, her being left alone for days, weeks at a time, even a lack of food in the house filled the file. There lacks detailed explanations for the multiple placements, nor are there details as to why reunification with her mother did not work after so many years in the system. Those specifics will have to come from the caseworker or Leah herself.

After reading what is available, though, I want, more than ever, to find this girl and help her, if I can. There have been moments when I thought, I could be this girl’s mother; I could take that on. Reality sinks in though, and I know that just isn’t possible. My job has me constantly on the road in and out of bars half of the year, touring with bands. This girl needs a family, a real mom that is present. She needs someone who can help with homework and teenage drama, and that’s just not me.

I close the file and stuff it back into my backpack. I envision letting her shred it or maybe burning it one day, just like I wish I could have with my own file. I know these are just pieced together copies of the original file, but it still would mean something to see it buried.

Standing, I sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way down the hall toward the commons room where I first met her. Every time I’ve been back, I look to the couch, hoping to see her there reading poetry, but over and over again I’ve been disappointed.

The room is crowded with kids, and the smell of sweaty teenagers from the summer heat hits me. Denver has a mixture of schools, which vary from year-round to traditional schedules, so even though it’s the middle of the summer, some of them will be working on assignments for school, while for others, the school year is a distant memory.

I walk directly to the sign-in sheet at the front desk. My finger scrolls down the list of names and I’m met with disappointment when I reach the end of the list without coming across Leah’s name. I exhale my frustration and turn to the kids in the room to see where I’ll be most helpful for the afternoon.

Then I see the flowing locks of blonde hair that I have been so eager to see again. Sitting in the same spot as before, Leah is stretched out on the couch, hoisting up a mammoth of a book: The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Her brows are drawn together, deep in thought, and I smile to myself at the scene before me.

“It’s been I while,” I say as I approach her. “I hoped I would find you here, and with a book on Poe is an even better surprise.”

She looks up at me with tears in her eyes, which she hurriedly wipes away. She doesn’t want me to see her weakness, but it’s too late. It was there; I saw it.

“It took a while before I could get to the library, and I wanted to have this book before I came here again. You know, in case you were here,” she explains. She clears her throat to rid herself of the emotion that overtook her, but I can still hear the slight tremble in her voice.

I take my seat next to her and change the subject as not to bring attention to her obvious discomfort and my intrusion of her personal moment.

“I’m glad to see you here again. I have to admit, I was happy to see that book in your hands. Are you enjoying it?”

She runs her hand across the pages she was just reading, and lets out a sigh. “Yes,” she says looking down at the book. “It’s like the words are speaking to me, and well, some hit a little too close to home.”

I peer over to look at the page and read the passage that she has lightly starred with a pencil.

“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” I read aloud and nod.

Leah takes a ragged breath and searches my eyes. She’s looking for a safe place, a safe person, to share her secrets, and I try to convey that I understand her struggle. I, too, have felt the pain of this world.