you again.” Charlie wasn’t sure she wanted to soak anything she owned in ammonia, but judging by the badges on the sash, the girl knew what she was talking about. “How long have you been in Girl Scouts?”
“I got my start as a Brownie. My mom signed me up. I thought it was lame, but you learn lots of things, like business skills.”
“My mom signed me up, too.” Charlie had never thought it was lame. She had loved all the projects and the camping trips and especially eating the cookies she had made her parents buy. “What’s your name?”
“Flora Faulkner,” she said. “My mom named me Florabama, because I was born on the state line, but I go by Flora.”
Charlie smiled, but only because she knew that she was going to laugh about this later with her husband. “There are worse things that you could be called.”
Flora looked down at her hands. “A lot of the girls are pretty good at thinking of mean things.”
Clearly, this was some kind of opening, but Charlie was at a loss for words. She combed back through her knowledge of after-school specials. All she could remember was that movie of the week where Ted Danson is married to Glenn Close and she finds out that he’s molesting their teenage daughter but she’s been cold in bed so it’s probably her fault so they all go to therapy and learn to live with it.
“Miss Quinn?” Flora put Charlie’s purse on the counter. “Do you want me to get you some crackers?”
“No, I’m fine.” Remarkably, Charlie was fine. Whatever had made her stomach upset had passed. “Why don’t you give me a minute to clean myself up, then I’ll join you back in the rec room?”
“Okay,” Flora said, but she didn’t leave.
“Is there anything else?”
“I was wondering—” She glanced at the mirror over the sink, then back down at the floor. There was something delicate about the girl that Charlie had not noticed before. When Flora looked up again, she was crying. “Can you help me? I mean, as a lawyer?”
Charlie was surprised by the request. The girl looked nothing like her usual juvenile offenders who’d been caught selling weed behind the school. Her mind flashed up all the nice, white-girl problems: pregnant, STD, kleptomaniac, bad score on the SATs. Rather than guess, Charlie asked, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t have a lot of money, at least not yet, but—”
“Don’t worry about that part. Just tell me what you need.”
“I want to be emancipated.”
Charlie felt her mouth form into a circle of surprise.
“I’m fifteen, but I’ll be sixteen next month, and I looked it up at the library. I know that’s the legal age in Georgia to be emancipated.”
“If you looked it up, then you know the criteria.”
“I have to be married or in active service in the military or I have to petition the court to emancipate me.”
She really had done her homework. “You live with your father?”
“My grandparents. My father’s dead. He overdosed in prison.”
Charlie nodded, because she knew that this happened more often than anyone wanted to admit. “Is there anyone else in your family who could take you in?”
“No, it’s just the three of us left. I love Paw and Meemaw, but they’re…” Flora shrugged, but the shrug was the important part.
Charlie asked, “Are they hurting you?”
“No, ma’am, never. They’re…” Again, she shrugged. “I don’t think they like me very much.”
“A lot of kids your age feel that way.”
“They’re not strong people,” she said. “Strong in character.”
Charlie leaned back against the counter. She had left child molester off her list of possible teenage-girl problems. “Flora, emancipation is a very serious request. If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to give me details.”
“Have you ever helped a kid with this before?”
Charlie shook her head. “No, so if you don’t feel comfortable—”
“It’s okay,” Flora said. “I was just curious. I don’t think it happens a lot.”
“That’s for a reason,” Charlie said. “Generally, the court is very hesitant to remove a child from a home. You have to provide justification, and if you really looked into the law, there are two other important criteria: you have to prove that you can support yourself without your parents, and you have to do this without receiving any aid from the state.”
“I work shifts at the diner. And my friend Nancy’s parents said I could live with them until I’m out of school, and then when I go to college, I can live at the dorms.”
The more Flora spoke, the more determined she sounded.
Charlie asked, “Have you ever been in trouble?”
“No, ma’am. Not ever. I’ve got a 4.0 GPA. I’m already taking AP classes. I’m on the Principal’s Scholars list and I volunteer in the reading lab.” Her face turned red from the bragging. She put her hands to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, but you asked.”
“Don’t be sorry. That’s a lot to be proud of,” Charlie told her. “Listen, if your friend’s parents are willing to take you in, it might be that you can work out an arrangement without the courts getting involved.”
“I’ve got money,” Flora said. “I can pay you.”
Charlie wasn’t going to take money from a troubled fifteen-year-old. “It’s not about money. It’s about what’s easier for you. And for your grandparents. If this goes to court—”
“I don’t mean that kind of money,” Flora said. “After my mama was killed in the car accident, the trucking company had to set up a trust to take care of me.”
Charlie waited, but the girl didn’t volunteer details. “What kind of trust?”
“It pays out for things like where I live and medical stuff, but most of it’s being held until I’m ready to go to college, only I’m scared it’s not going to be there when I’m ready to go.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Paw and Meemaw are spending it.”
“If the trust says they can only use the money for—”
“They bought a house, but then they sold it for the cash and rented an apartment, then they took me to the doctor and he said I was sick, but I wasn’t, and then they got a new car.”
Charlie crossed her arms. “That’s stealing from you and defrauding the trust. Those are both very serious crimes.”
