As Claire listened to the numbing details, she glanced at two office walls. Diplomas and awards covered the first. Framed photos adorned the second. Most of the pictures featured Megan with what looked like newly created families.
Claire wondered what it was like to have a job where you helped couples in pain find lasting happiness. She concluded it was probably pretty nice.
"Are you still with me?" Megan asked. "You seem distracted."
"I guess I'm a little overwhelmed," Claire said. "I never realized people had to go through so much to adopt a child."
Megan smiled warmly.
"I know it seems like a lot, but it's not. Some people even enjoy the process. It forces them to take a good look at themselves and decide whether they really want to be parents."
"I believe it," Claire said.
"Now that I've explained the process, can I answer questions about anything else? I'm sure you have at least a few."
"We do. Or at least I do."
"What are they?" Megan asked.
"I want to know the bottom line," Claire said. "I want to know the costs involved, the number of children that are available, and how long we would have to wait to adopt."
Megan took a breath.
"I knew you would ask about those things. Nearly every prospective parent does. I must confess that this is the part of the interview I like the least. I like it the least because I have to provide couples with answers they may not want to hear."
"I understand," Claire said.
Megan offered an empathetic smile.
"Before I get into specifics, let me ask you a question."
"All right," Claire said.
"What do you want us to do for you?"
"I want you to find us a child we can love and nurture."
"What kind of child?" Megan asked. "What kind of child do you want us to find? There are many children out there who need loving homes, but relatively few are healthy white infants. I assume from the answers you provided on this form that that's what you want."
Claire's eyes began to water.
"It is. We want a baby that looks like the one we lost."
"I understand," Megan said. "I hear that all the time. It's natural for couples to want babies that look like them and don't have physical or mental impairments that could hamper them for life. Had you come to this agency sixty or seventy years ago, before Roe vs. Wade and the birth-control pill, I could have granted your request in a matter of weeks. Unfortunately, Claire, this is a different time. Most of the children we place are older. Many have disabilities. Some come to us from drug-addicted mothers and abusive homes. That doesn't mean we can't find the child you want. It just means that finding that child might take a long time."
"How long?" Claire asked.
"If we're lucky, we might be able to place a healthy infant in two to three years. If we're not, it could be seven to ten. The average wait time is six years."
Claire took a deep breath.
"What about the cost?"
"That's a question I can answer clearly," Megan said. "Our standard fee for a domestic adoption is fifteen thousand dollars. If you pursue an overseas adoption, the costs could rise to twenty or more."
With those words, Claire felt her stomach fall to the floor. She was clearly in over her head. Even if she and Ron considered an older child or one with special needs, they could never cover the costs of an adoption.
"Are you all right?" Megan asked.
"I'm not sure," Claire said as she shed a tear. "I need to think this over."
Megan gave her a comforting smile.
"Take all the time you need."
"OK."
Megan got up from her desk and met the couple at the door. She gave Claire a hug, shook Ron's hand, and gave him her card.
"Call me if you have any more questions," Megan said. "I'll find the time to answer them. I want to make this work."
"Thank you," Ron said.
Claire led Ron out the door and down a long hallway to a private nook. When she was finally alone with her husband, she collapsed in his arms and started to cry.
"It's hopeless."
Ron pulled her close.
"No, it's not. It's not hopeless."
Claire looked at him.
"Yes, it is. We don't have that kind of money. We barely have enough money to run our business and pay our mortgage."
"So? We'll get more. We'll borrow the whole wad if we have to," Ron said. "We'll get it done, sweetheart. I will not let money get in the way of starting a family."
Claire wiped her eyes.
"Do you mean it?"
Ron kissed her head.
"Of course I mean it."
Claire took a breath.
"Can we come back next month?"
Ron gazed at his troubled wife.
"We can come back next week, if you want. Just give me a few days to sort out our finances and look at some loans. OK?"
"OK," Claire said. She hugged Ron firmly. "Thank you."
CHAPTER 4: CLAIRE
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
Claire looked at the loan forms scattered across her dining room table and wondered for the umpteenth time whether the hassle was worth it. Then she thought about a baby she had seen in the coffee shop that morning and decided it was. Women who wanted to be mothers did not let things like red tape and money stand in their way.
"Do you want me to do that?" Ron asked from across the table. "It's not a big deal, Claire. I could probably finish the forms in less than an hour."
"I know you could, but let me fill them out," Claire said. She glanced at the stack of inventory and payroll forms in front of her husband. "You have enough on your plate."
Ron smiled.
"I can't argue with that."
"Are we going to break even this year?"
"We'll break even. We might even do better."
Claire frowned at the thought of simply doing better. She wondered how much longer they could keep their business going. Since opening the Lookout Mountain Coffee Company on Aquarium Way in 2012, they had turned an annual profit just three times.
Claire pondered forms and finances for another minute and then turned her thoughts to other things. She had much to think about on this early October evening, including a visit by her brother, David, who planned to fly to Chattanooga from Los Angeles on Friday.
She had not seen her younger sibling — her only sibling — since the funeral in August and looked forward to seeing him again. She began to think about the many good times they had had in twenty-six years when her phone rang and brought her out of a daze.
Claire picked up the phone, looked at the screen, and gave Ron a puzzled look. She did not recognize the number on the screen.
"Who is it?" Ron asked.
"I don't know," Claire said. "The caller's from California."
"Is it David?"
"No. It's someone else."
Claire tapped a button.
"Hello?"
A middle-aged woman with a soft voice replied.
"Claire?"
"Yes, this is Claire."
"Oh, good. I wasn't sure I had the right number. This is Aunt Jeanette. I hope I haven't called at a bad time."
"No," Claire said. "This is a good time. How are you doing?"
"I'm doing well," Jeanette Bell said. "I'm doing very well, in fact. At least I was until your mother called and told me you've had a rough week."
"I have. I'm still struggling . . ."
Claire stopped when her voice began to crack.
"You needn't say more, dear. I understand."
"Who is it?" Ron asked.
Claire tapped the mute button.
"It's my aunt — the one who lives in Los Angeles, the one I rarely see."
Claire hit the button again.
"I'm sorry, Jeanette. I had to tell Ron something. Did you say you talked to my mom?"
"I did," Jeanette said. "She called me on Sunday. She said you and Ron are th
inking about adopting a baby."
Word sure travels fast.
"We are," Claire said. "We saw an adoption counselor last week. If we can secure a loan to pay the agency's fee, we will put our names on a list and start the process."
"Your mother said that too. She also told me you want to adopt a healthy infant but are afraid you may not be able to do so for a long time."
"That's putting it mildly. We may have to wait several years."
"Maybe not," Jeanette said.
"What are you saying?" Claire asked.
"I'm saying that all is not lost. Uncle Geoffrey and I know of a way you may be able to cut the waiting time from several years to several weeks."
"You have my attention."
Claire glanced again at Ron and answered his puzzled expression with a shrug. She could see from his face that he was following the conversation closely.
"I can't say much now," Jeanette said. "Our idea is far too complicated to explain over the phone, so we're going to have David do it for us."
"David? My brother? What does he have to do with this?"
"As it turns out, he has a lot to do with it. He's going to present our solution when he sees you this weekend. When your mother told me he was flying to Tennessee, we invited him to visit us. We had him over for dinner last night."
Claire placed her hand on her forehead as a dozen questions raced through her mind. What was this solution? Why did the Bells need David to explain it? What legal adoption could be finalized in weeks? Was this phone call for real?
"He drove to L.A. on a school night?" Claire asked.
"He did," Jeanette said. "We had a nice visit."
Claire scratched her head again.
David, a social studies teacher in Long Beach, California, had told Claire on numerous occasions that he had no time to do anything but "eat, sleep, and pee" during the school year. Like many educators, he worked long days that began and ended with long commutes. Yet, on Tuesday, he had taken the time to drive to Los Angeles, during rush hour, and visit relatives he had seen maybe five times in the past ten years.
"What is David going to say to us?" Claire asked. "Can you at least give us a clue?"
Jeanette paused before speaking.
"I'd rather not. I want you to hear our idea for the first time from a person you know and trust. All I ask is that you bring an open mind to the discussion."
Claire sighed.
"When will David spring this on us?"
"I suspect he will do it Saturday night," Jeanette said. "I asked him to present our idea when you and Ron were together and away from work."
"OK."
"I know this approach sounds strange, but trust me when I say it's necessary. David is going to put parenthood within your reach. All you have to do is listen."
CHAPTER 5: DAVID
Saturday, October 7, 2017
Twenty-four hours after flying into Chattanooga Metropolitan Airport, David Baker made himself comfortable on a small sofa, smiled at the sister he adored, and answered a question she asked him nearly every time they got together.
"No, I'm not seeing anyone. Yes, I'm keeping my eyes open."
Claire smiled warmly.
"I just want to make sure my baby brother isn't squandering the best years of his life."
David laughed to himself and then looked at the petite brown-eyed brunette, who sat with her husband on the facing couch. He knew Claire would hound him until he was ninety-nine, but that was all right. Better to be fussed over, he thought, than forgotten.
"I'll tell you what," David said. "If I bring home a six-foot blonde for dinner this fall, I'll send you a picture of her before we sit down for dessert."
Claire raised a brow.
"You do that."
David smiled, sipped a craft beer, and placed his bottle on a coffee table that stood between the sofas. He paused for a moment before continuing. He wanted to gather his thoughts before commencing what would surely be an interesting conversation.
"Did Jeanette say much when she called the other day?"
"No," Claire said. "She didn't say much at all. She said you would roll out her big idea when you arrived. What's this all about, David?"
The Californian took a breath.
"It's about a lot of things."
"You're beating around the bush," Claire said.
David frowned.
"That's because I don't know where to begin."
Claire glanced at Ron and then at her sibling.
"Why don't you begin by telling us what the Bells told you at dinner Tuesday night? Jeanette told me that Ron and I could adopt an infant in a matter of weeks."
"She's right," David said. "You probably can."
Claire sat up straight.
"Does she know an expectant mother?"
"No," David said.
"Is she suggesting a black-market adoption?"
David chuckled.
"No. It's nothing like that."
"Then what is she proposing?" Claire asked.
"She's proposing that you and I and Ron take a little trip to a place where healthy, adoptable babies are as plentiful as cotton candy at a county fair."
"Don't toy with us. We saw an adoption counselor last week, right here, and she told us in no uncertain terms that healthy, adoptable babies are not plentiful."
"You're right," David said. "They aren't. They aren't plentiful at all in this day and age, but in 1945 they are."
Claire and Ron froze. Both stared at David like he had completely lost his mind.
"Have you been smoking something?" Claire asked.
David laughed again.
"No. I haven't done anything to impair my mind, but I have done some interesting things in the past few days. In fact, on Tuesday, I did something I didn't think was even possible."
"What's that?"
David smiled.
"I traveled through time."
"You're full of it," Ron said.
"I assure you I'm not. On Tuesday night, while you two were sleeping, I spent three hours in a time and a place that Claire remembers well."
Claire glared at her brother with moist eyes.
"This is not funny, David. It's not funny at all. You know how bad I want a baby. I think what you're doing is cruel. It's mean."
Stunned by his sister's sharp tone, David retreated. He paused a moment to collect his thoughts and consider a different approach. Then he tried again.
"I'm sorry, Claire. I didn't mean to upset you. I would never do anything to purposely hurt you, but you have to believe me when I say I have traveled through time."
"Why should we believe you?" Ron asked.
David turned to his brother-in-law.
"You should believe me because I have proof."
"Where is this proof?" Claire asked.
David lifted a slender briefcase off the floor, placed it at his side on the couch, and gave it a pat. He looked at his sibling.
"It's right here in this case."
"You brought proof of time travel?"
"Yes," David said.
Claire stiffened.
"Don't mess with me."
"I won't."
"OK. What do you have?"
David popped open the case.
"I have a lot of things."
Claire leaned forward.
"Then let's see them."
David nodded and then reached inside the case. He retrieved three eight-by-ten color photographs, placed the first on the table, and pushed it toward his sister.
"Do you remember this?"
Claire pulled the photo close and gave it a thorough inspection. Then she pushed it back to the middle of the table, shook her head, and stared at her brother.
"No way," Claire said. "There is no way that picture is real. No one took pictures of us that morning — not at the hotel, not at breakfast. Dad would not have allowed it."
"Dad didn't know about it. He didn't know about this one either."
David
gave the second photo to Claire. Like the first, it showed a family of four eating breakfast in the large dining room of a hotel near Disneyland.
Claire gave the second image a cursory look and then handed it to Ron. She took a breath and then glared again at David. She did not appear amused.
"I was eighteen when we went to Disneyland. You were ten. How did you get these pictures?" Claire asked. "Who took these pictures?"
"I did," David said. "I took them Tuesday night. I took them after the Bells and I went on a sentimental journey to 2001. I took them with an iPhone from a distance of about twenty feet while enjoying oatmeal and eggs at another table."
"That's impossible. You're in the picture."
"I am. So are you. So is Mom. So is Dad. So is everyone else who sat near us in that room at nine thirty on Friday, July 6, 2001."
Ron examined both photos.
"It looks like you, honey."
"It is me," Claire said.
"Do you believe me now?" David asked.
"No, David, I don't. Even if these pictures are legit, I don't believe you took them. I'm going to need a lot more than this to believe something like that."
"I thought you would say that. That's why I came prepared."
"What do you mean by 'prepared'?"
David studied Claire's face and wondered whether it was time to bring out the big guns. When he saw the skeptical glint in her eyes, he decided it was. He gave her the third photo.
"Take a close look at this one."
Claire examined the image.
"It looks just like the others."
"There's a difference," David said. "Trust me."
Claire gave the photo a closer inspection.
"The only difference I see is that there's a book on the table."
"Do you remember that book?" David asked.
Claire stared at her sibling.
"You know I do."
Ron gently removed the photograph from Claire's hands and looked it over. A few seconds later, he placed the picture on the table and turned to his wife.
"I don't get it. Was it an important book?"
Claire looked at Ron.
"You could say that. It was a diary I kept during my teen years, a diary I left on that table that morning and never saw again."
Ron sighed.
"Did it . . ."
Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5) Page 2
