Читать книгу Kids by Christmas - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 8

THE CASEWORKER HAD PREPARED the kids for Suzanne’s visit. Younger children could be fooled into thinking the visitor was a friend of the foster mom’s, or another social worker. Kids the ages of Sophia and Jack would see through the lie and feel betrayed.

Melissa had arranged for this visit only two days after their initial meeting, scheduling it right after the children got home from school. Suzanne was once again depending on Rose.

Now, parking in front of the shabby rambler and setting the emergency brake, Melissa said, “I’ve introduced two other sets of potential adoptive parents to Sophia and Jack. In both cases, they felt the fit wasn’t right.”

“Why?”

“I believe it’s Sophia. She’s almost eleven, and, um…” The caseworker hesitated. “Well, she’s precocious.”

Puzzled, Suzanne said, “You did mention that she’s mature beyond her years.”

“Yes, but what I’m trying to tell you is that she’s also ahead of most girls her age physically.”

“Physically?” For a moment, Suzanne didn’t get it. Then understanding dawned. “Oh. You mean, she’s getting breasts.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. Part of the trouble is her choice of clothing. She looks like a thirteen-year-old who’s pretending she’s sixteen.”

“Oh,” Suzanne said again. She frowned. “You mean, the two couples were okay with a ten-year-old who looked like a little girl, but not one who’s essentially a teenager?”

“Exactly.”

She wanted to say that was lousy, but she remembered the few parameters she’d given Rebecca originally. She’d wanted a child who would come to think of her as a mother, not a teenager who’d be gone in no time. An almost-eleven-year-old who looked older… No, Sophia definitely wasn’t what Suzanne had had in mind, either.

But then, from the beginning she’d vowed to be open-minded, to take a child who needed her. It sounded like these two did.

She nodded, and the two women got out of the car, walking in silence up the driveway.

On the way over, Melissa had told her this foster mother was having health problems and had given them a deadline of the first of January to find alternative placement for Jack and Sophia.

“They’ve had so many disruptions already,” she’d said. “I’m really hoping to find them a permanent home now, so that they don’t have to adjust to yet another temporary one. I want you to feel free to take your time to get to know them, but if you decide they might be right for you, I can also accelerate the steps we usually go through.”

Suzanne was so nervous, she felt light-headed by the time Melissa rang the doorbell. What if they were unfriendly? Disinterested? Wild? What if she didn’t like them?

How horrible it must be to be looked over like apples in the produce section, put back when buyers saw a bruise. She didn’t want to do something like that, but it would also be disastrous if she took on something she couldn’t handle.

Someone, she reminded herself. Not a situation. Kids.

The door opened without warning. It had to be the foster mom who smiled and pushed open the screen. “Melissa. Hi! The kids have been waiting. You must be Suzanne. Hello.”

She was in her sixties or perhaps even seventies, and overweight. She moved as if she hurt.

The television in the living room was on, a well-known talk-show host grilling someone to the shrill encouragement of the audience. She turned it off and called, “Kids! Melissa is here!”

There was a moment of silence. Then one of the bedroom doors down a short hall opened and two kids came out. The boy had his head hanging, but the girl ignored the other two adults and studied Suzanne with frightening intensity as she sauntered behind her brother. Suzanne could see right away why Melissa had warned her. It was more than the breasts. It was that hip-swinging walk, the curl to her mouth, the ferocity of that stare. No, this wasn’t your average ten-year-old. She might have had trouble fitting in with other girls her age even under normal circumstances.

“Sophia, Jack,” Melissa said. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Chauvin.”

The boy stole a quick look up at her, then ducked his head again. The girl stopped and appraised her.

“Hi,” Suzanne said. “I’m glad to meet you after Melissa told me so much about you.”

“Why don’t you have kids of your own?” Sophia asked, with a tone of insolence. Why are you such a loser? she seemed to be asking.

“Sophia!” the foster mom intervened. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“No, it’s okay. My husband and I hadn’t started a family before we got divorced. Since I’ve always wanted to have children, I chose to adopt.”

“So how come us?”

It was as if no one else was there, just Suzanne and this dark-haired girl with riveting blue eyes.

“Because Melissa told me about you, and I thought we might be a good fit. My parents both died when I was six years old, so I know better than most people how you feel right now.”

The girl’s mask slipped. “Did you get adopted?”

Suzanne shook her head. “My aunt and uncle took me in, even though I don’t think they really wanted any more children. They had two of their own. But they surrendered my little brother and sister. They were adopted by other families.”

Sophia cast a shocked glance at her little brother, who had finally lifted his head and was watching Suzanne and his sister with eyes that were a paler blue than hers. His hair was lighter, too, the shade of brown that might become blond after a summer in the sun.

“So you never saw them again?” the girl asked.

“Not until this year. I hired a private investigator to find them.”

“Oh.”

When she fell silent, Melissa smiled and moved forward. “Why don’t we all sit down so you can get acquainted?”

The kids went docilely to the sofa and sat next to each other. The boy leaned against his big sister.

Jack was small for his age, Suzanne decided, and made smaller by a posture that suggested he wanted to disappear. In contrast, his sister was nearly as tall as Suzanne already, and with that disconcertingly curvaceous body, no one would have guessed that only three years separated the two children in age.

Suzanne chose the recliner facing them. Melissa spoke quietly for a moment to the foster mother, who said, “I’m going to lie down for a few minutes. You just call me when you’re done.”

“Tell me about your mom,” Suzanne suggested.

Jack ducked his head again.

Sophia jerked her shoulders. “She was sick. She couldn’t walk. Sometimes she, like, fainted or something and wouldn’t wake up for a long time.”

“But before that, when she felt better. Did she sew for you? Paint your fingernails?”

“She didn’t sew. I guess I helped with dinner sometimes. You know. And she took us to the library.” She pressed her lips together. “I remember her pushing me on a swing.”

Suzanne looked at the seven-year-old. “What do you remember, Jack? Did she teach you to throw a ball, or read to you?”

“Mommy read all the time,” he whispered. “She still read to me sometimes, before…” His voice died.

Before their mom hadn’t woken up.

“This must be really scary for you.” Suzanne took a deep breath. “I’m scared.”

They both looked at her. “Why?” Sophia asked.

“Because adopting someone is a huge commitment. And the truth is, I’ve never been a mom. I don’t remember mine as well as I wish I did. So I don’t know how great I’ll be at this. And I don’t want to disappoint a boy or girl who trusts me.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to take us?” Clearly, Sophia was used to taking the lead. “Because that’s okay. Other people have come and decided they weren’t going to.”

Hurting at her brave attempt to sound as if she didn’t care, Suzanne shook her head. “No, that isn’t what I’m saying. I guess I’m asking you what you’re hoping for in a family. Did you really want to have a dad? Or a certain kind of mom?”

Sophia frowned. “What do you mean, a certain kind of mom?”

“Oh…” She thought. “One who laughs a lot, or is really pretty and smells good. Maybe a mom who’s there every day when you get home from school, so you don’t have to go to day care. Or parents who have lots of money, so you could have something you’ve always dreamed about.”

“Like a horse, you mean?”

“Like that,” she agreed.

“I don’t know about a dad. ’Cause we’ve never had one. Right, Jack?”

He nodded.

“And my mom. Maybe she was pretty before she got sick. I don’t remember.”

“Do you have pictures?” Suzanne asked gently.

She nodded. “We have a box of stuff.”

Suzanne waited.

“We want a dog,” the ten-year-old declared. “Or a cat. We couldn’t have a pet before. Because we moved a lot, to places where you couldn’t have one. Do you have a dog?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind getting one. I do have a fenced backyard.”

Jack looked up, his face filled with naked hope. “Do you have a house? A real house?”

“Yes, I do. It’s not fancy, but it has three bedrooms. You could each have your own room if you wanted. And it has an old apple tree in the backyard that’s perfect for climbing. I like to garden, so in the spring there will be daffodils and a big lilac in bloom.” She could tell from their faces that they didn’t care about the flowers. “The bedrooms are really plain right now, but we could decorate them the way you liked.”

“I could have my very own?” Sophia spoke as if the idea was wondrous beyond imagining. And perhaps it was, for a child who’d probably shared a single hotel room with her mother and brother for nearly as long as she could remember.

“Yep. I thought you might like to share for a while, until you got used to living with me, but that would be up to you.”

“Jack wets his bed.”

The boy jerked as if in protest, but didn’t say anything.

“We got in trouble a lot, because the hotel managers didn’t like the smell.”

Oh, dear. Suzanne had forgotten the bit about Jack having regressed to some infantile behaviors. How did you help someone not wet the bed?

“You know what?” she said with false confidence. “He’ll outgrow it, just like other kids. Who ever heard of a grown-up wetting the bed?”

“Our last foster mom spanked him when he peed in his bed.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Suzanne saw Melissa’s face harden.

“Do you spank?” Sophia asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “No. I don’t believe in it. And besides, bed-wetting is something Jack can’t help.”

“He sucks his thumb, too.”

“I do not!” the boy flared.

Lifting her brows, Suzanne looked at his sister. “Do you have any bad habits? Things you do you’re not supposed to?”

She seemed interested in the idea. “I punched a boy at school. I had to go to the principal’s office.”

“Why did you punch him?”

“He called me a name.”

She hardly blinked, that intense gaze fixed on Suzanne, who wondered if she was being tested. What will you do when I’m bad? she seemed to be asking.

“Did you try telling an adult what he’d said?”

Sophia shook her head. “I was mad.”

“We all get mad without hitting people.” To avoid a continuing debate, Suzanne asked, “What else?”

“Mostly I just get mad. I told a teacher last year he was a big fat liar.”

Well, that had probably gone over well.

“What did you do when you got mad at your mom?”

For a moment, her long, dark lashes veiled her eyes. “I didn’t get mad at her.”

“I was mad at mine for dying. Really mad.”

“I’m not.” But that unnervingly direct gaze didn’t meet Suzanne’s.

She knew a lie when she heard one, but let it pass.

“Is there anything you want to know about me?”

They were momentarily silenced. Then Jack whispered something to his sister, who said, “Can we see your house?”

How humbling to know that they were more interested in her home than in her.

Sitting to one side, Melissa smiled. “That will be for another visit, kids. In fact, I have an appointment, so it’s time for Suzanne and I to go. Jack, will you go let Mrs. Burton know we have to leave?”

He nodded, slipped off the couch and went down the hall.

“Would we still go to the same school?” Sophia asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “I live in Edmonds, so you’d have to transfer there. I know it’s hard to move in the middle of the year….”

“I hate it here,” she said with startling vehemence. “I want to move.”

“What about Jack?”

“Kids pick on him. He doesn’t like it either.”

Oh, Lord! What was she getting into? Suzanne asked herself, knowing full well she’d long since made a decision. Jack and Sophia had no resemblance to her dream child, who neither wet beds nor slugged other kids, but were also far more real, more needy and interesting and full of promise.

She hoped they liked her, but would settle for them liking her house.

The foster mother reappeared and they said their goodbyes. The children stood in front of Mrs. Burton on the front porch and watched as Suzanne and Melissa went to the car and drove away.

“So, what do you think?” Melissa laughed. “Or do I have to ask?”

“Wow.” Suzanne felt dazed and a little limp, now that it was over. “I think I’m even more scared than I was on the way over.”

“And with good reason! Sophia is…unusual.”

“She is, isn’t she? But amazing, too. She’s so strong! At her age, I was timid and apologetic and unwilling ever to cause trouble or draw attention to myself.”

“She won’t be easy to parent,” Melissa warned. “You did notice her challenging you?”

“I suspected. But that’s going to happen with any child, isn’t it? Unless I start with a toddler.”

“Yes, but most kids would wait a while. They’re usually saintly for a few months. Then, at some point, they start wondering if these new parents would want them if they weren’t so good, if they really love them. That’s when the tough times start. Now, with Sophia…”

“They’ve already begun?”

Melissa had a hearty laugh. “Something like that.”

“I like her.” She thought. “Did you see her when I suggested she might be mad at her mother for dying?”

“I did. But she can’t let herself, so she’ll be mad at everyone else instead.”

“When can I see them again?” Suzanne asked.

Melissa laughed again. “Are you sure you don’t want to let first impressions settle a little?”

“But it was such a short visit. I’m not sure I can wait for days and days.”

“I can ask whether Mrs. Burton could bring them over Saturday for a while.”

Suzanne turned a hopeful gaze on the caseworker. “Please.”

Another laugh. “I’ll call her.” But her expression was serious when she said, “But you have to promise not to rush into anything, either. You’re right. It is a big commitment. The adoption won’t be final for months, so you have time to back out, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how tough that would be on the kids.”

Her excitement dimmed. “I know it would. I won’t make up my mind for sure until we get a chance to spend more time together.”

“That’s all I ask. And here we are.” She signaled to turn into the parking lot in front of the adoption agency. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Burton and give you a call.”

“Thank you,” Suzanne said fervently.

She drove back to her shop wishing she could rush home instead and prepare. What she’d actually do to prepare, she wasn’t sure. Paint the bedrooms tonight? But she’d already promised to let them choose their own decor. Clean house? Well, she had to do that tomorrow anyway. With the long hours at Knit One, Drop In, Sunday was no day of rest for her. But maybe she could get started tonight. Vacuum and scrub the bathroom. She’d put out her prettiest guest towels.

Suzanne made a face in the rearview mirror. As if they’d care. The only time she could ever remember as a child even noticing someone’s towels was when she’d gone to a sleepover at a classmate’s house and found out her family was really rich. The bathroom fixtures were shiny gold, maybe even plated with real gold. The floor was stone with pale veins running through it—marble, she’d later realized. And the towels were half an inch thick, a deep maroon jacquard, incredibly soft and textured in a basket weave. They were nothing like the towels at Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Miles’s house.

Even if Suzanne’s house was a step up from the cheap hotels where Sophia and Jack were used to living, there was nothing about it to dazzle them. Certainly not her best guest towels.

But she would put them out anyway. And she’d bake something, so the house smelled homey and welcoming. She’d wash the windows in the two bedrooms, too, so they would sparkle and let in whatever sunlight was available.

At the shop she thanked Rose and resigned herself to making it through the last hour before closing. Traffic was heavy with Christmas so close. She had knit several afghans hoping to sell them as Christmas gifts, and they had gone way back in early November as had several baby sweaters. Next year, she’d try to have more items available for sale. Perhaps some of her customers would like to offer hand-knit items on consignment. But shoppers were also buying gift certificates for classes as well as yarn, knitting books and individual patterns. And more people were discovering her store, just because they were out shopping anyway.

At 4:45 p.m. Melissa called. “Mrs. Burton says she’d be glad to bring the kids over. If you’re okay with them on your own, she could leave them for an hour or two while she grocery shops.”

“That sounds great,” Suzanne agreed. “One o’clock? Perfect!”

She waited on a couple more customers and pretended to be interested in their crochet projects, but was secretly dying to close and go home. She could hardly wait to call Carrie and tell her… But then, on a wave of disappointment, she remembered that Mark and Carrie were going out tonight. They’d gotten a babysitter for Michael and were having dinner at Le Gourmand and then going to see a play at the Intiman. And Rebecca and Gary had flown to Chicago this weekend because he had a business meeting Monday morning and they thought they could take a couple of days to themselves in advance. Rebecca hadn’t found a wedding dress she liked in Santa Fe and intended to shop in Chicago while he was conducting business.

Turning the sign to Closed, Suzanne opened the till and thought, I’ll call a friend. But it was an awful time of day to call anyone who already had a family. They’d all be making dinner or sitting down to eat by the time she got home. Frustrated, Suzanne promised herself that she’d call everyone she knew later tonight.

The trouble was, she felt like a child bursting with news. She wanted to tell someone right now, not two hours from now.

Well, tough. She wasn’t a child, and her news could hold. She’d vacuum instead.

Pulling into her driveway, she glanced as she almost always did toward her next-door neighbor’s house. The light in his front window was on, and she saw the blue flicker of a television. He was probably watching the six o’clock news. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him sitting in front of a rerun of Friends or Full House. No, he was definitely the news type.

He might like to know about the children who would be visiting tomorrow and might be living next door.

The thought crept in out of nowhere, startling her.

She wasn’t friends with Tom Stefanec. They rarely exchanged more than a few words. She made sure they didn’t.

It was probably dumb, but she’d been self-conscious around him since he’d moved in. She’d still been married, but her marriage had been disintegrating. She and Josh had seemed to yell at each other constantly, and neighbors—or one particular neighbor—had had to call the police to report domestic disturbances. Twice.

She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye since.

But he had never, not once, referred in any way to Josh or those ugly fights. Tom had been really nice since he’d found out she wanted to adopt. He’d mowed her lawn the whole last month of fall so she didn’t have to get her mower fixed before spring. He knew she wanted the house to look extra nice when the caseworker did a home visit. Suzanne had noticed that her lawn looked better than it ever had after a few weeks of his attention, too. She suspected he’d fertilized it with a weed and feed, which had killed some of the dandelions.

Ever since, he’d asked regularly if she’d heard from the adoption agency. She didn’t know whether he was just being polite or really hoped for her sake that she had. But he did seem interested.

She’d never actually gone to his door and rung the bell before, but she could. Since he did often ask, and since the kids were coming tomorrow, it would be the civil thing to do, wouldn’t it? Instead of him seeing them and her having to say, Oh, I forgot to tell you that the caseworker did call.

Besides… She really wanted to tell someone.

Taking a deep breath, she got out of her car, hurried into her house to deposit her purse and the day’s receipts on the small table just inside and then, instead of going to the kitchen to find something for dinner, she went back out and marched across the strip of lawn that separated her driveway from her neighbor’s. Her feet carried her up his walkway and onto his porch.

Her courage was already faltering by the time she rang the doorbell, but she didn’t let herself chicken out. They were neighbors. She’d known him for years. It was silly to be shy.

Besides, he might have seen her coming onto the porch through the big front window. She couldn’t flee.

The light came on and the door opened. He filled the opening, wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and slippers. Somehow he was always so much larger than she remembered.

“Suzanne!” he said in surprise. “Are you okay?”

Apparently he figured the only reason she’d come knocking was if she desperately needed help. And who could blame him since she’d never made the slightest overture of friendship before?

She produced a smile. “I’m fine. I just stopped by to let you know that I finally heard from the agency.”

He stood back. “Come on in. Sit down and tell me about it.”

She hesitated.

“Aren’t you having dinner, or…”

Or what? Entertaining? She hardly ever saw anyone else at his house. She didn’t know if he did entertain.

“Haven’t even started to cook yet. I just got home and thought I’d have a beer and watch the news.” He picked up the remote control and turned the television off. “None of it’s good, anyway.”

“I know what you mean.” Feeling timid, she stepped inside.

Trying not to be too obvious, she took a swift look around. His two-story house was more imposing than her small rambler, but in all her years here she’d never even peeked in his front window.

His living room was more welcoming than she would have expected. It was dominated by the big-screen television, but that was probably a man thing. His recliner was large, too, but then it had to be, didn’t it? The sofa was soft rather than spare looking, and a pair of bookcases flanking the fireplace were filled with hundreds of books, a mix of fiction and non-fiction.

“Please. Sit down.” He closed the door behind her and gestured toward the couch. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or a beer?”

“No, I’m fine.” She did perch at one end of the couch, her thigh muscles remaining tense. “Thank you. I really didn’t intend to stay. I just wanted to share my news.”

For some reason, as he sat back down in the recliner she fixated on his slippers. They were perfectly ordinary, brown leather with a dark fleecy lining. But his ankles were bare, and the very sight of him in slippers somehow created a tiny shift in the universe. Tom Stefanec was so disciplined, so boot-camp sergeant with that buzz-cut hair, she’d never pictured him coming home like other people and changing immediately into old jeans, a sloppy sweatshirt and slippers.

“Were you in the military?” she blurted, then was immediately embarrassed. “I’m sorry! That’s none of my…”

“That obvious?” He gave a crooked smile, either chagrined on his own behalf or amused at her discomfiture, she wasn’t sure. His homely face was considerably more attractive when he smiled, a realization that startled her.

“Well, it’s just…” Frantically, she searched for words. “Oh, you wear your hair so short and, um, you obviously keep in good shape, and…” She couldn’t think of anything else and trailed off, embarrassed yet again that she’d admitted to noticing the powerful muscles emphasized by the well-worn jeans.

“I was an Army Ranger. Got out after I was wounded in Kuwait.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugged those broad shoulders. “No reason you should. So. What did you hear from the agency?”

Agency? For a moment, she was blank. Then her whole reason for coming here returned as if floodgates had opened, and she felt foolish.

“They called to ask whether I’d consider two children. A sister and brother. I met them today for the first time.”

“Really? Two?”

Since he didn’t sound disapproving, she said, “The boy—Jack—is seven and his sister is ten. Their mother had MS and died recently. The father has been skipping on child-care payments and was apparently happy to relinquish his parental rights.”

“A real great guy.”

“Isn’t that awful? He didn’t care at all.” She marveled at the notion. How could he not love his own children?

“So, what did you think?” Tom leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking as if he was really interested.

“I fell in love with them,” she admitted. “The caseworker tried to warn me to take it slow, but… This just feels right. They feel right. They need me.”

He was quiet for a moment. She could feel his gaze on her face, although as always she didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, she didn’t know quite what color they were. Not particularly blue, like Sophia’s, or a rich chocolate-brown, like George Clooney’s—either she’d have noticed. So something in between. A color she’d have to study to identify.

“Is that why you’re adopting?” he asked. “Because you want to feel needed?”

“I suppose that’s part of it.” Did he really want to know? “But also…I like kids. I want a family.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Too polite, she diagnosed, to ask what other people had: Why didn’t she just find a husband, like most women did, and have children in the normal way?

Or perhaps that wasn’t what he was going to ask, because he likely knew quite well why she wasn’t all that excited about finding a husband. He’d known Josh, had heard the hateful things he’d yelled at her. And the pitiful things she’d screamed back at him.

The memory had her surging to her feet. “They’re coming tomorrow to see the house and so we can get better acquainted. I need to do some tidying, but I wanted to tell you in case you saw them tomorrow, and because…” She hesitated. “Because you ask. And I was excited, and wanted to tell someone.”

He rose, too. “So I was handy?”

Did he sound a little hurt, or was she imagining things?

“No, because you always seemed interested. I’ve appreciated that.”

“Oh.” Apparently mollified, he nodded. “I like kids.”

“You do?” The surprise she felt could be heard in her voice, and she blushed.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“Oh, I didn’t think that,” she babbled, edging toward the door. “Just that I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t have kids of your own—” She slammed to a stop, both physically and verbally. Oh, God. What if he did?

As if he’d read her mind, he said, “No, I don’t, but I’ve always figured I’d have my own someday.”

She almost blurted, Really? but stopped herself in time. Thank goodness. She’d already tromped on her own toes until they should be black-and-blue. She didn’t have to compound her tactlessness.

Grasping the doorknob, Suzanne said, “I really had better run. But if you happen to be home tomorrow when they arrive, please come and say hi.”

He bent his head. “I’ll do that.”

He’d followed her to the door and now reached over her head to open it, which meant he stood so close to her she could feel the heat of his body. She knew, if she lifted her gaze just a little, she’d see the individual bristles on his chin, his mouth—which she’d never looked closely at before—and even the color of his eyes. Instead, she backed away without once letting her gaze rise higher than the strong column of his throat, stumbled over the doorjamb because she wasn’t watching where her feet were going, said, “Good night,” and fled, her cheeks blazing.

Grateful for the darkness once she’d left his front porch, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she was totally lacking in social skills!

But the funny thing was, Suzanne was glad she’d gone. She thought he really might have been hurt if she hadn’t. He’d seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Jack and Sophia.

And…she now knew something about him. Only a little, but it was a start.

Of what, she didn’t let herself wonder.