Page 28 of Free to Live
“Good, because Cassidy already put it on your schedule.”
I bust out laughing. “I’ll check it against the schedule at the station.”
Phil tosses his keys in the air and deftly catches them. “We’ll talk soon. You heading over to get Grace?”
I glance down at my watch. “Yeah.” If I don’t head out soon, I’ll be late, and I refuse to let my baby girl worry. About anything.
“See you.”
“Yeah, see you, Phil.” I open the locks on my SUV and slide into the seat.
Driving to daycare, I reflect on the miracle of today. I realize I’ve been living in a world of insanity these last three years. Even if it’s one burden removed, somehow I’ve been sent an army of angels to help me deal. And I know who’s been looking out for me.
Catching a glimpse of the rosary hanging from my rearview, I mutter, “Thanks, baby,” to my deceased fiancée as I turn into the parking lot to pick up our daughter.
11
Holly
Pulling up to the distinguished fire station on the outskirts of downtown Collyer a few days later, I shove my sunglasses to the top of my head. The faded antique brick of the three-story building is a sharp contrast to the bright blue of the late March sky. Sliding out of my vehicle, I stand beside it for a minute squinting at the presence the building makes. Memories trickle to the forefront of my mind of the first moments and days after Corinna, Ali, and I were rescued.
Although it was Charleston Vice and ICE who burst in and snatched Ali off the auction block from the human traffickers, there was a mass of Charleston public servant volunteers who escorted us to safety. I remember being in the back of the fire chief’s SUV holding desperately on to Corinna and Ali wrapped in a blanket, seeing the sun for more than the few moments it took for our captors to hose us down before sending us back into the shipping container we were being held captive in.
After it was a race to get us to safety before the press could swarm in with their microphones and cameras. We were victims, but because someone felt it was their right to know, we were hidden for our own safety.
And it was during that time I had to admit my culpability to the in the death of my stepmother because my father used it as a bargaining chip to get his own sentence reduced. I remember the prosecuting attorney coming to the battered women and children’s shelter where we were being kept and questioning me over and over.
“Did you intend to kill your stepmother, Ms. Greene?”
“Why did you have your father’s gun in your hands?”
“Where was your father when all of this was happening?”
And my answers caused tears to fall down her face. Because a fifteen-year-old should never have to respond with, “No, I never intended to kill her. I was trying to kill myself since my father intended to sell me to his friends, his enemies, anyone he could make money from.” I remember bitterly laughing at the slack-jawed attorney and whispering, “I made a decision I was fully prepared to execute; there was nothing that was going to be worse than repeated rape. Not even death. I was prepared to die the day I pulled that trigger instead of letting my father get paid for my slower demise.” As I sat back, my chest heaving, I bit out, “The only reason I’m glad it didn’t is that now I can watch my father go down for what he did even if it means I have to serve time for accidentally shooting Maria. But if you think knowing I killed her is an easier burden to carry, then you are so wrong. I have someone’s death on my hands. The two girls I just survived Hell with don’t know I killed someone to land me next to them. I have yet to share that with them. I’d like a chance to say goodbye because I’ll soon be in prison serving time for that. But if you think prison is going to break me after what I just went through, you are so very wrong.”
The prosecuting attorney soon excused herself for a phone call. Within moments, she came back more composed, “Noelle, tell me what your plans are?”
“I don’t know.” I had no idea. I was living minute to minute.
“Let me get back to my office and review the case. I’ll be back tomorrow. Can you trust me until then? Please?” My eyes, which had been focused on the center of the table, lifted. “Just give me one day.”
I nodded.
“Tonight an officer is going to be sleeping outside your room, but I don’t think after tomorrow you’re going to need that,” she said ambiguously.
At the time, I thought it was because I would soon be taken to the local jail for intake. I never thought it was because I was being issued a pardon from the governor of South Carolina, the prosecuting attorney’s cousin.
Days later, I held the paper in my hand blinking rapidly as tears coursed down my face. “I don’t understand.”
“Find your life, Noelle,” the prosecutor whispered. “Live without fear. If there’s one thing I’ll ever do right in my career, this will be it.”
Later when I chose my new name as we became Freemans, it wasn’t a leap. I chose Holly after the prosecutor who saved my life by merely giving me one.
I followed her career. When I saw her husband—a local Charleston firefighter—lost his life five years ago rescuing a stranded family on a barrier island during a hurricane, I asked Ali to make a donation in all of our names in his honor. I included a note that said,You asked me once to trust you and to give you one more day. You worked a miracle at that time. Don’t give up on the fact all it takes is one day for a miracle to happen. - Holly Freeman.
The next time I saw a photo of her, I saw she was heavily pregnant with her deceased husband’s child. In the newspaper article, she said, “I never knew I was pregnant when he died. This baby is my miracle. When I was grieving Ed’s death, I received a letter reminding me all it takes is one day, and they can happen. The person I received it from touched my heart deeply with her words.” I smiled when I read that.
Leaning against my car, I look down at my hands and think maybe just a little more of the stain on them is washing away. It’s hard to take in the beauty I’ve been blessed day after day and not appreciate that somehow it’s a gift, that some higher being understands. The life we’ve been blessed with since those dark days hasn’t been simple, but it’s been beautiful.
