by Sierra Hill
Don Simmons is the lawyer that Carver’s dad worked with to draw up the legal adoption paperwork four years ago. He specializes in domestic and international adoptions. I never met him in person back then. Carver Sr. was the one who handled everything and hand delivered the documents to my hospital room for me to sign.
As we follow the young secretary down the hallway and into a conference room, she inquires politely of our refreshment needs.
“Please take a seat anywhere. May I get either of you anything to drink? I have coffee, teas, water, soda.”
Carver looks to me and I nod. “Just water is fine.”
“For me, as well. Thank you.”
Carver pulls out a leather conference table chair for me to take a seat and I do, crossing my feet at the ankles and folding my hands on the table in front of me. He takes a chair next to me and covers my knuckles with his large palm. The warmth envelopes my icy-cold fingers.
“God, maybe you should get some hot tea. You’re freezing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
The lady returns with our waters and shuffles out just as fast. The door remains open and we hear some quiet murmurs from down the hallway. Glancing behind me, I see a man in a dark suit, with salt and pepper hair who’s probably in his early sixties. He’s followed by a younger couple, maybe in their early thirties. The Ashfords.
My breath stalls and I forget how to breathe. All the air is trapped in my lungs, fighting to get out. Only when Carver’s arm finds its way around my shoulders do I release the breath that I’ve been holding onto.
I can’t stand up because my legs will give out. I think Carver knows this, so he stands for both of us and introduces all of us to everyone as they find their seats across the table. Don takes the head seat.
The Ashford’s – Jared and Karina – are soft spoken, polite and mild-mannered people. Dressed casually and comfortably, not overdressed or underdressed, representing a hard-working couple. Through introductions, we learn that Jared is a store manager with a large pet care retail chain and she is an accountant, who works from home so she can stay at home to raise their son.
Their son. My son. Our son.
His name is Jeremy. Jeremy Foster Ashford.
Foster after Karina’s maiden family name.
I reach for the box of tissue and dab my eyes. It’s almost too much, but I know there’s more to come.
Don directs our conversation with professional courtesy and efficiency.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ashford...Mr. Edwards. Miss Shaw. As you know, the adoption contract and agreement you entered into four years ago states that it is an open adoption and was handled privately through the third-party agency, Whole Family, Inc. Regardless, there are certain laws specifically enacted to protect the rights of all parties involved, but first and foremost, the rights of the adoptee, Jeremy. All decisions made then, and now, must account for the well-being and best interests of the child.”
He clears his throat and I take the opportunity to wipe my clammy hands against my lightweight pant leg.
“This adoption was contracted with a form of openness – an open adoption clause – that allows for certain liberties, if you will, of establishing open communication between the adoptive and birth parents. As we are engaged in together today.”
My eyes flicker over to Karina, who happens to be staring right at me. Her light-brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, exposing her long neck and tiny-diamond studded ears. Our gazes collide and her lips form a soft, sympathetic smile. I return it with my own, a little tremble vibrating over my lips.
Don continues discussing the legalese and finally stops to take a breath before opening it up with a question.
“Mr. Edwards and Miss Shaw. Since the two of you called this meeting, what would you like to accomplish today? Let’s get that out on the table so we can begin to determine next steps and come to some consensus or compromise, if possible.”
I turn to Carver who takes a deep breath and then speaks, directing his response to the couple in front of us.
“We – Logan and I – have recently, um, reunited. And together, we’ve concluded that it’s important for both of us to know a little bit about our son – um, I mean, the boy we gave birth to...or um, well, that Logan gave birth to.”
The way Carver stumbles over his words is enough to break the tension amongst everyone and quiet laughter filters through the room. I reach for his hand and squeeze him tight – letting him know he’s doing great.
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m nervous. Anyway, we’d like to find out how he is. Learn a little about him. Maybe see some pictures. And if all goes well, maybe at some point be able to write him letters or maybe even meet him personally, if you’d let us.”
He lowers his eyes to the table as if embarrassed by his desire to meet his son. I glance back across the table to see how Jared and Karina respond to his question. They both nod at each other and Karina bends down to the floor next to her chair. I can’t see what she’s doing, but my guess is she is reaching for her purse by her side.
Jared speaks on her behalf, “We thought this day might come. And although it’s something that Karina and I are extremely nervous about because we only want to protect our son – we also know that at some point in Jeremy’s life, he’ll want to know about his birth parents. We would never prevent him from finding out about the people that gave him life. Who loved him enough to give him up so that we could raise and love him as our own.”
I can’t help the loud sob that bursts from my chest. I’ve tried so hard to keep my tears at bay, but I can’t any longer. They flood my eyes and burn a path down my cheeks. Carver pulls a wad of tissue from the box and begins dabbing at my face, practically poking my eyes out. I laugh through the tears and push him away.
“I’m good. I’m sorry.” I raise my hand to wave him away.
Hearing Jared mention Jeremy’s life and the hopeful love that exists within this couple makes me so very grateful to them. They seem so loving toward their son.
Karina leans over the table, pushing an unsealed envelope in our direction.
“These are for you. We want you to have them. They are pictures of Jeremy at various ages over the last five years. Up to his kindergarten graduation last month.”
Carver accepts the envelope and pulls out the contents. Inside are over twenty photos of our son. Bald and naked in the sink being given his firth bath; the roly-poly chubbiness of a six-month-old Michelin baby; his first birthday party where his hands, face and hair are covered in vanilla frosting; his first haircut – blonde tuffs of curls scattered on the floor around him; a snaggle-toothed grin of a toddler with his first tooth; on a swing at a park.
Every single picture displays a beautiful boy smiling a broad, happy grin. His sandy blonde hair at different lengths through the years, with a cute wavy cowlick. The spitting image of Carver.
Carver’s mini-me.
Had I never given him up, I would have spent every day with a smaller version of Carver.
Carver’s voice is shaky and full of emotion. “Does Jeremy play sports yet?”
It’s sweet that he wants to know if his son will follow in his footsteps.
Jared laughs a booming sound. “Well, Jeremy tried T-ball last summer for the first time, but wasn’t too into it. He does like riding his scooter and kicking a soccer ball around, so we’ve signed him up for a soccer team this fall.”
Jared’s eyes move between Carver’s and mine, a smile forming on his face. “And of course, we’ll give basketball a try when he gets a little older. At five, his hand-eye-coordination isn’t quite there yet.”
Jared’s comment means that he knows who Carver is. That he’s a basketball player. I check with Carver to see how he feels about this, and the smile tells me it means a lot to him.
Carver nods. “Yeah, I don’t think I started to get the hang of dribbling and running until I was in third grade.”
Karina clears her throat, sharing a brief look with her h
usband before turning back to Carver. “We thought...maybe...perhaps someday you might want to play some one-on-one with him. Teach him some skills.”
“Wow. Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”
Everything from here is exactly what I’d hoped would happen. They continued to regale stories about Jeremy, sharing with us about the boy he is – how smart and sweet. It makes my heart swell to the size of a boulder and frees my soul from the burden of knowing whether I did the right thing all those years ago.
Jeremy Foster Ashford is in good hands and was blessed with wonderful adoptive parents.
And the shackles of shame and despair that had bound my life for so very long are finally broken, as I walk out of our first meeting a free woman.
Chapter 28
Carver
It’s easy to see that Logan and I are in different places right now. She seems to have retreated into herself after our meeting the other day and hasn’t answered my phone calls or texts.
I thought this would bring us closer together. But instead, I’ve had to give her space. Again. It’s hard as fuck to do, but I’m not about to force myself into her life if she doesn’t want it. So, I bide my time, spending the last few days in search of an apartment and getting back into my regular workout routines in preparation for training camp.
I understand that Logan has legitimate concerns about dating a professional athlete, but I would never let her down. Logan’s just scared to give it a try. To put herself out there after everything she’s had to deal with.
I’ve leased a nice loft apartment in Bell Town, just a short distance from Logan’s place, that will work fine for me for the next year. I don’t need a lot of space and don’t have much, anyhow. Some furniture that I ordered won’t be in for another week, so right now the only things I have are a king size mattress and box spring, a chair from a local furniture store, a flat screen TV and some framed photos.
One of those picture frames hold the side-by-side baby pictures of my son and me.
I’d gone over to my parents’ house yesterday for dinner and brought with me the pictures of Jeremy. As expected, my mother cried when she saw them and promptly brought out my baby album. And fuck me – the resemblance between Jeremy and me was mind blowing. I couldn’t believe how similar we looked as babies. It made me so happy I nearly cried.
So now I have them in a dark photo frame with our pictures side-by-side.
I’m staring at the photos now as my phone blows up with texts and calls. Grabbing it from the kitchen counter where I left it, I notice a series of texts from Crissy, and then others from the new publicist, Meredith.
Crissy: Got issue. Need you to call me. Or Mer. I think you have her number.
Meredith: Carver, please contact me ASAP. PR issue. <<<
I can’t possibly imagine what the hell this is about. I’ve done nothing to cause a stir in the media since the draft was announced. Where many other players go out and have a field day, cavorting and partying like fucking rock stars, I’ve laid low. Kept to myself. Dealt with some pretty life-changing shit. Not what I would’ve done a year ago.
But this thing with Logan and Jeremy has changed me. I’m seeing things – my life – differently now. What my life could be in the future, with the right woman. With a family. With Logan.
I hit the number from my Contacts list and the phone rings. I call Crissy first since I know him better than my new publicist.
He answers on the first ring.
“Carver. We need to pow-wow.”
“Uh, okay. What’s going on? Did I get dropped already?”
He snorts and I hear him opening and closing his car door and starting his engine. “No, that would be easier to remedy. Have you read anything online today? Any news reports? Gossip blogs?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Been busy. What’s up, bro?”
“You have a kid?”
The question feels like a bomb just exploded in my ear.
“Excuse me? What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“It’s a fair question. If it’s just salacious gossip, then we need to decide how to respond to. But I first have to know...do you or do you not have a child?”
“How...I mean, nobody knows about this. It’s a private matter. No one else knows.”
My ears ring and a hundred things run through my head. First and foremost is Jeremy and Logan’s privacy.
“Just answer the goddamn question, Carver.” The biting force of his reply is unsettling.
This can’t be good. Oh shit. Logan. Karina and Jared. Jeremy’s privacy is going to be compromised.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Shit, Cris. We’ve got to stop this. You’ve got to take care of this right the fuck now. My son’s life and privacy are at stake.”
Crissy heaves a long breath over the line. “Start from the beginning...no wait, let me get Mer on the line and then you talk. We’ll get it handled from there.”
****
Logan
The banging on my front door is loud enough to wake the dead. Which was how I was sleeping until a few moments ago.
Prying my eyes open, I try to focus on the digital numbers on the iHome docking station next to my bed. It’s eight-fifteen a.m. on Saturday morning. I throw the covers off my bed, grab the light-weight robe off my chair and throw it on as I walk out to the front room.
Ali’s door is open and but she’s not in there, so maybe she left early for a jog or something and forgot her keys.
I snort in laughter at the silly thought. She never runs. And no way in hell would she be up this early on a Saturday morning. I don’t even think she made it home last night because her shoes aren’t in their normal spot – in the middle of the hallway where she usually leaves them.
I place my eye in the peep hole and suck in a sharp breath. Didn’t I tell him it was over? What is he doing here?
Instead of opening the door, I talk through the barrier.
“What do you want, Carver? I was sleeping. And I’m grumpy when I’m tired. So why don’t you go away.”
I peer through the hole again and see him running a hand through his disheveled hair, head down, eyes averted with a grimace on his face.
“Sorry, Lo. No can do. We need to talk like right now. Please let me in. And I know you’re grumpy in the mornings before your coffee.”
He lifts his head and his sexy smirk knocks me back a few feet.
Grumbling about his appearance and the rude awakening, I unlock the door and let it swing open, turning to walk back down the hallway to the kitchen. I know he’ll follow me in.
Without glancing back, I hear the door slam shut and I feel the weight of his eyes on my back. I begin the chore of making my coffee before I finally acknowledge him.
“What’s so important that you couldn’t wait until a decent hour to come bursting into my home?”
“We’ve been outed. Or at least, Jeremy has.”
The coffee cup I’m holding in my hand goes crashing to the floor, shattering and sending large ceramic pieces scattering around my feet.
My eyes are wide in alarm. “What? How?”
I lean my weight against the counter and rub my eyes with the heel of my palm. “Oh, God,” I whisper, more as a plea than anything.
Carver bends down and begins cleaning up the mess, and then stands, looking around for a garbage. I point under the sink, where he disposes the broken pieces and returns to stand in front of me. Placing large hands on my shoulders, he squeezes gently.
“I don’t know. But once word got out about the adoption, the leak spread and research was done. Fast. And most of it is scarily accurate. I always thought those fucking magazines were trash.” He yanks at his hair in frustration.
My knees give out and I reach behind me to grab the edge of the counter to keep myself from falling.
“Shit. Have you contacted...” I don’t finish, as Carver interjects.
“Yes. I called Don’s office and called Jared. My publicist i
s handling things from here.”
Thankfully, when we parted company the other day, Jared and Karina had been amenable to exchanging numbers. They’d promised to send us regular updates and photos of Jeremy. Carver had also promised they would receive tickets to one of his upcoming home games so they could bring Jeremy to watch him play.
“It’s not good, Lo. I’m so, so sorry. I never thought this would get out.”
For some reason, I direct my anger at Carver. Logically, I know he’s not to blame for the situation, but it’s his newfound celebrity status that prompted any interest in his life to begin with.
I fear the ramifications – not for us, but for our son. He’s still too young to understand any of this. Jared and Karina shouldn’t have to be forced to divulge anything about his adoption this soon. He’s so young. My heart breaks all over again.
Instead of the broken cup on the floor, it feels more like the pieces of my own shattered heart.
I push against Carver’s chest. Hard. My balled fists begin beating on his pecs, damning him with every word that comes out of my mouth.
“It’s all your fault! I hate you.”
My voice breaks and sputters with emotion, “Damn you, Carver. Damn you for moving here. Damn you for being drafted. Damn you for getting me pregnant in the first place. Damn you for entering my life again. Just get out! Get out of my life for good!”
His tone is soft and apologetic. Nakedly hurt. He clasps his hands around my wrists and holds me steady, the brown-warmth of his eyes filled with anguish.
“I know, Lo. I’m sorry. It is my fault. Maybe we should’ve left well enough alone.”
He drops my hands and steps away, leaving a foot of space between us. It might as well be a mile, with no bridge sturdy or long enough to cover the distance and repair the damage that’s been done.
His eyes linger on my face, his mouth in a tight line, jaw clenched hard. I watch as indecision turns to resolve and he slowly backs out of my kitchen.
I should move. Run to him and tell him I didn’t mean any of it. That it’s not his fault. That I do still love him. That I don’t want him to leave me.
