Kids by Christmas

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “But before that, when she felt better. Did she sew for you? Paint your fingernails?”

  “She didn’t sew. I guess I helped with dinner sometimes. You know. And she took us to the library.” She pressed her lips together. “I remember her pushing me on a swing.”

  Suzanne looked at the seven-year-old. “What do you remember, Jack? Did she teach you to throw a ball, or read to you?”

  “Mommy read all the time,” he whispered. “She still read to me sometimes, before…” His voice died.

  Before their mom hadn’t woken up.

  “This must be really scary for you.” Suzanne took a deep breath. “I’m scared.”

  They both looked at her. “Why?” Sophia asked.

  “Because adopting someone is a huge commitment. And the truth is, I’ve never been a mom. I don’t remember mine as well as I wish I did. So I don’t know how great I’ll be at this. And I don’t want to disappoint a boy or girl who trusts me.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to take us?” Clearly, Sophia was used to taking the lead. “Because that’s okay. Other people have come and decided they weren’t going to.”

  Hurting at her brave attempt to sound as if she didn’t care, Suzanne shook her head. “No, that isn’t what I’m saying. I guess I’m asking you what you’re hoping for in a family. Did you really want to have a dad? Or a certain kind of mom?”

  Sophia frowned. “What do you mean, a certain kind of mom?”

  “Oh…” She thought. “One who laughs a lot, or is really pretty and smells good. Maybe a mom who’s there every day when you get home from school, so you don’t have to go to day care. Or parents who have lots of money, so you could have something you’ve always dreamed about.”

  “Like a horse, you mean?”

  “Like that,” she agreed.

  “I don’t know about a dad. ’Cause we’ve never had one. Right, Jack?”

  He nodded.

  “And my mom. Maybe she was pretty before she got sick. I don’t remember.”

  “Do you have pictures?” Suzanne asked gently.

  She nodded. “We have a box of stuff.”

  Suzanne waited.

  “We want a dog,” the ten-year-old declared. “Or a cat. We couldn’t have a pet before. Because we moved a lot, to places where you couldn’t have one. Do you have a dog?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t mind getting one. I do have a fenced backyard.”

  Jack looked up, his face filled with naked hope. “Do you have a house? A real house?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s not fancy, but it has three bedrooms. You could each have your own room if you wanted. And it has an old apple tree in the backyard that’s perfect for climbing. I like to garden, so in the spring there will be daffodils and a big lilac in bloom.” She could tell from their faces that they didn’t care about the flowers. “The bedrooms are really plain right now, but we could decorate them the way you liked.”

  “I could have my very own?” Sophia spoke as if the idea was wondrous beyond imagining. And perhaps it was, for a child who’d probably shared a single hotel room with her mother and brother for nearly as long as she could remember.

  “Yep. I thought you might like to share for a while, until you got used to living with me, but that would be up to you.”

  “Jack wets his bed.”

  The boy jerked as if in protest, but didn’t say anything.

  “We got in trouble a lot, because the hotel managers didn’t like the smell.”

  Oh, dear. Suzanne had forgotten the bit about Jack having regressed to some infantile behaviors. How did you help someone not wet the bed?

  “You know what?” she said with false confidence. “He’ll outgrow it, just like other kids. Who ever heard of a grown-up wetting the bed?”

  “Our last foster mom spanked him when he peed in his bed.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Suzanne saw Melissa’s face harden.

  “Do you spank?” Sophia asked.

  Suzanne shook her head. “No. I don’t believe in it. And besides, bed-wetting is something Jack can’t help.”

  “He sucks his thumb, too.”

  “I do not!” the boy flared.

  Lifting her brows, Suzanne looked at his sister. “Do you have any bad habits? Things you do you’re not supposed to?”

  She seemed interested in the idea. “I punched a boy at school. I had to go to the principal’s office.”

  “Why did you punch him?”

  “He called me a name.”

  She hardly blinked, that intense gaze fixed on Suzanne, who wondered if she was being tested. What will you do when I’m bad? she seemed to be asking.

  “Did you try telling an adult what he’d said?”

  Sophia shook her head. “I was mad.”

  “We all get mad without hitting people.” To avoid a continuing debate, Suzanne asked, “What else?”

  “Mostly I just get mad. I told a teacher last year he was a big fat liar.”

  Well, that had probably gone over well.

  “What did you do when you got mad at your mom?”

  For a moment, her long, dark lashes veiled her eyes. “I didn’t get mad at her.”

  “I was mad at mine for dying. Really mad.”

  “I’m not.” But that unnervingly direct gaze didn’t meet Suzanne’s.

  She knew a lie when she heard one, but let it pass.

  “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

  They were momentarily silenced. Then Jack whispered something to his sister, who said, “Can we see your house?”

  How humbling to know that they were more interested in her home than in her.

  Sitting to one side, Melissa smiled. “That will be for another visit, kids. In fact, I have an appointment, so it’s time for Suzanne and I to go. Jack, will you go let Mrs. Burton know we have to leave?”

  He nodded, slipped off the couch and went down the hall.

  “Would we still go to the same school?” Sophia asked.

  Suzanne shook her head. “I live in Edmonds, so you’d have to transfer there. I know it’s hard to move in the middle of the year….”

  “I hate it here,” she said with startling vehemence. “I want to move.”

  “What about Jack?”

  “Kids pick on him. He doesn’t like it either.”

  Oh, Lord! What was she getting into? Suzanne asked herself, knowing full well she’d long since made a decision. Jack and Sophia had no resemblance to her dream child, who neither wet beds nor slugged other kids, but were also far more real, more needy and interesting and full of promise.

  She hoped they liked her, but would settle for them liking her house.

  The foster mother reappeared and they said their goodbyes. The children stood in front of Mrs. Burton on the front porch and watched as Suzanne and Melissa went to the car and drove away.

  “So, what do you think?” Melissa laughed. “Or do I have to ask?”

  “Wow.” Suzanne felt dazed and a little limp, now that it was over. “I think I’m even more scared than I was on the way over.”

  “And with good reason! Sophia is…unusual.”

  “She is, isn’t she? But amazing, too. She’s so strong! At her age, I was timid and apologetic and unwilling ever to cause trouble or draw attention to myself.”

  “She won’t be easy to parent,” Melissa warned. “You did notice her challenging you?”

  “I suspected. But that’s going to happen with any child, isn’t it? Unless I start with a toddler.”

  “Yes, but most kids would wait a while. They’re usually saintly for a few months. Then, at some point, they start wondering if these new parents would want them if they weren’t so good, if they really love them. That’s when the tough times start. Now, with Sophia…”

  “They’ve already begun?”

  Melissa had a hearty laugh. “Something like that.”

  “I like her.” She thought. “Did you see her when I suggested she might be mad at her
mother for dying?”

  “I did. But she can’t let herself, so she’ll be mad at everyone else instead.”

  “When can I see them again?” Suzanne asked.

  Melissa laughed again. “Are you sure you don’t want to let first impressions settle a little?”

  “But it was such a short visit. I’m not sure I can wait for days and days.”

  “I can ask whether Mrs. Burton could bring them over Saturday for a while.”

  Suzanne turned a hopeful gaze on the caseworker. “Please.”

  Another laugh. “I’ll call her.” But her expression was serious when she said, “But you have to promise not to rush into anything, either. You’re right. It is a big commitment. The adoption won’t be final for months, so you have time to back out, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how tough that would be on the kids.”

  Her excitement dimmed. “I know it would. I won’t make up my mind for sure until we get a chance to spend more time together.”

  “That’s all I ask. And here we are.” She signaled to turn into the parking lot in front of the adoption agency. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Burton and give you a call.”

  “Thank you,” Suzanne said fervently.

  She drove back to her shop wishing she could rush home instead and prepare. What she’d actually do to prepare, she wasn’t sure. Paint the bedrooms tonight? But she’d already promised to let them choose their own decor. Clean house? Well, she had to do that tomorrow anyway. With the long hours at Knit One, Drop In, Sunday was no day of rest for her. But maybe she could get started tonight. Vacuum and scrub the bathroom. She’d put out her prettiest guest towels.

  Suzanne made a face in the rearview mirror. As if they’d care. The only time she could ever remember as a child even noticing someone’s towels was when she’d gone to a sleepover at a classmate’s house and found out her family was really rich. The bathroom fixtures were shiny gold, maybe even plated with real gold. The floor was stone with pale veins running through it—marble, she’d later realized. And the towels were half an inch thick, a deep maroon jacquard, incredibly soft and textured in a basket weave. They were nothing like the towels at Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Miles’s house.

  Even if Suzanne’s house was a step up from the cheap hotels where Sophia and Jack were used to living, there was nothing about it to dazzle them. Certainly not her best guest towels.

  But she would put them out anyway. And she’d bake something, so the house smelled homey and welcoming. She’d wash the windows in the two bedrooms, too, so they would sparkle and let in whatever sunlight was available.

  At the shop she thanked Rose and resigned herself to making it through the last hour before closing. Traffic was heavy with Christmas so close. She had knit several afghans hoping to sell them as Christmas gifts, and they had gone way back in early November as had several baby sweaters. Next year, she’d try to have more items available for sale. Perhaps some of her customers would like to offer hand-knit items on consignment. But shoppers were also buying gift certificates for classes as well as yarn, knitting books and individual patterns. And more people were discovering her store, just because they were out shopping anyway.

  At 4:45 p.m. Melissa called. “Mrs. Burton says she’d be glad to bring the kids over. If you’re okay with them on your own, she could leave them for an hour or two while she grocery shops.”

  “That sounds great,” Suzanne agreed. “One o’clock? Perfect!”

  She waited on a couple more customers and pretended to be interested in their crochet projects, but was secretly dying to close and go home. She could hardly wait to call Carrie and tell her… But then, on a wave of disappointment, she remembered that Mark and Carrie were going out tonight. They’d gotten a babysitter for Michael and were having dinner at Le Gourmand and then going to see a play at the Intiman. And Rebecca and Gary had flown to Chicago this weekend because he had a business meeting Monday morning and they thought they could take a couple of days to themselves in advance. Rebecca hadn’t found a wedding dress she liked in Santa Fe and intended to shop in Chicago while he was conducting business.

  Turning the sign to Closed, Suzanne opened the till and thought, I’ll call a friend. But it was an awful time of day to call anyone who already had a family. They’d all be making dinner or sitting down to eat by the time she got home. Frustrated, Suzanne promised herself that she’d call everyone she knew later tonight.

  The trouble was, she felt like a child bursting with news. She wanted to tell someone right now, not two hours from now.

  Well, tough. She wasn’t a child, and her news could hold. She’d vacuum instead.

  Pulling into her driveway, she glanced as she almost always did toward her next-door neighbor’s house. The light in his front window was on, and she saw the blue flicker of a television. He was probably watching the six o’clock news. Somehow she couldn’t imagine him sitting in front of a rerun of Friends or Full House. No, he was definitely the news type.

  He might like to know about the children who would be visiting tomorrow and might be living next door.

  The thought crept in out of nowhere, startling her.

  She wasn’t friends with Tom Stefanec. They rarely exchanged more than a few words. She made sure they didn’t.

  It was probably dumb, but she’d been self-conscious around him since he’d moved in. She’d still been married, but her marriage had been disintegrating. She and Josh had seemed to yell at each other constantly, and neighbors—or one particular neighbor—had had to call the police to report domestic disturbances. Twice.

  She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye since.

  But he had never, not once, referred in any way to Josh or those ugly fights. Tom had been really nice since he’d found out she wanted to adopt. He’d mowed her lawn the whole last month of fall so she didn’t have to get her mower fixed before spring. He knew she wanted the house to look extra nice when the caseworker did a home visit. Suzanne had noticed that her lawn looked better than it ever had after a few weeks of his attention, too. She suspected he’d fertilized it with a weed and feed, which had killed some of the dandelions.

  Ever since, he’d asked regularly if she’d heard from the adoption agency. She didn’t know whether he was just being polite or really hoped for her sake that she had. But he did seem interested.

  She’d never actually gone to his door and rung the bell before, but she could. Since he did often ask, and since the kids were coming tomorrow, it would be the civil thing to do, wouldn’t it? Instead of him seeing them and her having to say, Oh, I forgot to tell you that the caseworker did call.

  Besides… She really wanted to tell someone.

  Taking a deep breath, she got out of her car, hurried into her house to deposit her purse and the day’s receipts on the small table just inside and then, instead of going to the kitchen to find something for dinner, she went back out and marched across the strip of lawn that separated her driveway from her neighbor’s. Her feet carried her up his walkway and onto his porch.

  Her courage was already faltering by the time she rang the doorbell, but she didn’t let herself chicken out. They were neighbors. She’d known him for years. It was silly to be shy.

  Besides, he might have seen her coming onto the porch through the big front window. She couldn’t flee.

  The light came on and the door opened. He filled the opening, wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and slippers. Somehow he was always so much larger than she remembered.

  “Suzanne!” he said in surprise. “Are you okay?”

  Apparently he figured the only reason she’d come knocking was if she desperately needed help. And who could blame him since she’d never made the slightest overture of friendship before?

  She produced a smile. “I’m fine. I just stopped by to let you know that I finally heard from the agency.”

  He stood back. “Come on in. Sit down and tell me about it.”

  She hesitated.

  “Aren’t you having dinner, or�
��”

  Or what? Entertaining? She hardly ever saw anyone else at his house. She didn’t know if he did entertain.

  “Haven’t even started to cook yet. I just got home and thought I’d have a beer and watch the news.” He picked up the remote control and turned the television off. “None of it’s good, anyway.”

  “I know what you mean.” Feeling timid, she stepped inside.

  Trying not to be too obvious, she took a swift look around. His two-story house was more imposing than her small rambler, but in all her years here she’d never even peeked in his front window.

  His living room was more welcoming than she would have expected. It was dominated by the big-screen television, but that was probably a man thing. His recliner was large, too, but then it had to be, didn’t it? The sofa was soft rather than spare looking, and a pair of bookcases flanking the fireplace were filled with hundreds of books, a mix of fiction and non-fiction.

  “Please. Sit down.” He closed the door behind her and gestured toward the couch. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or a beer?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She did perch at one end of the couch, her thigh muscles remaining tense. “Thank you. I really didn’t intend to stay. I just wanted to share my news.”

  For some reason, as he sat back down in the recliner she fixated on his slippers. They were perfectly ordinary, brown leather with a dark fleecy lining. But his ankles were bare, and the very sight of him in slippers somehow created a tiny shift in the universe. Tom Stefanec was so disciplined, so boot-camp sergeant with that buzz-cut hair, she’d never pictured him coming home like other people and changing immediately into old jeans, a sloppy sweatshirt and slippers.

  “Were you in the military?” she blurted, then was immediately embarrassed. “I’m sorry! That’s none of my…”

  “That obvious?” He gave a crooked smile, either chagrined on his own behalf or amused at her discomfiture, she wasn’t sure. His homely face was considerably more attractive when he smiled, a realization that startled her.

  “Well, it’s just…” Frantically, she searched for words. “Oh, you wear your hair so short and, um, you obviously keep in good shape, and…” She couldn’t think of anything else and trailed off, embarrassed yet again that she’d admitted to noticing the powerful muscles emphasized by the well-worn jeans.