The Perfect Child

by Berry, Lucinda

“I can’t get into this argument with you again.” I waved her off.

  “Fine. It’s not like anything I say will make a difference anyway.” She pursed her lips and stared out the window.

  Dr. Chandler advised us to get Janie into another school and said it might take a while to find a good fit, so we didn’t waste any time getting her into the Montessori school that was second on our list. We had to drive all the way across the city to get there, but we didn’t have another choice. I sat down with Janie the night before her first day and explained how important it was for her to have good behavior at school. We went over what was expected of her just like we’d done in our session with Dr. Chandler the previous day.

  Janie didn’t even last a week at her new school. She had the same type of behavior problems that she had had at Exploring Times. They weren’t nearly as tolerant as the other school had been, and she crossed the line when she soiled herself, grabbed a hunk of her poop, and flung it at the wall. This time, the director didn’t bother scheduling a meeting with us. She emailed us and asked us not to bring her back on Monday.

  “Janie, why did you do that at school today?” I asked as we walked out of the school.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Can we play Candy Land when we get home? Please?”

  “We’re not talking about Candy Land right now. We want to know why you pooped your pants at school and threw it.” Hannah looked furious.

  “I don’t like school.” She grinned at us. There was no mistaking the pride on her face. My stomach rolled.

  Hannah turned to look at me with the most “I told you so” expression I’d ever seen her wear.

  CASE #5243

  INTERVIEW:

  PIPER GOLDSTEIN

  “You’re saying that all this time Janie never asked about her mother? She never said anything about Becky?” Ron asked.

  “She didn’t.”

  He looked at me in disbelief. I wasn’t sure he believed much of what I said.

  “And you didn’t think there was anything odd or off about that?” Luke asked. The two of them exchanged a look.

  “No, not at all. Kids who have been traumatized don’t talk about what they went through until they’re safe. I didn’t expect her to talk about it until months down the road.”

  “You at least tried to talk to her about it, though, didn’t you?” Ron asked.

  “Of course I tried. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that. I questioned Janie about her mother.”

  I’d asked all the standard questions. It was one of the reasons our first meeting hadn’t gone well.

  “Can we talk about your mommy?” I had asked that day.

  Janie had stuck out her lip and crossed her stick arms across her chest. “No.”

  “I can see that you don’t want to talk about your mommy. Is it because your mommy is the one who hurt you?”

  She had pointed to the hospital door.

  “We can talk about something else if you’d like, but it’s not time for me to go yet,” I’d said.

  Her eyes had filled with tears. “You go.” She’d pointed to the door again.

  “How about we play with your stuffed animals?” I had picked up the dinosaur and elephant she’d been playing with earlier and danced them on the bed.

  “No!” she’d screamed. “No!”

  I had quickly handed her the toys. “Here you go. You can have them.”

  She’d snatched them from me, hurling them against the wall, and screamed like she was in pain. Two nurses had rushed into the room and run to her bedside. Janie had thrown her arms around the one wearing her hair in a tight bun and buried her face in her chest. Her frail body had shaken with sobs.

  “Make her go. I don’t like Piper. She’s mean.”

  Every conversation we’d had about her mother since then had gone the same way. After a while, I had stopped asking because it didn’t matter. Not as far as my job was concerned. It wasn’t my job to find Becky’s killer—it was theirs.

  “Did she ever speak with the Bauers about what happened in the trailer?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “And they would’ve told you?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Did they ask you what was happening with the case?”

  “They were more concerned with helping Janie transition into their family and society than what was going on in the case.”

  Ron rubbed his chin. “I’m having a hard time believing they weren’t worried about it.”

  “It didn’t seem weird to me at the time. It just didn’t. If it had, I would’ve done something about it.”

  “Really? They were just totally fine with Janie’s mother being left for dead in a closet? The same closet where Janie was tied up before she escaped? They didn’t want the case solved?”

  “They didn’t think it mattered.”

  “What?” Luke snorted. “How could it not matter?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just didn’t.”

  “So then why did you ask them if they still wanted to go through with the adoption?”

  I tried to hide my surprise. Who had they been talking to? Doing my best to appear unmoved, I said, “Yes, I did ask the Bauers if they wanted to go through with the adoption, but only because it’s my legal responsibility to do so. I have to let them know there’s no going back after they sign the adoption paperwork. Once you adopt a child, you retain the same responsibilities you would have if you’d given birth to the child, and you’re legally obligated to care for them until their eighteenth birthday.” My voice grew stronger as I spoke. “Foster-to-adopt parents have the option of deciding not to care for a child any longer. Fostering is often temporary or a trial period to see if they are a good match. Sometimes families are matched with children that aren’t a good fit, or they discover it’s not as easy as they thought it’d be. It’s hard work to foster-adopt a child. Lots of foster parents are relieved when we offer them a way out.”

  “The Bauers still wanted to proceed even with all the difficulties they were already experiencing?” Luke asked.

  “More than ever.”

  I’d never forget the day I had brought them Janie’s new birth certificate, proudly stamped Janie Bauer. I’d waved it in front of them. “It’s official—she’s yours!”

  The two of them had thrown their arms around each other and jumped up and down, spinning around the living room. Janie had danced with them. Christopher’s grin had been so wide you could see what he had looked like as a little boy. He’d grabbed me and pulled me into their circle, twirling me around with them. Their happiness had been contagious, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  The memories hurt. I looked down at my hands twisting on my lap. This case would haunt me in ways I would never forget.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CHRISTOPHER BAUER

  It’d been so long since Hannah and I had been alone at night, and we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We’d been on a handful of dates, but it was the first time we’d been alone together in the house since bringing Janie home. It was Janie’s first night sleeping in her room alone. We’d sleep trained Janie through the SnoozeEasy program that Dr. Chandler had recommended. It was a series of small steps toward sleeping independently that started with me putting a chair next to her bed and getting rid of the pallet on the floor. I sat in the chair while she fell asleep. Gradually, I inched the chair across the room until eventually I was out of her room completely. It wasn’t as hard as I had expected. Maybe it was because we took our time doing it or because she was finally ready. Either way, it worked. Tonight, I’d kissed her good night and walked out. Hannah had checked on her ten minutes ago, and she was fast asleep.

  We sat on the couch in silence. Part of what I loved about Hannah was how easy things were between us. It was always so natural. I had always thought it was odd how you could go from not knowing someone at all to wondering how you’d ever lived without them, but that’s how it was with Hannah. We were
two separate people who balanced each other out like a teeter-totter without even trying. But everything felt strange, and I didn’t know how to act.

  She felt it, too, because she always twirled her hair when she was nervous, and she’d been twisting a chunk around her fingers since I’d sat down. She was afraid to make eye contact; her eyes kept darting around the living room, never still.

  “I think we did the right thing keeping Janie out of school for a while longer,” she said. “School was clearly too much for her too fast.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t want to talk about Janie tonight. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d spent the evening discussing something other than her. Even when we tried, she invariably found her way back into our discussions. “You want a drink?”

  She nodded, looking relieved.

  I jumped up and headed into the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. I reached for our bottles in the liquor cabinet above the refrigerator. The last time we’d shared a drink in the house was during Janie’s welcome-home party. It seemed like ages ago; so much had changed since then. I poured Hannah a glass of her favorite red wine and myself some bourbon. I took a swig from the bottle before screwing the cap back on and returning it to its spot.

  Hannah’s eyes lit up when she saw me coming back into the living room with drinks. I handed hers to her, and she tried to look nonchalant as she tilted it back, but there wasn’t anything casual about her sip. I took a seat next to her. The silence stretched out between us.

  “This is nice,” she said, her body relaxing as she finally settled back into the couch.

  “It is. It feels strange, though, huh?”

  “It does.” She glanced at me shyly.

  I scooted down the couch so I was next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. She nestled up to me like she used to.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said, breathing in the smell of her.

  “I’ve missed you too,” she said. She rubbed her hand on my leg.

  I brought her close and kissed her tenderly. I ran my fingers through her hair, all the way down her back. She kissed me back. I drank in the taste of her before pulling back and gazing into her eyes. She returned my stare with that look—the one reserved only for me. I brushed my hand against her cheek.

  “I couldn’t imagine doing any of this without you,” I said.

  Her eyes burned with longing and love. She took off her shirt and tossed it to the ground. “You don’t have to.”

  We fell back onto the couch, groping and clawing at each other like teenagers. When it was time to go to our bedroom, we tiptoed in as quietly as we could so that we didn’t wake Janie, our hands over our mouths to keep from giggling. We took our time making love, savoring each moment, remembering what it felt like to be close to each other.

  It felt so good that we put Janie to sleep early the next night and tumbled into bed with each other as soon as we were sure she was asleep. We lay curled up next to each other after it was over.

  “Two nights in a row? When’s the last time we did that?” she asked, drawing a design on my chest with her fingers.

  I let out a deep laugh. So much of the frustration and resentment between us was gone, evaporated by taking the time to connect with each other. I couldn’t forget how important she was to me too.

  Our experience wasn’t that different than other first-time parents’. We had thought we were giving up on the traditional kind of parenthood by adopting Janie, but we were baptized into parenthood in the same way every first-time parent was. It was all-encompassing. Everything else was pushed aside, and we went into the baby bubble. It didn’t matter that our baby was six. It was the same thing, but we were finally coming up for air.

  And just like for other new parents, having a child had taken its toll on our marriage. We’d snapped at each other more than we had in our entire decade together. So many of the things that had been the fun intimacy building blocks of our relationship, like binge-watching trashy TV, putting together jigsaw puzzles on the coffee table, and reading books in bed, had fallen by the wayside.

  But there was a certain amount of pride in having survived it together. There were a lot of things that still needed to be said, and some things were still too confusing to put into words, but there would be time to do all that. For now, we were just happy to spend time alone together again and to get to know the new versions of ourselves.

  TWENTY-SIX

  HANNAH BAUER

  Pictures of exotic flowers framed each wall. I pulled the thin white gown around me as I shivered. I glanced at the magazines in the stand underneath the prescription drug brochures and nursing home pamphlets, but I was too anxious to read anything. I couldn’t believe I might be going into menopause at forty-one. I hadn’t had any other symptoms besides my missed periods until I had started feeling exhausted and sluggish, like I could fall asleep at any moment. Lately after we put Janie to sleep, we’d curl up on the couch to watch Netflix, and I was out within ten minutes.

  “Lots of women go through menopause early now,” Allison had said on the phone yesterday, but it hadn’t made me feel any better, seeing as she was almost a year older than me and hadn’t gone into menopause yet.

  I scrolled through my phone, staring at pictures of Janie while I waited for my doctor to come back inside with the results of my blood work. She’d made so much progress in the last two months. She functioned best in a structured environment, and I’d finally found a schedule that worked well for her. The plan had never been that I would turn into a stay-at-home mom, but I’d had to put in a leave of absence at the hospital since I wasn’t going back anytime soon.

  Our days were filled with therapy of every kind—speech, physical, occupational, and play. Most of the therapy rooms had two-way mirrors, where I watched from the other side. I took notes throughout all her sessions so I could replicate the exercises at home.

  Dr. Walsh tapped lightly on the door before entering. “Your blood work came back fine. It doesn’t look like you have any sort of virus. We did find one thing in your urine, though.”

  My stomach flipped. What could they have found in my urine that they wouldn’t have found in my blood? A bladder infection? Sugar? I flipped through scenarios quickly.

  “Don’t look so scared.” Dr. Walsh smiled. “It’s great news—you’re pregnant.”

  Everything spun in front of me. For a second, I thought I might pass out. I grabbed the sides of the hospital bed to steady myself. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” she said, smiling at her own joke.

  I didn’t remember the drive home from the clinic. One minute I was in the doctor’s office finding out I was pregnant, and the next minute I was in the kitchen with my mom. She tried to come visit for a few days every month, and it was a huge help. She’d gotten into town the night before. I was as shocked as if I’d found out I had a brain tumor.

  “What’s wrong? You’re so pale,” Mom said as she pulled one of the barstools out for me. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  I slid onto the chair. “Where’s Janie?” I asked.

  “She’s playing out back with Allison and the boys. Allison texted me on their way home from soccer practice, and I told her to stop by,” she said. “Those boys just love Janie so much. She was great today. She tied her shoes by herself before they went outside.”

  “That’s good,” I said. I fanned myself with my hand, suddenly so hot.

  Mom grabbed one of the other stools and pulled it next to me. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  My throat was so dry it was hard to swallow. My head swirled. “I’m pregnant,” I whispered.

  “What? Did you say you were pregnant?” Her voice reverberated off the kitchen walls.

  I grabbed her arm. “Shhh, don’t yell it out. I don’t want people to know.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s amazing news! I’m so excited for you,” she gushed.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want people to know. I�
��m sure it’s not going to last. I’m just shocked.” My mom and I were close, so I didn’t need to explain my fertility issues to her.

  She looked behind her, making sure the back door was closed, before she spoke again. “How is that possible? How far along are you?”

  “I don’t know.” I still felt like I couldn’t swallow. “Can I have a glass of water?”

  She jumped up and rushed over to the sink, as comfortable in our kitchen as she was in her own. She poured me a glass and brought it back to me. I gulped it down nearly halfway before stopping, wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, and took a deep breath. “I went to the doctor because I thought I was going into early menopause. I missed two periods, and I’m so tired lately, so I figured that’s what was happening.” I burst out laughing. It sounded weird, not like my normal laugh. “She took some routine blood and urine just to see if anything showed up. Turns out”—I pointed to my stomach—“this.”

  “And they’re sure?”

  “The HCG levels don’t lie.” It meant we had gotten pregnant the first night we had made love since bringing Janie home. I blushed at the memory, glad my mom couldn’t read my thoughts.

  “God, I can’t believe it. After all this time. Did you call Christopher on the way home? What’d he say?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to tell him.”

  She snapped her head back. “What?”

  “There’s no sense getting him all worked up when I’m sure I’m just going to have a miscarriage anyway. What’s the point?”

  “Yeah, but don’t you think he’d want to know either way? Especially if you do have a miscarriage—then he can be there for you.”

  Piper had always told us it took a year to adjust, and she had been right. It had been almost nine months since we’d become Janie’s parents, and even though it didn’t look anything like we’d planned, we were reaching a new normal. Over time, three steps forward coupled with two steps backward equaled success. I wanted the miscarriage to hurry up and happen so I could be done with it and we could keep moving forward in our lives.