Desperate (12 page)

O
n the third day of Lily’s fifteenth week (yes, that was how we measured time), the doorbell rang. On our porch stood a rather heavy woman wearing a pink paisley blouse and flowing black skirt. She was in her late fifties, I determined, with shoulder-length brown hair parted down the middle. Her glasses were wire-rimmed—no fashion statement there—but her jewelry, big and colorful beads, along with the rest of her attire, gave off little echoes of her past. It was easy to imagine her at a Grateful Dead show, twirling in the twilight to “Uncle John’s Band.” But her dark eyes were kind, and she was the sort who made anyone feel comfortable in her presence. If Brad were here, he’d probably see a yellow aura bordering on a pure white glow.

“You must be Gage,” the woman said, extending her hand along with a smile. “I’m Margret Dodd, your social worker.” We shook hands, and I noticed the padded folder tucked underneath her arm. I assumed it contained all the paperwork for our home study orientation.

“It’s great to meet you, Margret,” I said, stepping aside. “Please come in. Anna is looking forward to meeting you as well.”

I escorted Margret (it took all of two seconds) through the living room and into our small dining room. If I hadn’t been paying attention, I might not have noticed a slight shift in Margret’s eyes. She was searching our home in the subtlest of ways, looking in this understated manner for signs of future trouble. Did we smoke? Was the home clean? Did we live like respectable people? Could we be trusted to care for this precious gift? I knew she was just doing her job, but it was hard not to feel slightly judged.

We were safe, though. The apartment was probably the cleanest it had been in ages, right down to the freshly washed floor. If anything, the place smelled like a Pine-Sol bomb had gone off.

Anna came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a pot of tea and some milk and sugar. Lily followed on her heels, carrying a tray of cookies neatly arranged in colorful pastry holders.

Lily looked absolutely beautiful. Here was a girl who could be a contestant on
The Bachelor
and receive a rose every single episode, even if she just sat in the corner and sulked. Her hair, freshly washed, shining, flowed with a life force of its own. She wore a long, floral-patterned dress—not her usual black hipster attire—that flattered her narrow shoulders and hips, and she had sandals on her feet. Margret gave me a look as if to say, “Your baby is going to be absolutely gorgeous.”

The tea, the cookies—all of it had been carefully chosen by Anna beforehand. Everything here was intentional, well-thought-out, as though this orientation meeting were really a job interview, which in a way it was. Margret had shaken my hand, but she gave Anna a warm embrace. They were somewhat familiar with each other. Anna was in charge of managing communications with the lawyer, the social worker, and adoption agency. It was Anna who was writing the checks. She maintained the big folders of paperwork, all neatly labeled and organized in a file cabinet in her office. This, I’d come to realize, was as close to being in control of the pregnancy as Anna could manage.

I, too, learned a lot about the process. Massachusetts law prohibited the placement of a child for adoption by any person other than a licensed or approved placement agency. Exceptions were made in cases of relations by blood or marriage. Birth mothers were allowed to select the adoptive parents, and such adoptions were referred to as “identified,” “designated,” or “parent-initiated” adoptions. Margret came to us via the agency Anna hired. As long as Margret felt we were suitable, she would honor Lily’s wishes to have us become the adoptive parents.

Lily was a new person to Margret, but they hugged anyway, a quick and friendly little embrace. Anna wanted Lily to be a part of these meetings from the onset so she would be informed each step of the way. Lily didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I picked up on a childlike exuberance from Lily in Margret’s presence. This meeting, after all, was centered on Lily. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she felt truly important. What did Lily have besides us? She had a job in a pool hall, a louse for a boyfriend, an absent birth father, and a distant relationship with her parents. It seemed to register in Lily’s every move that her pregnancy was a very big deal. She wasn’t just part of the show, she
was
the show.

We sat at the kitchen table making small talk, drinking tea, and going about the business of becoming parents. Our home had become a fertility clinic of sorts. Instead of hormone injections, we would use a pen. And until we passed the home study, Lily’s baby was ours by desire alone.

“So tell me a little bit about yourself, Lily,” Margret said.

“Not much to tell,” Lily said. “I grew up in Saugus.”

“Did you go to high school there?” Margret inquired. “I know some people from the town.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lily said, her Boston accent coming out now. “I didn’t go to college or anything. Is that a problem?” Lily gave Anna a nervous look as Margret laughed warmly.

“Not at all, Lily,” Margret said. “I just wanted to learn more about you.”

I noticed Margret wasn’t taking any notes, so I hoped Lily understood this to be an informal inquiry. Still, she was looking at Anna a bit apprehensively, as if she was failing some sort of test, wanting our approval and worried about disappointing us.

Well, not us, but Anna. Lily hadn’t really made eye contact with me. I was a prop in these proceedings more than a participant, as far as Lily was concerned. This was the Lily and Anna hour. And even though Brad had cleared her aura, it was hard for me not to think that this had been Lily’s intention from the start.

“What do you like to do?” Margret asked. “Do you have any hobbies?”

“Mostly I just work,” Lily said. “I’m a waitress at Jillian’s. I do like to draw.”

Draw?
I’d never seen Lily so much as pick up a pen or pencil in the time she’d been living here. No drawings of hers hung on the walls.

“Have you always been artistic?” Margret asked.

Lily became shy, reverting into herself.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m artistic,” she clarified. “I’m not very good.”

“What do you like to draw? Do you have a favorite subject matter?” Margret inquired. She took a long sip of tea, eyeing Lily over the rim of her mug. Lily got a pensive look to her, thinking.

“I mostly draw people,” Lily said with a shrug. “I like to observe people, watch their mannerisms and stuff. I think everyone has a secret life, you know? Something they want to hide, something they wouldn’t want anybody else to know about. That’s what I like to draw.”

My throat tightened and I felt my palms turn slick. For the first time since Margret’s arrival, Lily was looking right at me.

T
he meeting continued without any hiccups, nothing that would derail our plans. If Lily had some hidden designs, she held out. Margret went through the details of the home study process never bothering to check her notes. I suspected she’d placed so many children in so many homes that the process had been etched into memory.

The point of the home study, she told us, was to educate and prepare the adoptive family. In most cases the social worker gathered information about prospective parents that could help the adoption agency connect the family with a child whose needs they can meet. Since we had a child in waiting, our home study was to evaluate our fitness as parents.

Margret began by getting our story. Why did we want to adopt? What had led us to this moment? How did we connect with Lily?

Oh, but she didn’t know the floodgates her questions had opened. As I told her about Max and Karen, Margret went fumbling in her purse to remove a package of tissues. I was sure Margret had heard sad stories before, but ours might have exceeded her emotional threshold. When Anna spoke of Kevin, his sickness, a tear that had been threatening formed fully and fell. Anna left out the part about how her ex-husband, Edward, raped her body and soul—which was for the best, as I was sure Margret would have turned into a fountain.

Anna and I were finishing each other’s thoughts as we told Margret how we met at the grief group. Here even Lily looked emotional and Margret was downright heartsick, wetting half the tissues in the package. By the time we told her about how a chance encounter at a bus stop led to Lily finding us on an adoptive parent website, Margret had gone through the entire package of tissues.

“And I thought I’d heard ’em all,” she said, making a nervous laugh as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “You’re all so very lucky.”

A heavy silence followed until Lily threw open her arms wide and clapped her hands together, snapping the spell of sadness.

“But we’re here now and everyone is happy,” she said.

Anna and Margret nodded with enthusiasm, while I did my best to pretend to agree.

Over the course of the next hour, we discussed more elements of the home study process. There were training programs we were required to complete, educational seminars designed to help us understand adoption issues and agency requirements.

“How involved will Lily be with the baby?” Margret asked.

“We haven’t decided,” Anna said. “We’re still working out the details of our postadoption agreement with our lawyer. It’s in process.”

“Well, we have training sessions geared for open, semi-open, and closed adoptions.”

“We might have to take all three,” Anna suggested.

There would be interviews with Margret, several of them, in which we’d discuss our approach to parenting and strategies for managing stress.

Naturally all this made me think of Max. Did I have regrets in how I parented him in our seven short years together? No, my only regret was not having an eighth year to parent some more. Memories flooded me, washing me with grief anew. I thought of Max in the morning, shuffling over to me as I drank my coffee. He would have, as he had every morning, one nappy fur paw of his stuffed dog clutched in his small hand. He’d lean his body into mine for a quick snuggle and I’d bury my nose in the top of his head, smelling his hair and the sleepiness of his body. I would trade my life for one more day of that smell. Not only had I lost my son, but each day he was gone I also lost a little more of his memory.

“Gage, are you all right?”

Anna’s voice drew me out of my fog.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I lied.

“Margret asked about the smoke alarms. Do you remember when we changed the batteries?”

“Oh, um, I think we did it during the spring forward.”

“That’s good,” Margret said. “It’s just one little item you won’t have to take care of before the home study visit.”

Margret would have to go through the entire house and make certain it met with state licensing standards (e.g., working smoke alarms, adequate space for a child, free from any hazards, a child-friendly environment). We all nodded; of course we would meet all those requirements and more.

When Margret brought up the health statement, I got a look from Lily that made me shiver. I caught the hint of something mischievous lurking in her eyes, a warning to be ready. What could she be planning?

Everyone has a secret life . . .

Including me.

“So if you have a medical condition that is under control,” Margret said, “high blood pressure or diabetes, that doesn’t disqualify you from being approved. It’s something a lot of our families are worried about.”

“That’s not a worry for us,” Anna said.

“That’s good to know. Mental health care is, just so you know, a big concern for a lot of our adoptive parents. If you’ve sought counseling or treatment for a mental health condition in the past, you’ll want to let us know about those visits.”

Blood thrummed in my ears as my breath clogged. At the same time, I fought to clear a tightness gathering in my chest.
They won’t find out about the Adderall
, I assured myself.
If I don’t tell them, they can’t find out
. I’d done some homework. My doctor would be required to fill out medical forms, but like Anna, he knew nothing about my shrink. So if he didn’t know, and Anna didn’t know, there was no reason for Margret to know.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lily looking at me. Her mouth was lifted upward, a pleased-with-herself smirk. I could feel my breathing accelerate.

“Just to waylay any concerns you may have, our agency views seeking help as a sign of strength. If you’ve sought any mental health care, it will not preclude you from adoption.”

“No worries for us, regardless,” Anna said. “Neither Gage nor I are taking any medications for our mental health. We’ve even stopped going to the grief group where we first met. Honestly, his love and support are really what’s gotten me through these very difficult years.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I said, feeling my tight chest constrict even more.

Lily made a surprised “huh” sound.

“What is it?” Margret asked.

“It’s really nothing,” Lily said. “I’m just a bit surprised Adderall isn’t considered mental health medication. I knew some kids at school who used to deal it, so I always thought it did something to the brain, like get you high or something, but I guess it was something else. What do I know? I wasn’t into drugs or anything, so I didn’t really pay much attention.”

“What does Adderall have to do with anything, Lily?” Anna asked.

I felt a red-hot flash curl up from my toes and shoot straight through my spine.

Lily appeared flummoxed.

“I just saw Gage’s bottle of Adderall when I was cleaning up from the medicine cabinet disaster. I figured that was, you know, for mental health, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you talking about? What bottle of Adderall? Gage?”

Anna was looking at me, her eyes two steely daggers. Something unraveled in my gut. Lily cupped her hands over her mouth.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I figured it was nothing. I wasn’t snooping. It was just underneath the cabinet. I was looking for some paper towels to help me clean up the mess. I . . . I was just thinking out loud. Oh, my gosh, I hope I didn’t mess anything up.”

“No, no,” Margret said, reassuring, brushing aside the concern with a wave of her hand. “Taking Adderall is fine. We just need that information recorded on the medical forms, is all.”

Anna kept her gaze locked on me. I’d broken a seal of trust and doubted it could ever be fully restored again.

Lily turned her head. Only I could see her expression. Her eyes were dancing with delight. If they could sing, I’d hear them belt out the refrain, “Everyone has a secret,” over and over again.