Sara Lost and Found

by Virginia Castleman

  “Sneaker!” I scoop her up and frown. “You’re not going to tell me you’re giving her away, are you?” I study Lexie’s face for signs of bad news, but she shakes her head.

  “No, no. It’s not that.” She takes a deep breath. “Our dads got together,” she says, “and have helped Mrs. Craig get permission from the court to let Anna be part of a therapy program involving animals.” She pauses to let the words sink in. “They’ve agreed to use pet therapy to try to help Anna with her problems”—Lexie hesitates—“instead of you.”

  “What do you mean, instead of me?”

  Lexie shifts her weight. “I know you want to be with her, Sara, but I heard them say that she counted on you too much.” Lexie stops talking long enough to give me room to cry.

  I hug the cat. “Why’d you bring Snea—uh, Poof over?”

  “I want you to have her. You can keep the box,” Lexie says, sniffing loudly. “It’ll make it easier to take her places.”

  “Really? You’re giving her back?”

  “That’s what friends are for, right? To be there for each other? You found her first, so really, you should have been able to keep her.”

  Long after Lexie leaves, I cup the half-heart necklace in my hand and think about my sister with new hope. Anna will have to learn how to behave better. That might take time. Maybe the time it takes will be the same amount of time I need to give her to grow.

  Mom walks in holding a big, fat envelope.

  “Lexie gave me Sneaker back,” I say excitedly.

  But something about the look on her face catches me off guard.

  “What’s wrong?” When she doesn’t answer right away, a new panic zips through me. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

  CHAPTER 31

  “I HAVE SOME NEWS THAT might be hard to hear.” She sits down beside me on the bed. Just the way she says it, the sharpened edge to her words, suggests that whatever she has to say can only be bad. “Mrs. Craig should be calling any minute.”

  “To take me away?”

  Mom looks startled. “No, no, sweetheart. Nothing like that.” She gives me a reassuring hug and then turns her attention back to the fat envelope. “It seems that your biological father has petitioned the court to keep you, blocking our efforts to adopt you.”

  “Biological.” I hear the word a lot, but it never gets any warmer-sounding. It’s cold. Like Daddy just made me and then disappeared. But that’s not what happened at all.

  “So, Anna and I get to go home?” I look up at her, surprised to see the hurt in her eyes.

  “This is your home, Sara. I hoped you knew that and felt like we do. Your dad is back in jail. There’s no way he can take care of you. He’s doing this—” She turns her head. “First thing Monday, we need to go to court,” she says, pushing away from the bed and stepping toward the door.

  “What about school?”

  “You’ll just have to miss a day.”

  I shuffle downstairs, struggling with how my face should look. Sad because they’re obviously upset? Or happy, like a tiny part of me is feeling because Daddy is still trying to get us back? Sneaker starts meowing, and I let her out of the box and onto the porch.

  When I get back to the kitchen, the phone rings, making me jump. Mom talks for a moment, then hangs up and sighs. “That was Ruth. She says she’ll meet us at the courthouse at nine on Monday.”

  “Do I have to go into court?”

  “Yes, but I’ll be in there with you.”

  “What about Daddy?”

  “He’ll be in court for the judge’s decision.”

  * * *

  Monday finally arrives. With Kevin at school, we start for the courthouse. The clouds above could easily be inside the car, for all the silence between us. The street turns from houses to gas stations to stores to office buildings, rising taller and taller. Then one street opens up to the courthouse, a huge building with arches and pillars standing guard. We park, and Dad takes my hand. He’s shaking.

  I look up into his face. He looks tired and older, his face broken by worry lines. I hug his arm.

  We walk, the three of us, toward the steps that lead to the big glass doors.

  Mrs. Craig waves to us from the top step. “You made it!” she says, forcing a smile and checking her watch. “Why don’t you come inside?”

  It seems like a strange thing to say, since we have nowhere else to go. We step into a large, echoey room that has shiny black-and-white squares on the floor. Like checkers, people move from one space to the next. We step through a security gate. The only alarms that go off are the ones in my heart.

  Mrs. Craig leads us down a long, wide hallway to a carved wooden door at the end. There are benches along the wall. She sits on one and pats the seat beside her.

  “Sara. Sit here for a moment. Let’s talk before we go to see the judge.”

  I sit stiffly, keeping my back away from the wall, almost afraid to hear what she has to say.

  “Your daddy’s in there,” she says, motioning toward the courtroom. “I must warn you. He has funny-looking clothes on, and he looks a lot different from when you saw him last.”

  I feel Mom sit down behind me, sandwiching me between herself and Mrs. Craig, but I don’t look over at her. Dad, meanwhile, paces the floor, his eyes glued to the courtroom.

  “Your father’s going to try to talk the judge into letting him keep you,” Mrs. Craig continues, “but he has to stay in jail for a long time this time, Sara, for child endangerment. It’s going to be hard because I know he’s going to plead with the judge to see you.”

  “What about what I want?” I ask.

  She checks her watch again and glances at Mr. Chandler, nodding a quick nod.

  “Sometimes grown-ups have to make the decisions, Sara. It’s time to talk to the judge,” she says.

  My stomach tightens, and I’m torn between holding on to the bench, refusing to go, and facing the judge and his decision. “What do I say? Do I talk to Daddy too?”

  Mrs. Craig shakes her head. “No, honey. Only the judge. He’s probably going to ask you if you want to live with the Chandlers.”

  A tightness creeps up my neck, choking back tears. The Chandlers have been so good to me. But Daddy is Daddy. He’s blood. He’s family. What if something I say messes everything up? “You mean instead of living with Daddy?”

  “Yes. Instead of living with your biological father,” Mrs. Craig answers.

  “What about Mama?”

  Mrs. Craig sits up straight as a board. “Your mother has finally signed the papers giving the court permission to release you for adoption.”

  “Mama signed papers to give us away?” I slump against the back of the bench, feeling that hole of emptiness again that I felt when Mama first left.

  Mrs. Craig nods.

  “So, this means you know where Mama is?”

  Mrs. Craig nods, glancing over my shoulder at Mrs. Chandler. “I’m sorry, Sara. We found her, and she has agreed that this is the best thing for you. A new home. A new start.”

  The wooden doors open, and a large man in a uniform tells us that it’s time to go in.

  “Are you ready?”

  I shrug and follow. Mr. Chandler catches up and leans down close to my ear.

  “We love you no matter what you say, Sara. We know this can’t be easy.”

  I look back at the two of them and see the hurt in their faces. They hold each other while I walk into the courtroom with Mrs. Craig and head for the judge’s chamber.

  Alone is such a hard thing to be sometimes, and this is one of those times. I try to picture Lexie with me instead of Mrs. Craig, to see if that will help me calm down.

  “What a kawinkeedink to see you here,” she would say.

  The judge’s chamber is a small room that’s full of books and smells like a library. A big desk sits like a gray boulder in the center of the room. There’s a large chair, and in that large chair sits a large man draped in a black robe.

  “Hi, Sara. I’m
Judge Steinman. Do you know why you’re here today?”

  I stare at my shoes and nod.

  “Decisions about who should raise a child are never easy. You have two loving people out there who want you as their daughter—and their son who wants you as his sister—not to be the daughter they never had, but to be the strong, brave girl you’ve become. And to have room to grow and play and be the child you are meant to be. I’m going to rule in favor of the Chandlers raising you. Your father is going to spend a few more years in jail. You need a family, Sara. Can you understand my decision?”

  I look up at the round face behind the black robe and nod. He doesn’t make me choose. The choice has already been made.

  I stare at the pictures on his desk of his own family and nod again as I stand up from the chair. “Thank you.”

  The judge doesn’t look happy about any of it either. “Step outside and we’ll call you into court shortly to hear my decision.”

  I guess in court you have to hear decisions more than once.

  The Chandlers jump up the minute we walk out and rush over toward us.

  Both are trembling. Their hugs feel real, and after some quiet talk with Mrs. Craig, all the worry lines in their faces have disappeared, replaced by looks of relief.

  Mrs. Craig urges us toward the door and we step out into the echoey hall. While I bend to tie my shoe, Mrs. Craig draws them aside. “There’s something I think you should know,” she says in a low, official voice.

  While they talk, someone opens the door to the courtroom. One person comes out, and another goes in.

  The one who sneaks in is me.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE CHURCHLIKE COURTROOM IS VERY quiet. Wooden pews fill the center and face what looks almost like an altar. Up high, behind a looming wooden desk, sits Judge Steinman. I slide into a nearby pew and hunch down low, hoping he can’t see me.

  On one side of the judge is another row of seats facing sideways. There, chained to a group of men, is Daddy.

  He hangs his head and doesn’t look up when I stare at him. Mrs. Craig is right. He looks different without his hat and boots and jeans. He thrums his fingers nervously on the knees of his orange jumpsuit. Finally he turns his head and looks at me. His face is thinner than I remember. His cheekbones stand out, and his eyes look sunken and dark.

  I bite the inside of my lip, trying to be the brave girl he taught me to be. I want to run over to him and tell him how sorry I am for getting us caught and how it is all my fault that they locked Anna up in that dumb residential center. I want to tell him that I wouldn’t have gone to the 7-Eleven and stolen the paper towels if we’d had more to eat at home.

  When he realizes it’s me, his eyes light up. I love you. He mouths the words.

  I was at the ocean once. It was so powerful, it scared me. We walked for miles on the beach, gathering shells and listening to the waves pound and then rush up to splash around our feet. The water was numbing cold. That’s how cold my feet feel now.

  “Court is in session, please rise,” a man says, and everyone stands up. I look around and stand up with everyone else.

  “You may sit,” the low voice announces, and everyone sits, making a sound like pillows bumping.

  The judge gives Daddy permission to talk.

  “Please, Your Honor. If you’ll just give me another chance. I love my kids.”

  I swallow hard. His words sound muffled and far away, as if I’m laying my head against his chest and hearing them from the inside out.

  The judge says that while he feels sorry for Daddy’s poor choices, he’s had more than enough chances to turn his life around, and that we deserve to be in a home where we are safe and well cared for.

  My head feels too heavy to lift, even though I know Daddy is looking at me. I know he’s crying, too, because his voice sounds pinched and broken.

  “Your Honor—” he begs.

  Mrs. Craig’s hands clamp on my shoulders. I barely feel myself stand as she leads me to the door. My legs are stiff wooden pegs.

  “Let’s go,” she whispers.

  The judge looks up and sees us and motions permission for us to leave.

  I take one last look. Everything in me says to run—to find a hiding place, like I did for all of Anna’s wet sheets, and wait for him.

  No. No more running. I steal one more look at Daddy. He slumps on the seat, looking like his heart has just broken in two.

  * * *

  Leaving the courthouse, I kind of know what it must feel like walking away from a cemetery. You know someone has died. You know they’re buried. You know they won’t just rise out of the earth and follow you, but something deep inside of you says that they can, and that they will, so you cling to that hope.

  “Like I said, he’s going to appeal,” Mrs. Craig warns the Chandlers on the way out.

  Appeal. A peel. I picture Mrs. Chandler’s glass apple shattering.

  “Who can blame him? If it were me, I’d be fighting with all I had to keep Sara,” Mr. Chandler says, gluing the broken apple pieces back together again.

  “I still love him,” I blurt when we reach the car.

  “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” my new mom answers. “I mean that, Sara. We’re not trying to take you away from your mom and dad. We want to give you a home and be the family who can love and take care of you.”

  I believe her. “Do you think Daddy will ever get better?”

  My new dad takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he gets in the car and buckles his seat belt. “I don’t know if he’ll get any better or not, Sara. A lot of times we learn from experience.

  “Unfortunately,” he adds, “some experiences are more painful than others.” More belt buckles click, locking us all in.

  We drive for a long time, with everyone deep in thought, but the deepest thoughts are buried inside me.

  The sun beats warm against my cheek through the open window. Wind whips through my hair as I watch buildings flicker past. It’s like seeing in reverse what I saw coming to the courthouse. I soon start to recognize stores, street signs, trees, and neighborhoods.

  Except for that one awful time before Anna and I got split up, we had always been together, seeing the same thing. Now she’s at the rehabilitation center going through big changes, and I’m an Olson-Chandler, trying to get the name to fit me and sound natural to my ears.

  “Take time,” Ben would say. And he’s right. Not everything feels natural right away.

  “Did I ever thank you for getting the rehab center to say yes about Anna having a therapy animal to help her get better?” I ask, breaking the long silence.

  Mom’s shoulders relax as she glances at Dad and then turns to look at me over the seat. “Did we tell you that she might qualify for equine therapy?”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’ll get to work with horses.”

  “They’ll let horses into the rehab center?”

  They grin. “No, no horses in the center; she will get to go to the Center for Hope through Equestrian Therapy. There, Anna will be assigned a horse, and a therapist who can help her deal with her emotions.”

  I grin. “That sounds great, though I can’t picture Anna on a horse.”

  “Little steps, Sara. They won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do, but I bet she will want to ride and care for the horse, and that it will help her put everything into place,” Dad says, when we reach our street.

  “What a great day this is turning out to be,” Mom adds.

  I know I’ll never stop thinking about Mama and Daddy, where they are and what they’re doing. I know I’ll keep looking into faces I pass on the street, wondering if that’s them and if they’ll know it’s me. But I also know as well as I know my name is now Sara Rose Olson-Chandler that my home is here, with my new family.

  And maybe, someday, Anna will find a loving home too.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  GETTING SEPARATED FROM PARENTS AT an early age, and then getting sepa
rated from one’s siblings, is something no child should ever have to experience. Some kids are lucky and are placed in loving foster homes, or adopted into caring families. Others are virtually left to fend for themselves.

  The foster care system in our country is flawed. Caseworkers are given hundreds of cases to manage on no time and little pay, most doing what they can to help accommodate these displaced kids. Residence facilities are overcrowded. Certainly a lot has changed since I was in an orphanage and separated from my parents and siblings. Conditions have improved. But the fact is there are still kids having kids; parents incapable of or inexperienced with being effective parents; and angry, hurting, neglected kids trying to find their way through a maze of uncertainty.

  I wrote Sara Lost and Found to share a little of my own personal experience, to give foster and adopted kids a voice, and to bring awareness to a painful abscess in our society that needs healing. It’s not going to just go away. Look around. See what you can do to help. Become a Big Brother or Big Sister. Support programs that help kids through therapy. Look into fostering a child or adopting. Write. Educate. Open your hearts. Be part of the solution.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  MY DEEPEST GRATITUDE GOES FIRST and foremost to God and my faithful guardian angels, who have always been there for me; to my incredible sons, Michael, Adam, and Jon; to my adoptive parents and brother, Ken, who bravely took on a feisty six-year-old so many years ago; and to my courageous siblings, Glenda, Harv, and Eileen, whose paths were anything but smooth. Heartfelt gratitude also goes to my first editor, Deke Castleman, who patiently worked through each paragraph, smoothing the bumps and nurturing the bruises; to Steve Mooser and Lin Oliver, for giving writers and illustrators the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), a sanctuary of support, connection, learning, and opportunity; to the Institute of Children’s Literature, where I cut my teeth in editing and instruction; to Tom, Vicki, Judy, Sharon, Brooks, Gina, Gwyn, Kathy, Richard, Pat, Neil, Jay, Coni, and all my friends and colleagues who have been so supportive and encouraging; to Archway Publishing, which saw merit in the manuscript; and to Fiona Simpson, my editor at Aladdin and Simon & Schuster, for her keen eye, insightful comments, and belief in the importance of the topic.