Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He turned to look at her, and she burst out laughing. He did, too. It was impossible to keep arguing in the midst of such absurdity.

  “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” she said. “You can buy whatever artwork you want.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” He leaned toward her and whispered in a mock sexy voice, “I didn’t mean what I said about forgetting that I have the hots for you. Even if you can’t dance like her, you’re still a temptress.”

  She accepted his flirtation for what it was. But she also pushed him away from her again, keeping him from remaining too close.

  Then...vroom! The car sped off, taking them to the grassy outskirts of town, where the orphanage was.

  Three

  The orphanage was in a renovated old church, large enough to accommodate its residents and perched on a pretty piece of land with a cluster of coconut trees.

  A short stout lady greeted them on the porch. With plainly styled gray hair and eyes that crinkled beneath wire-rimmed glasses, she appeared to be around seventy. Max introduced her as Losa.

  After they shook hands, Lizzie extended the rose. “This is for you.”

  “Thank you. It’s lovely.” The older woman accepted it with a gracious smile. Although she gazed at Lizzie’s fiery red hair, she didn’t comment on it.

  Thankfully, that made the painting Max had bought seem less important. For now, anyway. No doubt Lady Ari would keep creeping back into Lizzie’s mind, along with Max’s sexy little joke about Lizzie tempting him.

  Clearing her wayward thoughts, she said, “I also brought gifts for the kids.” She gestured to the boxes Max had placed beside the door. “I got blankets and bottles for the babies and art supplies for the rest of them.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Once again, Losa thanked her. “You seem like a nice girl.”

  “She is,” Max said. “We’ve known each other since high school. We’ve been proper friends a long time.”

  Proper friends? Was that his way of making sure that Losa didn’t mistake them as lovers, the way George had done? That was fine with Lizzie. She preferred to avoid that sort of confusion.

  Losa invited them into her office, a simply designed space that was as understated as she was. Max brought the boxes inside and put them next to a metal file cabinet.

  Losa offered them iced tea that had been chilling in a mini fridge and slices of homemade coconut bread that were already precut and waiting to be served.

  They sat across from her with their food and drink, near a window that overlooked the yard.

  Lizzie noticed a fenced area with picnic benches, occupied by groups of children who appeared to be between the ages of two and five. Two colorfully dressed young women watched over them.

  Losa followed her line of sight and said, “The older children are in school and the babies are in the nursery. The others are having lunch, as you can see. Tokoni is among them. You can visit with him afterward.”

  Lizzie didn’t ask which child was Tokoni or try to recognize him from the photo Max had shown her, at least not from this distance. She was still nervous about meeting him, especially with how much Max adored him.

  “So,” Losa went on to say, “you want to interview me for your charity blog?”

  “Yes,” Lizzie quickly replied, “I’d like to feature the orphanage. To provide whatever information you’re willing to give.” She removed her phone from her purse. “Also, may I get your permission to do an audio recording? It’s more accurate than taking written notes.”

  “Certainly,” Losa said. “It’s good of you to help. It was kind of Max to donate to us, too. He was very generous.” She sent him an appreciative smile.

  Although he returned her smile, he stayed quiet, drinking his tea and allowing Lizzie to do the talking.

  Once the recording app was activated, she said to Losa, “Max told me that you and your family founded this orphanage after your husband passed.”

  “He was a dear man.” Her expression went soft. “He would be pleased by what we accomplished here.”

  Lizzie stole another glance at the window. “Are those your granddaughters? The young women tending to the kids?”

  “Yes. They’re good girls, as devoted as I am to keeping this place going and matching our children in waiting with interested families. Tokoni is especially eager to be adopted. He chatters about it all the time.”

  Lizzie nodded. Max had said the same thing about him. “I’m hoping that my article will raise more than just money for your cause. That it will bring awareness to the kids themselves and how badly they need homes.”

  “We work with international adoption agencies that provide pictures and information of our children in waiting. You’re welcome to post links to those websites.”

  “Absolutely.” Lizzie intended to be as thorough as possible. “Will you email me that information, along with whatever else you think will be helpful?”

  “Actually, I can give you a packet right now.” Losa went to the file cabinet and removed a large gray envelope. She resumed her seat, slid it across the desk and said, “In the United States, intercountry adoption is governed by three sets of laws—the laws of the child’s country of origin, your federal laws and the laws of the US state in which the child will be adopted.”

  “How long does the process typically take?”

  “In some countries, it can take years. For us, it’s between three and six months.”

  “Wow. That’s fast.” Lizzie leaned forward. “Are you the only country that’s been able to expedite it that way?”

  “No. There are others in this region. Small independent nations, like ours, with less red tape, as one might say.”

  “Will you tell me about your guidelines?”

  “Certainly,” Losa replied. “We don’t have residency requirements, meaning that the applicants don’t have to live here before they adopt. But we do require that they study our culture through the online classes we designed. Prospective parents may be married or single. They need to be at least twenty-five years of age and demonstrate a sufficient income. But what we consider sufficient is reasonable. We’re not seeking out the rich. Just people who will love and care for these children. Honorable people,” she added. “Their character is what’s most important to us.”

  “Did you help develop these guidelines when you lobbied for international adoption?”

  “I worked closely with the authorities, giving them my input. But in some cases, the requirements are modified to accommodate a family member’s request. For example, Tokoni’s mother asked that he be adopted by a married couple. She didn’t want him being raised by a single parent.” The older woman softly added, “So I promised her that he would be matched with the type of parents she envisioned, a young romantic couple who would devote their hearts to him, as well as to each other.”

  Lizzie considered Tokoni’s mother and how terribly she’d struggled. Apparently she wanted her son to have a warm, cozy, traditional family, which was what she’d longed to give him when she dreamed of marrying his father.

  Losa said, “Most of our applicants want girls. Studies show this to be true in other countries, as well. Unfortunately, that makes it more challenging to find homes for the boys. If Tokoni were a girl, he might have been placed by now.”

  Lizzie’s chest went heavy, tight and twisted, in a way that was beginning to hurt. “I hope the perfect parents come along for him. But you never really know what hand life will deal you. My mom died when I was ten, and my dad raised me after she was gone. But I hardly ever saw him. He was wealthy enough to hire nannies and cooks to look after me.”

  “I’m sorry that your father wasn’t available for you,” Losa said. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

  Lizzie noticed that Max was watching her closely now. Was he surprised that she’d o
ffered information about herself?

  After a second of silence, he said, “I told Losa about my childhood last time I was here. Not all the sordid details, but enough for her to know that I came from an abusive environment.”

  “So much sadness.” Losa sighed. “Perhaps spending a little time with Tokoni will cheer you up. He’s such a vibrant boy.”

  Lizzie glanced out the window. By now the children had finished eating and were playing in the grass. She watched them for a while, analyzing each one. Was Tokoni the boy in the green shirt and denim shorts? He appeared to be about the right age, with a similar haircut to that of the child in Max’s picture, with his bangs skimming his eyes. He was laughing and twirling in the sun, like the happy kid he was supposed to be.

  “Their recess is almost over,” Losa said. “And as soon as they come inside, you can meet him.”

  “Yes, of course.” Since the interview was coming to a close, Lizzie turned off the recorder on her phone and gathered the packet she’d been given. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Splendid.” Losa stood. “You can chat with him in the library. We use it as an art room, too, so that’s where the supplies you brought will be kept.” She said to Max, “You know where the library is, so you two go on ahead, and I’ll bring Tokoni to you.”

  Lizzie put on a brave face, but deep down she was still concerned that Tokoni would find her lacking. That he wouldn’t take to her the way he had with Max.

  But it was too late to back out. She was here to support Max—and the orphaned child they’d come to see.

  * * *

  The library was furnished in the typical way, with tables and chairs and shelves of books, but as Lizzie and Max stepped farther into the room, she spotted a seating area in the back that she assumed was designed for guests.

  Max led her toward it, and they sat on a floral-printed sofa. She folded her hands on her lap, then unfolded them, attempting to relax.

  “It feels good to be back,” he said, far more comfortable than she was. “I miss volunteering here.”

  “What kinds of things did you do?” she asked, trying to envision him in the throes of it.

  “Mostly I read to the kids or told them stories. But sometimes I helped in the kitchen. I fixed the plumbing once and mopped the floors in the bathroom when one of the toilets overflowed. Tokoni got in trouble that day because he caused the problem, flushing a toy boat down there.”

  She bit back a laugh. Apparently sweet little Tokoni had a mischievous side. “I guess your donation didn’t make you immune to the grunt work.”

  “I didn’t think it was fair for me to pick and choose my tasks. Besides, as much as Losa appreciated the money, she understood that I needed to be useful in other ways, too.”

  “The kids must have gotten used to having you around.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, they did. That’s how Tokoni and I got so close.”

  Just then Losa entered the library, clutching the boy’s hand. He was the kid in the green shirt and denim shorts Lizzie had noticed earlier, and up close he looked just like the picture Max had shown her, with full round cheeks and expressive eyes. As soon as Tokoni saw Max, he grinned and tried to escape Losa’s hold. But she wouldn’t let him go, so he stood there, bouncing in place.

  Max came to his feet. Lizzie followed suit, and her nerves ratcheted up a notch.

  Tokoni tried to pull Losa toward Max, but the older woman wouldn’t budge. “If you want to see Max, you have to be good,” she warned the child. “And then I’ll come back to get you.”

  “Okay.” He promised her that he would be “very, very good.” A second later, he was free and running straight to Max.

  Losa left the library, and Lizzie watched as man and child came together in a joyous reunion.

  “Hey, buddy,” Max said, scooping him up. “It’s great to see you.”

  “Hi, Max!” He nuzzled the big, broad shoulder he was offered, laughing as Max tickled him.

  Once the kid calmed down, he gazed curiously at Lizzie. This strange woman, she thought, who was just standing there.

  She tried for a smile, but feared that it might have come off as more of a grimace. He just kept staring at her, really staring, to the point of barely blinking. She could tell it was her hair that caught his attention. Her dang Lady Ari hair.

  With Tokoni still in his arms, Max turned to face her, too. At this point, he’d become aware of how the five-year-old was reacting to her.

  “Is she a goodness?” the child asked.

  “You mean a goddess?” Max chuckled. “No. She’s just a pretty lady with red hair. But sometimes I think she looks like a goddess, too. She’s my friend Lizzie.”

  Tokoni grinned at her and said, “Hi, Izzy.”

  “Hello.” She didn’t have the heart to correct him. But Max did.

  “Her name is Lizzie,” he said. “With an L. Like Losa. Or lizard.” Max stuck out his tongue at her, making a reptile face. “I always thought her name sounded a little like that.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She made the same goofy face at him, trying to be more kidlike. But truth of the matter, he’d nicknamed her Lizard ages ago. Just as she sometimes called him Mad Max.

  Tokoni giggled, enjoying their antics.

  Max said to him, “So you think we’re funny, do you?”

  “Yep.” The child’s chest heaved with excitement, with more laughter. Then he said to Lizzie, “Know what? This is an orange-fan-age.”

  She smiled, amused by his pronunciation of it.

  “Know what else?” he asked. “My real mommy is gone, but I’m going to get ’dopted by a new mommy. And a daddy, too.”

  Overwhelmed by how easily he’d rattled that off, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She should have been prepared for a conversation like this, knowing what she knew about him, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice.

  But that didn’t stop him from asking her, “Why are you at the orange-fan-age?”

  “Because Max wanted me to meet you.”

  Tokoni reached out to touch her hair, locating a strand that had come loose from her ponytail. “How come?”

  “Because of how much he likes you.” She released the air in her lungs, realizing that she’d been holding her breath. “And because I’m going to write a story about the orphanage and the kids who live here.”

  “Can I be a superhero in it?”

  Oh, dear. “It’s not that kind of story.”

  He was still touching her hair. “It could be.”

  No, she thought, it couldn’t. She wasn’t good at writing fiction. She’d always been a reality-type gal.

  “Come on, buddy,” Max said, redirecting Tokoni’s attention. “Let’s all go over here.” He carried him to the sofa and plopped him down.

  Lizzie joined them, with Tokoni in the middle. She fixed her hair, tucking the loose strand behind her ear.

  “I made a book of the mommy and daddy who are going to ’dopt me,” he said to her. “I can show it to you.”

  “Sure,” she replied, trying to be as upbeat about it as he was.

  Tokoni climbed off the sofa and dashed over to a plastic bin that had his name on it. There appeared to be personalized bins for all the children, stacked in neat rows.

  He returned and resumed his spot, between her and Max. He showed her a handmade booklet, consisting of about ten pieces of white paper with staples in the center holding it together.

  He narrated each picture, explaining the activity he and his future parents were engaging in. On page one, they stood in the sun. On page two, they swam in the ocean. In the next one, they were going out to dinner, where they would eat all of Tokoni’s favorite foods.

  Everyone had red smiles on their faces, black dots for eyes and no noses. Dad was the tallest, Mom was wearing a
triangle-shaped dress and Tokoni was the only one with hair. His folks were completely bald.

  Lizzie assumed it was deliberate. That Tokoni hadn’t given them hair because he didn’t know what color it should be. He obviously knew that he might be adopted by people who looked different from him. Blonds, maybe? Or even redheads?

  She fussed with her hair, checking the piece she’d tucked behind her ear, making sure it stayed put.

  “Your book is wonderful,” she said. “Your drawings are special. The best I’ve ever seen.” She didn’t know much about kids’ art, but his work seemed highly developed to her, with how carefully thought out it was.

  He flashed a proud smile and crawled onto her lap. She went warm and gooey inside. This child was doing things to her that she’d never felt before.

  He said, “You can color inside my book if you want to.”

  Heavens, no, she thought. As flattered as she was by his generous offer, she couldn’t handle the pressure that would cause. “That’s very nice of you, but I don’t think I should.”

  He persisted. “It’s okay if you don’t color very good. I’ll still let you.”

  Her skills weren’t the problem. “I just don’t—”

  Max bumped her shoulder, encouraging her to do it. Damn. Now how was she supposed to refuse?

  “All right,” she relented, her stomach erupting into butterflies. “But I’m going to sit at one of the tables.” Where she could concentrate. “And I’ll need some crayons.” She didn’t mention that she’d brought new art supplies for Tokoni and his peers, because it was up to Losa to distribute those.

  After Tokoni got the crayons, he scooted next to her at the table, directly at her elbow and making it difficult for her to work. But she didn’t tell him to move over. He was so darned excited to have her do this, almost as if she really was a goddess.

  Max joined them, only he didn’t have to draw. He got to kick back and watch. Lizzie wished she hadn’t gotten roped into this. What if she ruined the boy’s book? What if he didn’t like what she did to it?