Kids by Christmas

“Not exactly a shock. They didn’t waste any time, did they?” She turned. “Let’s go on back to my office.”

Following her, Suzanne agreed, “They were in love within days of meeting.”

Her office was simple, decorated with children’s artwork on white walls. Only one manila file folder lay atop her desk.

Sitting, Suzanne couldn’t take her gaze from the folder.

Seating herself behind the desk, the caseworker said, “Let me tell you about Sophia and Jack.”

The names alone made them more real. Suzanne leaned forward.

“As I told you on the phone, Jack is seven and Sophia ten. Nearly eleven. She’s in fifth grade, he’s in second. Sophia is very bright and did quite well in school until this past year, when she’s done some acting out. Jack is good at math but is having trouble with reading. His most recent teacher isn’t sure whether he has a reading disability or whether, once again, this past year has been so difficult that he can’t concentrate.”

“This past year?”

“Their mother died. She had MS and received poor or no health care because she didn’t have insurance. She’d been raising the kids on her own, and once she could no longer work they moved between shelters and motel rooms at the kind of place that rents by the week. The past couple of years were disruptive for the children. As a result, they’re very mature in some ways. After all, they had to care for her. I gather that Sophia even did the grocery shopping toward the end. In other ways, they’re lost in a normal school or home situation. They’ve not been able to have friends the way other kids do. They had no home to invite other children to play at, no parent to pick them up at anyone else’s home. They changed schools five times in the last two years.”

“Oh, dear,” seemed inadequate, but it was the only thing she could think of to say.

“Indeed,” Ms. Stuart agreed. “Sophia had to call for an ambulance when she got home from school and found her mother dying.”

“How long ago was that?”

“In early September. Unfortunately, that meant yet another change in schools when they went to a foster home. In late October, we had to move them to a second foster home.”

“Their father?”

“Hasn’t seen them since Jack was a baby. He’s been moving regularly to avoid having to pay child support. I understand that, when told his ex-wife had died, he said, ‘You don’t expect me to take the kids, do you?’”

Rage for children she had yet to meet tightened Suzanne’s throat. “How horrible.”

“He gladly relinquished his parental rights. At least the children were quickly freed for adoption. So often they’re stuck in the foster-care system for years.”

Suzanne’s brother had lived in a succession of foster homes for nearly two years before he’d been adopted. She nodded.

“Their foster mother says Sophia is fiercely protective of her little brother but also displaying some generalized anger. He’s reverted to some behaviors typical of much younger children, including bed-wetting.”

No, these children wouldn’t be easy. Suzanne let go once and for all of her vision of that perfect little girl who leaned so trustingly against her and who giggled with uncomplicated joy.

“Naturally,” the caseworker continued, “it’s important that they stay together.”

“Of course!”

At least Suzanne’s sister and brother had been young, able to forget each other and her. Only she had carried the memory of them through the years.

“I know these two may not be at all what you had in mind….”

“As I told Rebecca, I didn’t have any particular ideal. Somehow, the idea of shopping for a child with a wish list strikes me as repugnant.”

“Good for you.” Ms. Stuart’s smile was warm and approving.

“My parents died when I was six.”

“I know. I have to admit, that’s one reason I thought you might be just right for these particular children.” She lifted a hand, hesitated with it over the file folder. “Would you like to see their pictures?”

Suddenly unable to breath, Suzanne could only nod.

Opening the file, the caseworker removed two five-by-seven school photos and laid them on the desk, facing Suzanne.

She took one look at the two faces, both so hopeful, so wary, and felt a painful squeeze in her chest she was astonished to recognize as the first symptom of falling in love.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “When can I meet them?”

CHAPTER TWO

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.