Chasing Someday

by Lindzee Armstrong

  If only that debt was cash in the bank. Then they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

  David put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking lot. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know.”

  “Could we get a loan for twenty thousand dollars? Even if we wanted to?”

  “Probably. Heck, we get credit card applications in the mail every day. But they’d have an insane interest rate.”

  “We couldn’t afford the payments.” Kyra was bawling again, barely able to speak through her tears.

  David glanced over at her. “Hey, we’re going to figure this out.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars!” Then, more quietly: “Maybe it’s time to consider other options.”

  David swerved into the parking lot of a department store. He came to a stop in an empty stall near the back and turned off the car. “Are you saying you don’t want to try anymore? I’m not ready to quit.”

  “Me either. I’m saying I think we should try adoption.”

  “You’re really serious about this.”

  “If we get a baby, who cares how it comes? Let’s at least consider it. It might be less expensive.”

  “It might be more.”

  “It would be less physically taxing. When Dr. Mendoza mentioned it . . .” Kyra pointed to her heart. “I felt it right here.”

  “Adoption,” David said.

  “Yes.”

  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then replaced them. His thumb twitched as though itching for a game controller.

  Kyra took his hand in hers. “A baby is a baby. Does it matter how our family is made?”

  “No. I just want all this behind us.”

  “Let’s go home. While I make dinner, you can call the pastor and get information on the crisis center I’ve heard about in church. I know they sometimes help facilitate adoptions.” Kyra pulled down the sun visor, making sure her makeup was intact. She didn’t want to worry Sophie, to make her ask what was wrong.

  At home, David went inside while Kyra picked Sophie up from Cassandra’s. Sophie bounced with excitement, eager to tell Kyra about her adventures with Malachi. Kyra listened with half an ear while preparing dinner.

  David came in as Kyra began setting the table. “I just got off the phone with the crisis center.”

  Kyra paused, then set a cup on the table. “And?”

  “Dr. Mendoza is right. Most agencies are around thirty thousand dollars. But the crisis center can help us find ways to save money with a recommendation from our pastor. They help lots of couples adopt for a third of that amount.”

  All is well. The words whispered to Kyra’s heart again. This is what they were meant to do. They just needed to be patient and wait.

  “Soph, finish setting the table. I’m going to talk to Daddy in the other room.”

  David followed Kyra into the living room. “I made us an appointment for next Tuesday. If we find a birth mother, we could do a private adoption through an attorney inexpensively. And there are grants we may qualify for. The crisis center knows the most inexpensive agencies for something called a home study—I guess we have to get one of those and they’re pricey?—and the most reputable attorneys. It doesn’t cost anything to meet and find out our options. What do you think?”

  Warmth poured through Kyra’s veins. This was what they needed to do. “I want to go to that meeting.”

  David pulled Kyra into a hug. “Me too.”

  Adoption. The thought of leaving fertility treatments behind—of pursuing a different path—was like a breath of fresh air.

  Chelsea, the caseworker David and Kyra met with at crisis center, wore a flowing multicolored-skirt and blouse. She couldn’t be much older than Kyra. Her office resembled the pastor’s—same familiar dark wood desk and black office chair, the blue and maroon floral love seat. There was even a picture of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane on one wall.

  “I’m so glad you made an appointment,” Chelsea said, flipping through a filing cabinet and pulling out brochures. “We get a lot of birth mothers in here, but not many people realize we can help adoptive couples, too.”

  “That’s what we’re hoping,” Kyra said. “There’s no way we can afford the thirty thousand dollar price tag a lot of agencies have.”

  Chelsea nodded, spreading open a brochure open. “Not many couples can. That’s why we partner with outside agencies to help keep the costs down.” She pointed to the brochure, where agencies were listed. “What we’ve found is that the couples who experienced successful placements are usually the ones who take control and find their own baby. A lot of couples don’t advertise themselves because it’s uncomfortable.” She opened another brochure. “But there’s a lot you can do to gain visibility—pass-along cards, a blog, spreading the news on social media. You can even place ads in newspapers. As for the money, a lot of couples choose to run online campaigns to raise the funds. You can do yard sales, bake sales, anything really. You’ll be surprised how much money you can make just by selling things around your house.”

  Chelsea continued talking, walking Kyra and David through the basic legal process they could expect. She discussed foster care, private adoptions, and adoption agencies. For over an hour she patiently answered their questions and helped them explore all their options.

  “Here’s my phone number and email address,” Chelsea said, handing them a business card. “If you have any other questions or concerns, let me know. I’m here to help however I can.”

  “What do you think?” David asked as they got into the car.

  Kyra pointed to an adoption agency in the brochure, one that Chelsea said was affordable and great to work with. “I want to work with this adoption agency. It’s still a lot of money, but it feels right.” Kyra held a fist to her heart. “I know if we get our name out there, we’ll find our baby. I’ll babysit to earn money. We’ll start an online campaign. We’ll do a yard sale. We can come up with the funds.”

  David squeezed her hand. “It’d cost about the same to do the cheapest in vitro option.”

  Kyra pointed to the brochure. “But this is the right choice. Don’t you feel it?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “We’re really doing this. We’re going to adopt?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to adopt.”

  Megan was sure her brain would rot before she gave birth. Nineteen weeks pregnant with triplets meant she measured thirty weeks. She was convinced she felt at least as bad, if not worse, than most women in the third trimester.

  Life had become a series of doctor appointments. Megan had already been hospitalized once for a kidney infection, and was on modified bed rest, which meant she spent all day sitting or lying down. At least she’d been able to keep teaching her three piano students.

  She pushed herself off the couch with a groan. Sienna would be here any minute, and it would take Megan at least that long to waddle to the living room.

  Sure enough, the doorbell rang. “Coming,” Megan called, wincing as one of the babies pushed against her rib cage. With three babies, it felt like a circus in her belly, even if Dr. Johnson claimed their movements were small.

  “Come in,” Megan told Sienna. She was eight months pregnant now, but her baby bump still looked smaller than Megan’s.

  “Hi, Megan. How are you feeling?”

  “Big. How about you?”

  “Ginormous.” Sienna walked over to the piano bench without a hint of a waddle. “Just trying to get everything ready for Pennsylvania. I can’t believe I’ll be moving in a few months.” Sienna had decided to attend the University of Liberal Arts in Philadelphia. She’d start in January, and reapply for Juilliard in a year.

  “And what about the baby?” Megan asked. “Have you found a family for him yet?”

  Sienna’s eyes were pained. “No, and I’ve been through all those profiles a hundred times.” She put a hand on her belly. “We’re running out of time. He’s due in four weeks.”

  “Keep
praying. You’ll find his family.”

  “I wish you could take my baby, Megan.”

  Megan’s heart wrenched. She wished so badly she could ease some of Sienna’s burden. Megan placed a hand on her belly. “I’m going to have three babies in a few months. You know I’m not your baby’s mother.”

  “I know. But I want you to be.” Sienna’s voice clogged with tears. “It’s less scary if it’s you. I know you’d love him and raise him well. I know you’d let me be Aunt Sienna.”

  “When you find the right family, you’ll feel the same way about them.”

  Sienna reached into her piano bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “My caseworker emailed me last night. This family was just approved for adoption.” She unfolded the paper, stared at it for a moment, and handed it to Megan. “I think you know them.”

  Megan took the paper, her heart in her throat. She already knew who it would be. Along the top of the paper it said Kyra and David in all caps. A family photo Megan recognized from the fireplace mantle in Kyra’s home took up the majority of the page, followed by a letter that began Dear Birth Mother.

  Megan had read that letter. Kyra had asked her to proofread it a few weeks ago.

  “I recognized the little girl,” Sienna said. “You babysat her a few months ago.”

  “Yes.” Megan handed the paper to Sienna.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “When I saw them, I started crying. I’ve never cried over any other profile. My mom said that was God telling me this family might be the one.”

  Megan’s heart pounded, and she barely dared breathe. She sent a quick prayer heavenward: Don’t let me ruin this for Kyra. She’d thought of telling Sienna about Kyra before, of course. But she hadn’t wanted to overstep her bounds. The choice needed to be Sienna’s.

  “Is this my baby’s family, Megan?”

  “Only you can know for sure.”

  Sienna wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. “That little girl. That adorable little girl.” She touched her heart. “Every time I look at her, it gets me right here. But now everything seems real. And I don’t know how I can give my baby away.” Her shoulders shook. “The problem is, I know I can’t keep him, either.”

  “Sienna.” Megan scooted onto the piano bench, wrapping Sienna in her arms. Their bellies stuck out in front, both their bums barely fitting on the bench. “I’m sorry.”

  Sienna cried harder. “Are they good people, Megan? Will they love my baby?”

  Megan’s throat caught, and she nodded. “So much. They’ve been waiting for a baby for a long time. And Sophie.” Megan let out a strangled laugh. “Well, she’s wanted a baby brother for a while now.”

  Sienna sniffed, pulling back. Megan returned to her own seat. “Do you think they would still let me see my baby? Send me pictures and stuff?”

  “You’d have to talk to them about it. But they’ve said they’d like an open adoption.” Megan motioned to the paper, clutched in Sienna’s hand. “You should meet with them.”

  “I don’t want to get their hopes up. What if I change my mind?”

  “You won’t,” Megan said with certainty.

  “No.” Sienna’s voice was unbearably sad. “I won’t.”

  “And you’ll love Kyra, David, and Sophie.”

  “I know.”

  “Call your caseworker. Have her set up an appointment.”

  “Can we meet here?”

  Megan almost said yes, but thought better of it. “You need to find neutral territory. This can’t be about me and our friendship. It has to be about what’s right for your baby, and if you want an open adoption, you need to foster that relationship outside of ours.”

  “Why do you always have to be right?” Sienna smiled, but it was forced. “Can I call my caseworker before I chicken out?”

  “Sure.”

  Five minutes later, Sienna hung up. “She’s going to contact them and get back to me.” Sienna straightened the paper with Kyra and David’s photo, then put it back in her music bag. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hijack our lesson. What should I play first?”

  “Okay, class, pencils down,” Christina instructed, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. She felt a small kick and placed her hand on her stomach with a smile. Twenty weeks pregnant. Halfway there.

  Pencils hit desks with a clatter. Groans of excitement and frustration filled the room. Christina shifted in her seat again, wincing at the tight pain in her back. She had woken up feeling under the weather and felt steadily worse as the morning progressed.

  “Switch papers, and we’ll correct the test,” Christina told her students. “Do it quickly, please. Lunch is in fifteen minutes.” Another sharp pain. She gasped involuntarily.

  “Mrs. Vincent?” a student asked. “Aren’t you going to write the words on the board?”

  Christina smiled tightly and stood, then sat back down with a yelp. The pain was becoming more intense by the second.

  Panic clutched at her—something was wrong. A little foot kicked again, soothing her nerves. No, everything was okay. The baby was moving. She probably had another urinary tract infection. The last one had laid her flat in bed for three days. She’d call the doctor during lunch and see what he said.

  Christina tried to stand again, but couldn’t. “Change of plans,” she told the class. “Someone from each table bring me your spelling tests, and we’ll correct them after lunch. Tommy, can you turn on the TV and push play?” She’d planned to watch the educational kids show after lunch as a lead-in to their science lesson, but she needed a breather.

  Tommy started the episode, and the kids were mostly quiet. Christina sat at her desk, forcing herself to drink water as the pain grew worse and worse. She glanced at the clock with tears in her eyes. Ten minutes until lunch. Instead of calling the doctor, she would go in.

  Christina called the front office. “Hi, Linda,” she said, her voice low so she wouldn’t disturb the students. “Can you find someone to cover my class for the rest of the day?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

  Christina glanced at the clock. Only five minutes to go. “I’m sick. But after I get a prescription from the doctor, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Linda.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie. Get feeling better.”

  Christina hung up. Two minutes until lunch. “Tommy, can you push stop? We’ll finish the show after lunch. Everyone line up by the door.” Someone flipped on the lights, and the room erupted in movement as students grabbed their coats and lunches. Christina remained seated at her desk, relaying instructions. “Candice, can you give everyone a squirt of hand sanitizer? Looks like Danielle is the line leader today.” Normally Christina would walk the students to lunch, but today she didn’t know if she could even walk to her car. The bell rang, and she silently prayed the students would clear the room quickly.

  Christina opened up the bottom desk drawer with her foot. She leaned over with a groan and grabbed her purse as the last student left. The trek to her car could best be described as a hobble. The baby kicked, increasing her pain. It took every ounce of willpower she had to drive to the doctor’s office and waddle across the parking lot.

  “I think I have a UTI,” Christina told the receptionist. “Is there any way I can be seen?”

  The receptionist looked up from her computer screen and her eyes widened. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

  “I don’t feel well.” Black spots flicked across Christina’s vision, and she swayed.

  The receptionist was around the counter in an instant. “You’re white as a sheet. Let me help you to an exam room. I’ll have the doctor come in immediately.”

  Christina nodded, tears pricking her eyes in gratitude. She’d get a prescription, then go home and sleep. She’d feel much better tomorrow. Or in a few days, at least.

  They passed a nurse in the hallway. She ran over and grasped Christina’s other side. “Honey, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

  “I . . . have re
ally bad . . . back pains.” Christina’s words came in spurts.

  “Get the doctor,” the nurse instructed the receptionist. “Quickly, please. It’s Christina, right?” Christina nodded, her lips pursed in pain. “How many weeks along are you? About twenty?”

  “I’ll be . . . twenty-one . . . tomorrow.”

  Dr. Blakely arrived. “What’s the matter?” she asked as the nurse helped Christina onto the exam table. Christina relayed her problem between gasps. This was much worse than last time. Would she have to be hospitalized, like Megan was for her kidney infection?

  “How long has this been going on?” Dr. Blakely asked.

  “Since . . . this morning.” Christina’s hand went to her stomach, and she hunched over as another wave of pain overcame her. “Is the baby . . . okay?”

  “Let’s see.”

  Christina lay back on the table and lifted her shirt. Dr. Blakely put the Doppler monitor on her stomach, and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat flooded the room. Tears trickled out of Christina’s eyes, a combination of relief and pain.

  “I think . . . it’s another . . . UTI,” Christina managed to say. “I had one . . . a few weeks ago.”

  Dr. Blakely put the monitor away, and Christina pulled her shirt down. “I think you’re in labor. We need to get you to the hospital right away.”

  “Labor? But I’m only” —Christina gasped in pain— “twenty weeks.”

  Too soon.

  Too soon.

  Too soon.

  “Annie, call the hospital and have them send an ambulance. Then call Dr. Henderson and let him know she’s on her way. He’s on call at the hospital today.”

  The nurse nodded and left the room.

  “I can’t . . . be in labor.” Tears streamed down Christina’s face, and she clutched the edge of the exam table.

  “If we hurry, we might be able to stop it,” Dr. Blakely said. “You’ll be on bed rest for the rest of your pregnancy, probably hospitalized, but first we need to get these contractions to stop.”