I wore a denim skirt, white blouse, and blue-and-white striped jacket, in which I felt actually decent. My hair was longer, and the white Susan Sontag stripe had grown more prevalent and even whiter. Tina had given me some Kiehl’s face cream a few months back, and, although I refused to wear makeup, my skin seemed smoother. I had acquired a pair of Toms, simple canvas shoes. In other words, I’d done the best I could to appear clean and normal. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Harry said. “It hasn’t even been a year. What can change in a year? Wait. Don’t tell me. Everything. Everything can change in a year. But petitions like this—” The judge began to speak. “On the matter of Carleen Kepper/Ester Rosenthal and her petition to gain visitation rights to see her birth daughter, Batya Shulamit Salin, we have heard the petition. She plans to be released from the halfway house and is in search of an appropriate apartment. Her employment is steady and she pays all her expenses.
