“Yes, my son is lost. I looked everywhere, but I can’t find him.”
“Give me a description and his age?”
“Three years and four months…light brown hair and blue eyes.”
“A boy, you said?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Sergeant Haywood shuffled through the stack of reports. “About what time was it when you knew your child was missing?”
“I’m not sure. When I got home from work around 2:45, my nanny was on the stoop waiting for me. It must have been at least an hour before that.”
“So…around 1:45 or so?”
“That would be my guess.” Still breathing heavily, Nick looked on hopefully as the officer perused the day’s reports.
“Curby?”
“Yes! Yes! Curby! You found him?”
“According to this report, he was with one of our police officers, Margie Silverman. Apparently, she’s the one who answered the call. She’s in a back room right now.”
Nick headed toward the door leading to the rest of the offices.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get my son!”
“I can’t buzz you in, yet.”
Returning to the desk perplexed, nick stared at him.
The officer said, “You have a birth certificate or something that shows he’s yours?”
“Birth Certificate?”
“Yes, you got one?”
“No…not on me.”
“Sorry…I can’t release him to just anybody.”
“I’m not just anybody. I’m his father.”
“I understand that, but we have to be careful these days.”
“I don’t think I even know where it is,” Nick lied.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. You can get a copy in the Hall of Records, downtown.”
“Is there another way? I…uh, that would take a while. I want to bring him home today. By the time I get downtown, and all of that, they’ll be closed.”
“Is your wife home?”
“Uh…no! She…recently passed away.”
“I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Hold on!” Sergeant Haywood keyed in the officer’s lounge on the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Is Silverman still there?”
After a few seconds, the same voice answered. “She’s in the back. I’ll go get her.”
A minute later
“This is Silverman.”
“Yes, Silverman…front desk. Is Curby in there with you?”
“Curby? The little boy? Why, no! He’s with Children’s Services. They picked him up a little while ago.”
“I have his father here.”
“Good! Send him in. I want to talk to him.”
“Where’s Children’s Services?” Nick asked.
“Manhattan.”
“Manhattan?”
“I’ll write the address down for you.”
The sergeant scribbled the address and phone number on a yellow note pad, tore the page off and handed it to him.
Nick read it and put it in his top pocket.
“Go on in. She’ll be in room 104 waiting for you.”
BZZZZZZ BZZZZ
Officer Silverman stood by the opened door to a room painted grey. Inside, it was bare except for a desk, two chairs and a black desk phone.
“Come in. I’m glad to see you.”
Nick took off his Sanitation cap and sat on the padded steel chair, rubbed his face and shook his head. “This is my worst nightmare.”
“Mr. Santinelli, I’m Officer Silverman.” She extended her hand.
Nick gently shook it.
“What happened?”
“When I got home from work today, my nanny was outside. She told me she was busy in the kitchen and that my son somehow left the building without her knowing.”
“Mr. Santinelli, when a child, especially one so young, is found wondering the streets, we take that very seriously.”
“Yes, I know. I’m worried sick over this.”
“You won’t have any problem picking him up. All you need is a birth certificate, so make sure you bring it with you. Do you need the address for Children’s Services?”
“No, I have it. The officer out front wrote it down for me.”
As Nick said that, he pulled out the yellow piece of paper.
“He told me the same thing you did, but I don’t have Curby’s birth certificate.”
“You don’t have one, or you don’t know where it is?”
“I never got one.”
Silverman looked hard at him and asked, “Are you the biological father?”
Folding his hands in his lap, Nick lowered his head, his front teeth playing over his lower lip while continuing his silence.
“I’m asking you a question, sir.”
Nick, staring at the floor, replied, “I found him in the street.”
“You found him?”
“Yes.”
“What…what do you mean you found him?”
“Officer Silverman, I drive a street sweeper for the Sanitation Department. Three years ago, I found a cardboard box in the street. I almost ran it over, but thankfully, I decided to check it out first.”
Silverman alertly sat up in the chair.
“You can imagine my surprise when I saw a newborn baby inside.”
Her jaw dropped.
“I brought the baby home and naturally we fell in love with him. At the time, my girlfriend Sandy was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”
Silverman sighed.
“The doctors told her she had three years to live. She wanted so much to be a mother before she died. She…she… She passed away three months ago.”
His eyes, glassy, Nick bent over and covered his face.
“I see.” Officer Silverman got up from the chair and turned away from him. Her eyes opened wide while taking a deep breath, anything to keep her own tears from starting.
She returned and stood before the desk. “Here’s the report. I need you to fill out your full name and address. I’ll make a copy that you can take with you when you go to Children’s Services.” She handed him a pen.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Mr. Santinelli. As far as regaining custody, I’d suggest you find yourself a lawyer and pursue whatever avenues are available to you.”
She opened her purse for a tissue and handed it to him.
“Thanks. Yes, I plan to do that, thanks.”
“I wish you the best.”
He shook her hand, slowly stood and exited the station. He thought to go to Children’s Services right then and there, but felt it wouldn’t do any good. There had to be another way.
An hour and a half later
The plain steel and glass front to 110 Williams Street looked like many of the other office buildings towering from both sides of the narrow Manhattan street. Nick entered the automatic double doors and found Children’s Services on the second floor. He entered the office and approached the front desk.
“May I help you?” said a pleasant sounding black woman, her long finger wave Indian hair weave, reaching to her shoulders. As she talked, she touched up newly acquired black and purple nail additions with clear polish.
“I was told my son was here?”
The woman looked up from her nails. “Let me have your name and address first and then I can help you.”
“Yes, it’s Nick Santinelli, 454 62nd Street, Brooklyn.”
“The Zip?”
“11209.”
“And…a phone number, and I’ll also need some ID.”
He handed her a driver’s license and gave her the cell phone number. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m supposed to give you this. It’s the police report. In fact, all of my information is right there.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Returning ten minutes later, she asked, “Do you have a birth certificate for the child?”
“No, I don’t. Is he here?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Santin
elli. I can’t do anything else until I have that certificate.”
“His name is Curby. Could you at least confirm that he’s here?”
“I can’t tell you anything without that birth certificate, sir.”
Defeated, Nick looked at her with a hopeful gaze. ”Please, Miss, can’t you help me?”
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing I can do…unless…”
“Yes? Unless what?”
“Unless you have a Baptismal Certificate. That would also be acceptable.”
Nick’s lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t have that either.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Santinelli, then there’s nothing else I can do.”
(Sigh) “Thanks anyway,” he mumbled.
Waiting for him on the stoop was Jaime, the cat in her lap and a very sad look on her face. “What happened? Did you find him?”
“The cops told me he was with Children’s Services, but when I went down there the lady I talked to wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Thank goodness they found him at least. Why wouldn’t they give him to you?”
“I couldn’t prove he’s mine.” He sat next to her, exhausted.
“Oh, Nick, no.” She put her hand on his shoulder.
“They kept asking me for a birth certificate,” he continued. “Of course there isn’t one, so I couldn’t prove anything.”
“I heard from the people upstairs about what happened…with Olga I mean. Up to now, I thought she was doing really well with Curby.”
“I did, too.” (Sigh)
“Is there anything I can do for you, Nick?”
“Like what?”
“Pose as his mother?”
“Thanks, but you’d be taking a heck of a risk. I’m sure that’s got to be against the law and I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. Besides, what good would it do? They would only ask you for the same thing, a birth certificate.”
“Oh.”
“I appreciate that, anyway.” He folded his hands and looked down. “How the hell am I going to get him back?”
“Have you considered Family Court?”
“No, and I have no idea how that even works. I was planning to look for a lawyer.”
“You raised this boy practically from birth. That has to count for something. As far as we know, the parents never cared and I’m sure a judge would look at that.”
“You think so?”
“You are his father. You’re the one who changed his diapers. You saved him from sure death. How could they not consider that?”
“I’ll go upstairs and call a lawyer right now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“There’s no way I can go to work tomorrow. I’ll call in sick first thing in the morning. This just might work.”
“If it does, you’ll have legal custody from now on.”
“Jaime, I can only hope.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Bronx
Led along by a social worker, Curby stepped inside the lower unit of a duplex across the street from Van Courtlandt Park in the Bronx. The stares from two older boys in the living room unsettled him, so he kept his own on a plaid rug.
“So this is Curby?” Annette Dubois, a stout, middle aged lady asked. She wiped her hands on an apron, stooped down in front of him and held him by the waist. “Go and play inside and I’ll be right in.”
She waited until her young daughter coaxed him into the next room.
“Where did you get this one from?” Annette asked the social worker.
“He was wandering around a Brooklyn Neighborhood.”
“What about the parents, didn’t they show up?”
“Yes, the father did, but without the proper proof we couldn’t release the boy.”
“I see. And how long do I get to keep him?”
“You might finally get your wish, Annette. The boy’s mother passed away recently and we don’t have documents for her either. If this guy doesn’t come up with the proper paper work, the boy will have to stay here until he does.”
“It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for a boy for who knows how long.”
In the middle of the far wall of the large den was a fireplace. A piano took up a corner. In front of another wall, a large screen TV was all that stood in front of it. Curby approached the two older boys who were playing monopoly.
“Stay over there,” one of them said.
“Let him play with us,” the girl said.
The same boy, snapped back. “Hell no! Stay over there for now, kid, until I tell you.”
Curby remained where he was, standing in the middle of the room and unsure of what to do next. In time, he sat on the area rug and watched as the three continued the game on the other side of the room.
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Nick tore off the ad from the newspaper and called the number. His appointment was scheduled for the next day at 11:00 A.M.
Arriving on time, he brought with him pictures of Curby, receipts for doctor visits and cancelled checks for the nanny.
“Sir, you can go in now.”
Nick nodded at the receptionist, took a deep breath and entered the office.
A round faced, congenial fellow with bright eyes, animatedly greeted him. He vigorously shook Nick’s hand. Everything the lawyer said was loud and animated. During the entire interview, he paced back and forth.
“Mr. Santinelli, I’m Martin Briscotti. Please have a seat? I take it you have a custody problem you need help with?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m all ears.”
Nick told him everything in its entirety and as near to the truth as he could make it. When he finished, he sat forward in the stuffed chair, eager to hear something hopeful.
“Wow! That’s some story. Okay…let’s see what we have. So far, no one knows who or where the actual parents are, am I correct?”
“Yes, absolutely!”
“Did anyone, alive and available, see when you picked that baby up from the street?”
“No, not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“I was alone at the time. The street was empty. The only person who saw me bring the baby home was my girlfriend, but like I told you on the phone, she passed away.”
“Yes, and with all due respect that was after the fact.”
Briscotti circled around his desk, leaned on the front of it with his legs crossed and said, “I need to know if there were any witnesses who actually saw you pick up that box?”
“No! Nobody!”
“Bummer! One down!”
Nick frowned.
The lawyer stood up straight and resumed pacing around the room.
“Did you ever publically seek out the parents of the child?”
“How do you mean?”
Martin approached the wall to wall window, scratched the top of his partially bald head and looked out at the traffic below. He quickly turned back. “Like a newspaper, a want ad. Did you ever place an ad stating the nature of the incident with the specific intent of making known the date, time, whereabouts and description of the child and that he was found abandoned in a cardboard box.”
Shaking his head, Nick said, “No, of course not.”
“Strike two! Fine, then that’s the first thing we need to do. That will show the court we at least tried our very best to find the biological parents.”
“An ad?”
“Yes, an ad.”
“But, I don’t think,…I mean…by now, I doubt if anyone…”
“Yes, that’s the whole point. Nobody is going to make that claim. It was a criminal thing to do, to leave this child out there in the gutter like that. They coul
d face serious charges and do jail time. But, it will look good for you anyway to show that in court.”
“I see.”
“Hey, chances are, a Family Court judge will appoint an attorney for the child. Without a need for a formal hearing, he’ll listen to both parties. That’s them against us. I’m sure the court will order a report from social services on the condition of the child, etc.
“Your mental health will be evaluated, by a professional, naturally, as well as your economic situation and living standards and for all of the above, you, sir, I’m sure will get an A.
“He will then assess the events that led up to the boy wandering around the streets and that will fall on the nanny’s shoulders, not yours.
“This all boils down to whether or not we can prove that; a, the biological parents flew the coop and could care less about what happened to their baby boy; b, that you have been and will continue to be, a caring, loving father who wants dearly and wholeheartedly to guide this child toward a well-educated and successful adulthood. Don’t worry about that last part. I can lay on the mushy stuff when I have to.”
“So, you think I have a chance?”
“I don’t take a case unless I believe in it. I will say this much. I will do my absolute very best. On the other hand, think about getting religious and say a lot of prayers.”
Most days, Jaime got home around 9:15, right after the store closed. Nick waited on the stoop and at 9:35 P.M. saw her approaching from down the street. She carried in her arms a small bag of groceries that she put down on the step next to him.
“Whew! What a day.”
“Busy?”
“Busy? And how! I thought I’d never get home.”
“You work hard for your money.”
“Yes, I do. How was your day?”
“Excellent! I talked to a lawyer.”
“Oh, good! What did he say? Do you have a chance?”
“Well…I’m not sure. He’s supposed to call me in a few days. You know, for an update. He wants me to put an ad in the paper for the rightful parents.”
“Isn’t it a bit late for that?”
“That’s what I said, but he wants me to do it anyway. It will at least prove that we made the effort.”
“Do you want me to write one out for you? I’m fairly good at writing?”
Curby Page 5
