Danny turned to him.
“I like her. She’s niiiice.”
“Yes, Danny. Sara is very nice.”
“Can I live with her?”
The question took Bill by surprise. The title of an old song flashed through his brain: Am I That Easy to Forget? But he ignored the hurt and concentrated on Danny. He had to be very careful here.
“I don’t know, Danny. We’ll have to look into that.”
“Can I pleeease?”
“I don’t know yet, Danny. I’m not saying no and I’m not saying yes. There’s lots of things to be done before we come to that.”
“Can I visit, maybe?”
“We’ll look into that too. But Sara and her husband and I have many things to discuss first. So why don’t you get washed up for dinner and let us get to work.”
“Okay.” Hope shone like a beacon behind his eyes as he turned back to her. “See ya, Sara.”
She gave him a hug, then held him out to arms’ length.
“See ya, Danny.”
He trotted off down the hall.
“I think you’ve made a friend,” Bill told her.
“I think so too,” she said, smiling warmly. Then she gave Bill a level look. “But will that friend be allowed to become my son, Father Ryan?”
“If I’ve learned one thing in this job, Sara, it’s never to make a promise I’m not absolutely sure I can keep—not to the adult applicants, and certainly never to the boys. But we’re off to a good start. Let’s see where we can go from here.”
Her eyes widened, her voice was suddenly small and husky. “You mean you’ve reconsidered?”
When he nodded she lowered her face into her hands and began to sob. The sight of her tears moved Bill and confirmed his growing conviction that he was doing the best thing for Danny.
Only a tiny squeamish part of him remained unconvinced.
SEVENTEEN
1
The reference checks went smoothly. Both Herb and Sara had excellent academic records at the University of Texas, he in accounting, she in early education. Their credit record was excellent. The home inspection was perfect—a two-story center-hall colonial in a quiet residential neighborhood in Astoria where the Loms were active in the local parish. Bill went so far as to call Sara’s old pastor in Houston. Father Geary knew Sara Bainbridge—her maiden name—and remembered her as a sweet, wonderful young woman; Herb came from a wealthy family and wasn’t quite the churchgoer Sara was, but the parish priest considered him a good man.
The whole process went swimmingly. The weekend visits came off without incident, and Danny’s stays were stretched to a week at a time. He loved it. And he loved Sara. He seemed totally taken by her, completely infatuated. He’d still visit Bill’s office on a daily basis, still sit on his lap, still disrupt the Saturday night chess games. But all he talked about was Sara, Sara, Sara. Bill thought she was a fine woman, exceptional even, but God he was getting sick of hearing about her.
By late fall Danny was no longer the same Danny who’d torn around St. F.’s all summer. Slowly, in fits and spurts, Bill had seen a definite change taking place. Over the course of the investigative and processing procedures Bill had noticed a gradual deceleration. Not a slamming on of the brakes; more like a truck whose driver was slowly, systematically downshifting as he progressed from the freeway toward a school traffic zone. The motor was still revving high, but the speed was falling off. The nuns who taught him in second grade said he was much less of a discipline problem these days, and that his lengthened attention span was resulting in improved school work.
Almost miraculous. Almost too good to be true.
And that bothered Bill a little. In his two decades with St. F.’s he’d rarely seen an adoption go so smoothly. And so when he lay in bed at night, alone with the dark, the lack of glitches would wake that nagging little voice and spur it to whisper its nebulous doubts in his ear.
That was why he was almost relieved when the first little glitch reared its head during the week before Christmas.
Herb had been pushing to finalize the adoption by Christmas, his reasoning being that he wanted to usher in the new year with the three of them together as a family. Bill didn’t doubt that, but he had an inkling that with Herb’s background in accounting he was well aware that Danny was good for a full year’s deduction as a dependent if the adoption became official any time before midnight December 31.
Which was okay with Bill. Raising a child in New York City was hellishly expensive and parents deserved any financial break they could get. That wasn’t the glitch.
The glitch was Danny. The boy was having second thoughts.
“But I don’t want to go,” he told Bill one evening during the week before Christmas.
Bill patted his lap. “Why don’t you hop up here and tell me why not?”
“Because I’m scared,” Danny said as he settled into his usual spot.
“Are you scared of Sara?”
“No. She’s niiice.”
“How about Herb? Are you scared of him?”
“No. I’m just scared about leaving here.”
Bill smiled to himself and gave Danny a reassuring hug. He was almost relieved to hear of the boy’s misgivings. They were common, perfectly normal, and expected in Danny’s case. After all, St. F.’s had been his home longer than any other place in his lifetime. The residents and staff were the only family he’d known for two and a half years now. It would be cause for concern if he weren’t suffering a few pangs of separation anxiety.
“Everybody’s a little scared when they leave, Danny. Just like they’re scared when they come here. Remember when Tommy left last week to go live with Mr. and Mrs. Davis? He was scared.”
Danny twisted around to look at him.
“Tommy Lurie? No way! He’s not scared of nothing!”
“Well, he was. But he’s doing fine. Wasn’t he back just yesterday telling everybody how great it was?”
Danny nodded slowly, saying, “Tommy Lurie was afraid?”
“And don’t forget, you’re not moving far away. You can call me whenever you want.”
“Can I come back and visit like Tommy did?”
“Sure can. You’re welcome here any time you want to come and the Loms can bring you. But pretty soon you’ll be so happy and busy with Herb and Sara you’ll forget all about us here at St. F.’s.”
“I’ll never do that.”
“Good. Because we love you too. The Loms love you. Everybody loves you. Because you’re a good kid, Danny.”
That was Bill’s message to all the boys at St. F.’s, most of whom were basket cases in the self-esteem department when they arrived. From the moment they stepped through the front door Bill pounded home his message: You are loved here. You have value. You are important. You’re a good kid.
After a while a fair number of them came to believe they were worth something.
The message was more than mere rote in Danny’s case. Bill was going to miss him terribly. He felt as if he were giving away his own son.
So he sat there with his heart breaking as he held Danny on his lap and told him of all the wonderful times he was going to have with the Loms, of how Bill was going to send a message to Santa Claus to let him know Danny’s new address and make sure he brought Danny lots of extra good stuff for Christmas.
And Danny sat, smiling as he listened.
2
Danny was quiet the rest of the week. But on Christmas Eve, as the final documents were being signed, he began to cry.
“I don’t want to go with her!” he sobbed, tears spilling from his eyes onto his cheeks.
Sara sat by Bill’s desk; the battered valise holding all of Danny’s worldly possessions rested by her feet. Bill glanced up and saw her stricken expression. He turned and squatted next to Danny.
“It’s okay to be a little scared. Remember that talk we had? Remember what I told you about Tommy?”
“I don’t care!” he said, his voice rising in
the suddenly silent office. “She’s bad! She’s mean!”
“Come now, Danny. There’s no call for that kind of—”
The boy threw his arms around Bill’s neck and clung to him, trembling.
“She’s going to hurt me!” he screamed. “Don’t make me go! Please don’t make me go! She’s going to hurt me!”
The outburst shocked Bill, but there was no denying Danny’s genuine terror. He was literally quaking with fear.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sara rise to her feet and step toward them. Her eyes were full of hurt.
“I—I don’t understand,” she said.
“Just some last-minute jitters,” Bill told her, trying to assuage the pain he saw in her eyes. “Coupled with an overactive imagination.”
“This seems to be more than just a case of simple jitters.”
Gently, Bill pushed Danny to arms’ length and held him there.
“Danny, listen to me. You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to. But you must tell me about these terrible things you’re saying. Where did they come from? Who told you these things?”
“No one,” he said, blubbering and sniffling.
“Then how can you say them?”
“Because!”
“Because isn’t good enough, Danny. Where did you get these ideas?”
“Nowhere. I just … know!”
Sara stepped forward. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and placed her hand on Danny’s head, gently smoothing his perpetually unruly blond cowlick.
“Oh, Danny. I would never hurt you. How can you possibly think such a thing?”
Bill felt Danny stiffen at Sara’s touch, then relax; saw his eyes roll upward for a heartbeat, then focus again. He stopped sobbing.
“You’re going to be my little boy,” Sara was saying in a soothing, almost mesmerizing voice as she stroked his head. “And I’m going to be your mother. And together with Herb the three of us will make a wonderful family.”
Danny smiled.
In that instant Bill was nearly overcome by an almost uncontrollable urge to call the whole thing off, to wrap Danny protectively in his arms, chase the Loms from his office, and never allow them to cross the threshold of St. Francis again.
He buried the impulse. It was just the father-son thing rearing its selfish, possessive head. He had to let go of this boy.
“You’re not really afraid of me, are you, Danny?” Sara cooed.
He turned and looked up at her.
“No. I’m just scared of leaving here.”
“Don’t be afraid, Danny, my dear. It’s supposed to snow tonight, which means tomorrow will be a white Christmas. I promise you this Christmas will be utterly unforgettable.”
Bill felt an unaccountable chill ripple across his shoulders, but he forced himself to let go of Danny and guide him toward Sara. As Danny’s arms went around her hips and Sara’s arms enfolded the boy, Bill felt his throat constrict. He turned away to hide the tears in his eyes.
I have to let go!
3
“I’d better take a raincheck, Nick,” Bill said into the phone. “It’s snowing like crazy.”
Nick’s voice was tinny over the wire, and genuinely annoyed.
“Since when did a little white stuff ever bother you? Either you get yourself over here now or, snow or no snow, I’m coming over there and dragging you back.”
“Really, Nick. I’m good where I am.”
“The Quinns will be hurt if you don’t show up. And besides, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to be alone on Christmas Eve—especially this Christmas Eve.”
He understood and appreciated Nick’s concern. He’d always spent part of Christmas with Mom and Dad. But this year …
“I’m not alone. I’m going to spend it with the boys. Which reminds me that I’ve got to check on them right now. I’ll see you Saturday night. A Merry Christmas to you, and to the Quinns.”
“All right,” Nick said resignedly. “You win. Merry Christmas, Father Bill.”
Bill hung up and walked down the hall to check on the kids. The dormitory was quiet. Excitement had filled these halls all week, rising ever higher with the decorating of the tree, reaching a fever pitch here a couple of hours ago as he’d overseen the hanging of the stockings by the old never-used fireplace in the dining hall downstairs. But all the boys were in bed now and those who weren’t already asleep were trying their best to doze off. Because everybody knew that Santa didn’t come until the whole house was sleeping.
Christmas. Bill’s favorite time of year. Being around the boys that made it so for him. They were so excited this time of year, especially the little ones. The bright eyes, the eager faces, the innocence of their euphoric anticipation. He wished he could bottle it like wine and decant off a little now and then during the year to get him through the times when things got low and slow.
God, he remembered periods since the fire last March when he could have used a couple of bottles of the stuff. Tomorrow was a milestone of sorts, a dread marker along his personal road: the first December 25th in his life when he wouldn’t be able to call his folks and wish them a Merry Christmas.
An aching emptiness expanded in his chest. He missed them, more than he’d ever thought possible. But he’d weather tomorrow. The boys would carry him through.
Satisfied that everyone was asleep or very nearly so, Bill padded downstairs and began unloading the gifts from a locked pantry closet. Most of them had been donated by the local parishioners and wrapped by the sisters who taught the orphans at Our Lady of Lourdes elementary school next door. Good people one and all, pitching in to see that none of the boys went without a couple of presents on Christmas Day.
When the gifts were arranged under the tree Bill stepped back and surveyed the scene: A scraggly-limbed balsam laden with a motley assortment of hand-me-down ornaments and garish blinking lights stood guard over piles of brightly wrapped boxes, each tagged with a boy’s name. He smiled. Bargain-basement decor, to be sure, but the real giving spirit of Christmas was there. It looked as if Santa had risked a hernia on his trip to St. F.’s this year. Bill was beginning to feel a bit of the old Christmas excitement himself, looking forward to tomorrow morning when he’d be standing in this same spot and overseeing the frenzy of paper-tearing as the over-excited boys unwrapped their gifts with trembling hands. He could hardly wait.
He unplugged the tree lights and climbed the stairs. Halfway up he heard his office phone ringing. He ran for it. If this was Nick again—
But it wasn’t. It was Danny. And he was hysterical.
“Father Bill! Father Bill!” he screeched in a high-pitched voice bursting with terror. “You gotta come get me! You gotta get me outta here!”
“Calm down, Danny,” he said, keeping himself calm with an effort. Even though he knew it was just another adjustment terror, the real fear in the boy’s voice was sending his own adrenals into high gear. “Just calm down and talk to me.”
“I can’t talk! He’s gonna kill me!”
“Who? Herb?”
“You gotta come get me, Father! You just gotta!”
“Where’s Sara? Put her on and let me speak to her.”
“No! They don’t know I’m on the phone!”
“Just get Sara—”
“No! Sara’s gone! There ain’t no Sara! He’s gonna kill me!”
“Danny, stop it!”
“Father, please come and get me! Pleeeeease!” He broke down into sobs but his words were still intelligible. “Father, Father, Father, I don’t want to die. Please come and get me. Don’t let him kill me. I don’t want to die!”
The fear, misery, and abject terror in Danny’s voice tore at Bill’s heart. He was going to have to abort the adoption, cancel the whole thing. The boy simply was not ready to leave St. F.’s.
“Put Sara on, Danny … Danny?”
The line was dead.
Bill yanked open his file drawer and looked up the Loms’ number. His hand was shak
ing as he punched it into the phone. A busy signal buzzed in his ear. He hung up and went to dial again, then stopped. If the line was busy, maybe Sara or Herb was trying to call him. If they both kept dialing, neither of them would get through. He sat back and made himself wait. And wait.
The phone didn’t ring.
He forced himself to wait a full fifteen minutes. It seemed like forever. Finally, he’d had it. He snatched up the receiver and dialed their number again.
Still busy. Shit!
Bill slammed the phone down and wandered around his office, walked the halls. Over the course of the next half hour he called the Loms’ number a couple of dozen times, and each time the line was busy. Over and over he told himself there was nothing to worry about. Danny was in no danger. It was just the boy’s imagination, his damned overactive imagination. Sara and Herb would never harm him, never allow anything bad to happen to him. Danny had just worked himself up into a panic and Sara had probably calmed him just as she had this afternoon.
But why couldn’t he get through on the damn phone? An idea struck him and he called the operator. He told her it was an emergency and asked her to break in on the line; she came back and told him there was no one on the line. Nothing but dead air.
Had Danny left it off the hook? That had to be the answer.
But Bill took no comfort in the explanation. He pulled on his coat, grabbed the car keys, and headed for the street. He knew he’d never sleep until he’d actually spoken to Danny and made sure he was all right. Imagined fears were just as frightening as real ones. So no matter how certain he was that Danny was in no danger, he had to be sure that Danny knew it. Then maybe he could rest tonight.
He drove through a beautiful night—snow falling on a gentle slant, the flakes flaring as they passed through the cones of illumination under the street lamps. The sounds of the borough, already subdued because it was Christmas eve, were further muffled by the inch or so of white insulation that had already fallen. A white Christmas.
Bill wished he had time to appreciate the scenery but the inner urgency to reach the Loms’ house overrode the aesthetics of the night.
The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) Page 169
