Authors: Deanndra Hall
The drive is torture. We’re both as nervous as a new dad in a maternity ward. “So, was the realtor positive?”
I nod. “Yeah. She said she thought both places would move pretty quickly and if they don’t, she’ll help us with a bridge loan as soon as we find something we like.”
“Is she going to start looking for something for us?”
I nod again. “Yeah, and right now too. I told her living room, dining room, eat in kitchen, den, four bedrooms, three and a half baths, laundry room, and a good-sized yard. And preferably in the Hanover school district.”
She nods vigorously. “That sounds perfect. Do I look okay?”
That makes me chuckle. “Why do women always ask that in instances where their appearance has absolutely
nothing
to do with the outcome of things?”
“I have no idea. We just do,” she says with a shrug.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you look amazing. But then you always do.” I can’t help but beam as I’m watching the traffic. I have a beautiful wife and I don’t mind saying so, especially to her.
“You look amazing too, you know. You’re probably the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met.”
One eyebrow shoots up and I stare at her as best I can while I drive. “Me? I’m gorgeous? Seriously?”
The sarcasm is rolling when she says, “Yes, you. You have to know that. Women are slobbering messes when you’re around.” I know I’m looking at her like she’s crazy, but I can’t help it. “Really, Steffen. I’m not kidding. Remember when we went to the Italian restaurant last week?” I nod. “I went to the restroom. While I was in there, these two women came in. One of them said, ‘Did you see that hunky blond Viking over there across the room? Oh my god, he’s gorgeous.’ And the other one said, ‘Yeah, and he’s with a ginger. I swear, I don’t get what men see in those pasty little red-haired girls.’”
“They said that?” Now I just don’t believe her. She’s making this up.
“They sure did.” Then she laughs. “The first one said, ‘She’s got an amazing rack. It’s gotta be the boobs.’”
That makes
me
laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. They were talking about your boobs?”
“No, silly, they were talking about
you
. My boobs just happened to get mentioned. They are pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.” She slips her hands underneath her tits and hoists them up, and I start laughing right out loud. “What? They are! When you go into the restroom, aren’t the other guys talking about my boobs?”
Now I’m gasping for breath. “No!”
She fakes indignation. “Well. I’m disappointed. The women notice my husband, the blond Viking, but the men don’t even notice my boobs? That’s ridiculous.” I’ve gone from laughing to outright wheezing. “Maybe next time you should start the discussion. You know, ‘Hey, did you guys see the redhead out there with the amazing boobs?’”
“Tits. Guys say tits.” I’m still laughing so hard that I’m shaking all over.
“Ick. Tits. I don’t like that word. I’m sticking with boobs.” She turns and grins at me as soon as I’ve finished parking the car, and she’s still smiling but her face is serious. “I love you, Steffen.”
“I love you too, Sheila Ann Cothran. Always and forever. Let’s go see a couple of kids who need parents, shall we?”
We walk hand in hand into the office where we meet Amy and, and after they’ve verified our identities with our drivers’ licenses, they escort us to a good-sized room full of toys and books and things kids would love. The carpet has alphabet characters printed on it with a little animal incorporated into each one, and there’s a big window where the sun streams in and makes the whole place cheery and bright. The door opens and two small, anxious faces peer around until they find us. Bless their hearts, they’re holding hands. They’ve got to be terrified. “Mr. and Mrs. Cothran, meet Joey and Rachel.” The social worker pushes the children forward but they both try to hang back. I pull out one of the teeny-tiny chairs at the teeny-tiny table and drop all six feet and three inches of me into it. Maybe I won’t look so imposing if I’m sitting down. Beside me, Sheila does the same. “I’ll leave you four alone to get acquainted. Have fun.” With that, she heads out the door and closes it behind her and, glancing back at her, I see Amy standing there. I suppose she’s going to observe too. Both kids watch her go, then turn back to us, trepidation all over their faces. Bless her heart, Sheila gets the ball rolling.
“So, I’m Sheila, and this is my husband, Steffen. And you’re Joey and Rachel, right?”
The little boy squeezes his sister’s hand even tighter before he answers. “Yes, ma’am.”
“So, Joey, what’s your favorite thing to eat?”
He thinks for a minute. “Hot dogs.”
I grin. “Mine too! Especially at the ball park. I love hot dogs from the ball park, with relish and mustard and ketchup.”
He nods. “I’ve never been to a ball park.”
For me, that’s hard to believe, but I’m sure, in his instance, it’s true. “Would you like to go sometime?”
“Yes, sir.” He’s still not smiling, but he doesn’t seem quite so frightened.
“So, missy,” I say, directing my question to Rachel, “what kind of animals do you like?”
Very quietly, so quietly that I can barely hear her, she replies, “I. Like. Ponies. And. Dogs.”
Sheila pipes up. “I do too. I had a dog when I was about your age. Her name was Princess. She was my best friend.” There’s a sadness in Sheila’s smile, and I wonder: Does she still miss that dog after all these years? Yeah, it’s pretty obvious she does. I make a mental note: Dog for her birthday.
“What. Happened. To. Your. Dog?” She’s so afraid that her speech is halting. Poor kid.
Sheila smiles. “She got old and she died. And I cried for a month.”
“I would too,” Rachel whispers out. “Do you have a dog now?”
“No, but I’d like one.” Sheila turns and smiles at me.
I grin back at her. “Already duly noted.” From that, I get a big return grin out of her. About that time, Joey speaks up.
“So how many kids do you have?”
I smile at him. “None. We just got married. We need some kids, and we’re looking for some kids who need us.”
My heart breaks when Rachel whispers, “I need a mom.” One glance tells me that Sheila’s biting back tears.
“So if you could pick a mom, what would she look like?” I ask the child. She stands and thinks for a minute.
“I’d want her to be pretty.”
“Yeah? That would be good, huh?”
She nods. “And have a nice smile. And nice hair.”
“Oh yeah?” I decide to try something. “What color hair would you want her to have?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe orange?”
“Really? She sounds pretty already. What kinds of things would you like for her to do with you?”
“Drive me to school maybe. Make dinner. Hold my hand when we go to the store. Stuff like that. Mom stuff.”
“Yeah, mom stuff,” Joey repeats. “Maybe pop popcorn? And show me how to make my bed?”
This is tearing me apart. These kids are trying so hard to get us to like them. I’m trying to find a way to let them know that we already do when I decide to play another card. “Did you know we looked at a kid catalog?”
Rachel’s little brow furrows. “A kid catalog?”
“Yeah. One of the adoption worker ladies brought a bunch of kid catalogs to our house. You know, kind of like a big book of kids that we could choose from.”
Joey’s eyes go wide. “Did you choose some kids?”
Sheila jumps in. “Actually, we did. Two.”
Rachel’s voice trembles when she asks, “What are their names?”
I hear Sheila almost let out a sob when she says, “Oh, you might know them. They’re named Joey and Rachel.”
Joey’s eyes go wide. “You picked us from the catalog?”
I smile at the little boy. “Yes, we did. We looked at a lot of kids’ pictures, but we just kept coming back to yours. But we were really, really worried.”
His eyes widen again. “Why?”
I give him a little shrug. “We were afraid you wouldn’t like us. Like maybe you’d looked in the parents catalog and found someone you’d like better. We were hoping you’d give us a chance.”
I watch the small boy look down at his even smaller sister, then squeeze her hand. “We could talk about it, I guess. But there’s no parents catalog. We don’t get to choose.”
“Yes you do. If you tell us you don’t like us, we’ll leave and let you choose someone else.”
Bless her heart, the little one begins to cry and I feel horrible until she sputters out, “Please don’t leave! We like you, honest! Don’t leave.” Then I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
“Hey, we brought you something. Come here.” When Rachel steps toward me, I reach into my pocket and pull out the brightly-colored length of braided cord.
“What is it?”
“Hold your arm out.” When she does, I take the cord, wrap it around her wrist twice, and then tie it. “It’s a friendship bracelet. If something happens that we never see each other again, I want you to look down at it and remember that you have a friend. No matter what, I’ll always be your friend.”
She stares at the bracelet like I’ve just given her a piece from Tiffany’s. “Thank you, Mr. Steffen. I’m your friend too.”
“Good. Joey, I think Sheila has something for you.”
“What? What is it?” Both of us can hear the excitement in his voice.
Sheila opens her bag and pulls something metal out. “They’re dog tags, just like soldiers wear! And they’ve got your name on them, see?”
“I can’t read good. What do they say?” he asks, standing beside her and trying to peek over at them in her hand without getting too close, like he’s afraid she’s going to grab him or something.
“Well, this one says, ‘Joey is awesome!’ And this one says, ‘Always friends.’” She slips the chain over his head and the tags clink as they come to rest on his little chest. “If we don’t see you again, at least you can remember us.”
“We’d never forget you, right, Rachel?”
Those words. I feel Sheila tremble beside me and I know she’s about to come undone, so I reach out, wrap an arm around her, and pull her up against me. When she turns her reddened eyes up to mine, I drop a soft little kiss on her forehead and smile at her. “We’d never forget you guys either. But I hope we don’t have to worry about that. I hope we see a lot more of each other really soon.”
Now Rachel gets bold. She comes over and leans up against my knees, puts her hands on my thighs, and stares up into my face. “Do you have a house?”
“Yes. But we’re going to sell it and her house and buy a bigger house with more bedrooms and a big back yard.”
“That’s cool. Do you have a basketball goal?” Joey asks.
“No, but I want one. Would you like to play basketball with me?”
“Yeah! I wanna slam dunk. I need a shorter goal.”
“And I know where they sell those. So,” I start, venturing out into dark waters and hoping somebody throws me a line, “if we can work it out, would you like to come and visit our house? Look around, see if you like it there? I mean, we’re getting a new one, but in the meantime, it’s the only house we’ve got and it’s pretty nice.”
Rachel’s still staring into my face. “So do you want more kids?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that when we saw your pictures, we didn’t look at any more. We knew you were the kids for us.”
“That’s good. Because I don’t want to share a mama and daddy with a million billion kids. Just Joey.” Rachel’s scowling and she’s pretending to be fearsome. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, no. We wouldn’t want that either,” Sheila breaks in. “The first two kids wouldn’t get enough attention that way. No, we just want enough kids that we can spend lots of time with them so they’re really happy and we all really, really love each other.”
Rachel’s head snaps over to look at Sheila and she says in a very matter-of-factly, patronizing tone, “Don’t worry. You’re pretty enough to be my mom.” I can tell my wife doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh until I start to laugh, and she smiles a big, broad smile.
It’s time. I just look from one little face to the other and I have to ask, “So, do the two of you think you could ever choose us out of all the other people who would be good parents? Do you think you might be interested in trying us out, giving us a chance?”
I watch as Joey looks down at his little sister and the little girl closes her eyes and gives him one tiny nod. He turns back to me. “Yeah. I think we’d like to give you a chance if you want. You seem pretty nice.”
I let out a big, deep breath. “Well, okay then! Honey, how about you? Does that sound good to you?”
Sheila grins. “That sounds excellent! So you guys work on it from your end and we’ll work on it from ours, and your people can talk to our people and maybe we can get it all worked out. Sound good?”
“Yep. And I’d like some cupcakes please. You do know how to make cupcakes, right?” Joey doesn’t pull any punches. He knows what he wants and he doesn’t mind asking, obviously.
“Oh, yes! I sure do!”
“Yeah, she’s going to make someone an awesome mom because she makes really, really awesome cupcakes!” I grin at both kids. “Really awesome. You won’t believe it.”
“I like chocolate!” Joey yells and starts to bounce up and down.
“And I like chocolate chip!” Rachel yells out, bouncing up and down just like Joey and clapping her hands together softly.
Joey frowns at her. “There’s no such thing as chocolate chip cupcakes.”
Sheila laughs. “I’ll check on that and if I can find a recipe, I’ll make some!”
Before we can say another word, the social worker comes through the door. “So, how’s it going in here?” I know she’s been watching us through the two-way mirror, and I’m sure there’s a microphone to pick up our conversation.
“It’s going GREAT!” Joey shouts out, his voice rising a in timbre and volume far above an “inside” level. “They’re nice! She’s gonna make us cupcakes!” He points at her and grins. “Miss Sheila!”
“Miss! Sheila! Miss! Sheila!” Rachel chants and claps harder as she hops up and down.
The social worker is grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Well, looks like the four of you had a good time! It’s time to go. Say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Cothran, kids.”
“Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Coffin,” Rachel calls out as she’s led away. “Bye! Bye!”