Janice Johnson - Kids by Christmas

How horrible it must be to be looked over like apples in the produce section, put back when buyers saw a bruise. She didn’t want to do something like that, but it would also be disastrous if she took on something she couldn’t handle.

Someone, she reminded herself. Not a situation. Kids.

The door opened without warning. It had to be the foster mom who smiled and pushed open the screen. “Melissa. Hi! The kids have been waiting. You must be Suzanne. Hello.”

She was in her sixties or perhaps even seventies, and overweight. She moved as if she hurt.

The television in the living room was on, a well-known talk-show host grilling someone to the shrill encouragement of the audience. She turned it off and called, “Kids! Melissa is here!”

There was a moment of silence. Then one of the bedroom doors down a short hall opened and two kids came out. The boy had his head hanging, but the girl ignored the other two adults and studied Suzanne with frightening intensity as she sauntered behind her brother. Suzanne could see right away why Melissa had warned her. It was more than the breasts. It was that hip-swinging walk, the curl to her mouth, the ferocity of that stare. No, this wasn’t your average ten-year-old. She might have had trouble fitting in with other girls her age even under normal circumstances.

“Sophia, Jack,” Melissa said. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Chauvin.”

The boy stole a quick look up at her, then ducked his head again. The girl stopped and appraised her.

“Hi,” Suzanne said. “I’m glad to meet you after Melissa told me so much about you.”

“Why don’t you have kids of your own?” Sophia asked, with a tone of insolence. Why are you such a loser? she seemed to be asking.

“Sophia!” the foster mom intervened. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“No, it’s okay. My husband and I hadn’t started a family before we got divorced. Since I’ve always wanted to have children, I chose to adopt.”

“So how come us?”

It was as if no one else was there, just Suzanne and this dark-haired girl with riveting blue eyes.

“Because Melissa told me about you, and I thought we might be a good fit. My parents both died when I was six years old, so I know better than most people how you feel right now.”

The girl’s mask slipped. “Did you get adopted?”

Suzanne shook her head. “My aunt and uncle took me in, even though I don’t think they really wanted any more children. They had two of their own. But they surrendered my little brother and sister. They were adopted by other families.”

Sophia cast a shocked glance at her little brother, who had finally lifted his head and was watching Suzanne and his sister with eyes that were a paler blue than hers. His hair was lighter, too, the shade of brown that might become blond after a summer in the sun.

“So you never saw them again?” the girl asked.

“Not until this year. I hired a private investigator to find them.”

“Oh.”

When she fell silent, Melissa smiled and moved forward. “Why don’t we all sit down so you can get acquainted?”

The kids went docilely to the sofa and sat next to each other. The boy leaned against his big sister.

Jack was small for his age, Suzanne decided, and made smaller by a posture that suggested he wanted to disappear. In contrast, his sister was nearly as tall as Suzanne already, and with that disconcertingly curvaceous body, no one would have guessed that only three years separated the two children in age.

Suzanne chose the recliner facing them. Melissa spoke quietly for a moment to the foster mother, who said, “I’m going to lie down for a few minutes. You just call me when you’re done.”

“Tell me about your mom,” Suzanne suggested.

Jack ducked his head again.

Sophia jerked her shoulders. “She was sick. She couldn’t walk. Sometimes she, like, fainted or something and wouldn’t wake up for a long time.”

“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.