Free At What Price? by P. A. Estelle Page A

looked at Lacey. “Where did you come up with such a unique name?”
    “Huh? Oh, a song I heard on the radio. Rio, dancing in the sand… or something like that.”
    Lacey seemed so distracted. “Honey is everything all right?” I asked.
    Bursting into tears, she said there was an emergency of some sort. She would be gone only two or three days at most and begged us to please baby-sit.
    She came back three weeks later, eyes sunken in and looking like death. While I held Rio in my arms, Lacey and Sam had a horrible fight. “You have a baby, Lacey, a responsibility!” he yelled.
    “Was she too much for you to handle, Dad? Jesus Christ, so I was gone longer than I thought. It’s not like you and Mom have anything to do anyway.”
    He was right back in her face. “It has nothing to do with that and you know it. We didn’t know if you were alive or dead!” Sam burned with anger.
    “Well, stop the celebration, ’cause as you can see, I’m alive and well.” Lacey grabbed Rio’s things and stuffed them in her bag.
    “Stop it!” I cried, to no avail.
    “This is what you call well?” Sam said, his voice full of sorrow. “Your eyes look like you haven’t slept in days. It’s obvious you’re doing drugs.” He grabbed Lacey’s arm to swing her around to face him. “In fact, you look like hell.”
    “Shut up!” Lacey screamed. “I needed something to get me through coming back here. I hate it here!” She snatched Rio from my arms, promising we would never see either of them again, and left.
    I cried for a week straight. Sam tried phoning her but the number we had was disconnected. We sent letters but they were always returned, stamped wrong address.
    Sam died the following year of a brain aneurysm. He was only sixty-two and I was fifty-six. We lived in a small two bedroom, two-bath single story house, on a fifty-four acre ranch. It was twenty miles from town and neighbors were scarce. Other than three chickens, the only family I had was Sam, Lacey, and Rio and they were gone.
    ****
    Now, I sat at gate C9, watching as people, one by one, left the plane. My heart was pounding so hard, waiting to catch a glimpse of my granddaughter. The last straggler appeared through the door and I started to panic. What if she missed the plane?
    A hand touched my shoulder and I almost jumped out of my skin. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but would you be Katherine Gardner?”
    “Yes! I’m supposed to meet my granddaughter!”
    “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gardner,” the stewardess said. “Your granddaughter is on the plane. She was afraid to get off. Please come with me and we’ll go get her.”
    I followed her down the corridor, wondering what I was about to face. Would she remember me at all? Had my daughter told her anything about me?
    “Hey, Rio, here’s your grandmother,” the stewardess said as we entered the plane.
    There sat my Lacey at the age of six. Long, curly messed-up hair, color of sand, with big green eyes. Her face was pale and she looked scared to death. Her bottom lip quivered. “Mimi?” she whispered.
    My God, that’s what she called me when she was two! My eyes filled with tears and my throat closed. “Rio,” I croaked.
    I sat down and she crawled onto my lap, crying.
    I’m not sure how long we sat there before the stewardess cleared her throat, mentioning something about a schedule that needed to be kept.
    Nodding my understanding, I wiped my eyes, then Rio’s and, hand in hand, we left the plane and the airport.
    ****
    When she first came to live with me, Rio was a frightened little girl who cringed at every loud noise. She chewed on her fingernails and was terrified to sleep by herself. After two weeks had gone by without hearing from Lacey, I decided school was in order.
    We went to the school and, after explaining the situation, I was able to fill out the paperwork. Rio seemed excited about the prospect, but when it was time to take her to class, she was as pale as a hen’s egg and had a