Water from Stone - a Novel (9 page)

“The Merritt Agency’s handling the calls. If they get anything, they’ll pass it on to you.”

“It’s just, that’s a shitload of money.”

Jack poured himself another Scotch. “It’s only money,” he said.

“Couldn’t you have made it a little less only money? Something reasonable?”

Jack tossed the Scotch back. “What’s reasonable, Sy? I’d pay anything to have Lindsey’s baby back.”

Sy flopped down on to the sofa. “Well, fuck me,” he’d said.

***

So while his work suffers and his personal life is beyond resuscitation, Jack concentrates his every effort on finding Mia. He’s appeared so often on the morning news programs that they’ve given him a moniker. “We’ve got Desperate Dad, Jack Westfield, with us today…”

It seems impossible, but even with all the press he’s received, his appearances on
America’s Mystery Crimes
, the website and toll-free numbers he’s set up, they haven’t received one decent lead. And, of course, Sy was right. Every whacko and his mother has come crawling out of their caves, angling for the million dollar reward.

So now, as Jack’s feet eat up the streets of Manhattan, as August approaches and, with it, the anniversary of Lindsey’s death and Mia’s kidnapping, his mind searches for new angles, new answers to the puzzle of his daughter’s whereabouts.

Twelve

Mar.

A sunflower-draped trellis has been set up behind The Center, about halfway between the swing-set and the sand box. Ten rows of chairs fan out from a center aisle. Guests of all ages mingle in the glow of swaying fairy lights, with the younger ones running pell-mell from one toy to the next, the sounds of laughter pouring from little bodies.

Dylan, dressed formally in black tie and tails, fidgets noticeably. He is speaking to Kristina, Shirley’s daughter. Every few minutes, his eyes dart to the back door of the house. Mar, standing at a second floor window, grins over at Shirley. “He’s falling apart,” she says. Lizzie has put on a lot of weight since she has been with Mar and, asleep, is heavy in Mar’s arms. Leaving the window, Mar settles into a rocking chair and watches Shirley fiddle with the strand of pearls that surrounds her long neck. “Oh, lordy,” Shirley says.

“You look beautiful,” Mar says. “He’s going to freak when he sees you. Now stand up straight so I can get the whole effect.”

Shirley turns to Mar and nervously tugs at the bottom of the form-fitting silk suit coat that is paired with a floor-length buttermilk-cream-colored skirt. “Do I look fat? I look fat. I should have gotten the other dress, don’t you think?” she asks for the hundredth time.

“I told you, you look beautiful. You don’t look fat. Look at you, your stomach’s flat as a board.”

Shirley turns sideways to the mirror and lays her hand over her belly. “I feel fat. I feel like I’m ready to give birth right now. Oh, damn, what am I doing? I’m a grandmother, for god’s sake!”

“Come on, Shirl,” Mar laughs as she shifts Lizzie in her lap, “You’re three months and you don’t even show. If you hadn’t already told everyone, no one’d even know you’re pregnant.”

“You sure?” Shirley turns to the other side.

“Yes, I am. Now, are you going to put that hat on your head or not?”

Shirley picks up a small pillbox hat, fashioned after a style made famous by Jacqueline Kennedy, and fits it on her head. “Lordy, lordy, I look stupid. What was I thinking?”

Mar’s bark of laughter startles the baby who reaches up and pats Mar’s cheek before dozing off again. “Hey, there,” Mar coos and kisses the top of her head. “Isn’t she precious?”

“Um, not to change the subject or anything, but you know we haven’t found anyone, right? No family or friends.” Shirley catches Mar’s eyes in the mirror.

Mar laughter clogs in her throat and the spot in her intestines, where the ulcers are the worst, twists reflexively, causing her to gasp.

“In a few months, she’s going to be eligible for adoption.” Shirley walks over to her and lifts her chin up so that she and Mar are eye to eye. “Why don’t you adopt her, honey? You know that’s what you want.”

Mar fumbles with the clasp on one of Lizzie’s shoes. For the past five months she has been telling herself to remain emotionally unattached from Lizzie, but her heart has been ignoring her. Mar is, and has been since the day she picked the baby up at the hospital, in full maternal love. The idea of losing Lizzie has begun to cause panic attacks in Mar. “I just don’t know if I can go through that again.”

“Honey, what happened to Max was a fluke in the system. You tried. You did your best and the judge screwed up. Even the judge knows he screwed up. It’s not going to happen again.”

Max. Even now, two years after his death, the pain is raw. Shortly after settling in Boulder, Mar had met Shirley. Intrigued by Shirley’s work and with the possibility of easing her own heartache through helping others, Mar had applied to become a foster parent. Max had been her second foster child after she completed the state’s training program. The first, a young girl named Sandra, had been quickly reunited with her mother. Max had no parents. His mother was a prostitute. His father a passing-through black man whom no one remembered. When Max was three, his mother sold him for a week’s worth of meth, which she was later robbed and killed for. The man who bought Max passed him on to another. By the time Shirley’s agency caught up with him, Max required three different surgeries to put his body back together. Mar, new to foster care, had not been the ideal candidate to care for Max, but from the moment they’d met, she hadn’t been able to get the broken little boy out of her mind.

“No, that won’t happen again,” Mar tells Shirley, the bitterness alive in her voice, but something will. Don’t you see? Something’s wrong with me. I don’t even know how my damn dog’s lasted this long.”

“That’s just pure superstitious nonsense.” Shirley says. “But I’ll tell you what isn’t nonsense, what is the cold, hard truth. That is that if you don’t go for it, she most definitely will be taken away from you.”

“Exactly. But, I think that even if I do try, she will be. At least this way I don’t get all emotionally involved.”

“Jesus, Mar, look at you. Can’t you see you’re already emotionally involved? You’re wearing matching dresses, you go to Mommy and Me, and that child’s already got a college fund started! What do you think, if you don’t petition to adopt her, it’s going to hurt any less when they come to take her away?”

Lizzie begins to wake and Mar tucks the baby’s head against her shoulder and cups her other ear. “It’s just that there are tons of couples,” Mar hisses, trying to keep her voice down, “a mom and a dad just like the courts like, that are looking for little girls, perfect little girls like Lizzie. I don’t have a chance of getting her.”

Shirley’s hands fist on her hips. “Her mom was an addict, Mar. There were traces of heroin, crack, meth, god knows what else in her when she died. That makes a difference. There’s a prejudice against kids born to addicts specifically because problems can show up later.  Not many adoptive parents want to take that risk, even if the baby is as cute as Lizzie.”

Mar’s arm tightens protectively around the little girl. “She’s not a crack baby. You and I both know that. She hasn’t shown any signs of it. She’s perfect.”

“Dammit, Mar, I don’t know that.”

“So what should I do? If I pretend she’s got problems, I’ll have a better chance of getting her because no one else will want her? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Tell me. What are the symptoms? I’ll say it. I’ll call her case worker right now.”

“I said, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then, what?”

“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s right there, real big, in her papers where everyone can see it – MOM WAS DRUG ADDICT. CHILD MAY EXHIBIT COGNITIVE AND BEHAVIORAL PROBLEMS. That is going to get some people’s attention, for sure.” Shirley adjusts her hat. “Now, come on, I’m pregnant and I’ve got to go get me a husband.”

Thirteen

Mar.

Shirley drops into her office chair and adjusts the lumbar support cushion she’s taken to using. In the past months, she’s ballooned into something she claims resembles an elephant ready to repopulate an entire African herd. Groaning, she pushes back and puts her feet up on an open drawer.

“God, if you’re like this now, I don’t know how you’re going to last another few months. You act ancient.”

“Girl, I am ancient. You forget, I’m almost fifty.”

Mar, who is crowded into the Little Tykes table next to Lizzie, says, “First of all, you’re not ‘almost fifty’ and, second, I don’t see Dylan complaining,” Mar looks up from the crayon sketch she is making of the little girl and winks at Shirley. “The man can’t keep his hands off of you. It’s embarrassing.”

“That man complains, I’m gonna do some voodoo hocus pocus on his ass.”

“You know what some women would give to have their plumbing still working at your age?” Mar chooses a green crayon for the ribbon in Lizzie’s hair. “Most of ‘em are getting hot flashes, hiding the knives so they don’t wake up and find themselves filleting the hubbie in his Barcalounger. Thinking ‘that fat slob tells me to bring his ass one more Budweiser, or grabs my boobs again and says ‘it’s halftime, baby, let’s do it’ and there’s gonna be a lot of pain and blood flowing around here.’ Now think of it like that,” Mar nods for emphasis, “and a little bloating doesn’t feel so bad.”

“Jesus, where do you come up with that shit?”

“I’m just saying, keep it all in perspective, is all.” She grins. “Hey, Shirl? I’m kidding. Man, you have so lost your sense of humor!” Mar inspects the scribbled drawing that Lizzie is working on. So far, most of the coloring has taken place on the table. “Hey, there, Lizzie, that’s really good! Look at that, Shirley! It almost looks like something!”

“That’s great, honey,” Shirley sends a smile to the little girl. “Anyway, back to reality, Mar. I’ve got that appointment with the Ferrins this afternoon. I have to let them know that Lizzie is available for adoption.”

“No, no, Lizzie, don’t eat that.” Mar pushes the girl’s hand away from her mouth. “Yuck.”

Shirley taps a folder on her desk. “They’re not going to go away. They desperately want a child and they’re very good candidates.”

“I know, but look at her. She’s doing fine, aren’t you Dizzie Lizzie? We’re doing just fine. Why can’t we just leave things like they are?”

“Damn it, Mar!” Shirley’s hand slams down on the desk, causing both Mar and Lizzie to jump. The little girl drops her crayon and cowers at Mar’s side. “Sorry, Lizzie,” Shirley says, her smile more of a grimace.  “Look, Mar, you’re going to have to commit. Either you want Lizzie and make a formal plea for adoption, or you’re going to have to give her up to someone who’s willing to make that commitment.”

“It’s not the commitment!”

“Look, I understand your fear. What I’m having a problem with is reality. See, the world is a messed up place. And shit happens. Every day. To perfectly nice people. But if you don’t take the chance, you might as well just roll over and play dead because that’s certainly not living. That’s just floating.”

“Well, screw it, then,” Mar moves over to the window and looks out at the towering Front Range. Today, even its majesty doesn’t soothe her. “Then I’m a floater, I guess.”

“Mar,” Shirley tries again, in a different voice, “you two are a good team. She’s come a long way with you. Look at her. When you got her, she wouldn’t make a sound. Now she babbles non-stop, she’ll barely shut up. She’s lively and happy and she trusts you. How is she going to feel if you abandon her to someone else?”

“I’m not abandoning her!”

“Yes you are. What else are you going to call it?”

“Alright then, what do you think my chances are?” Mar turns back to Shirley. “Really are? It’s like you said, these other people are good candidates. There’s a mom and a dad, they’ve got money, they do community service, probably go to church, yuck it up with the mayor, the governor. They’ve got a public building named after them, for god’s sakes! I can’t compete with that.”

“Take my word for it, Mar, they’re worried about Lizzie’s mom taking drugs during her pregnancy.”

Mar’s mouth drops open and she looks over at the little girl happily scribbling away. As if sensing her attention, Lizzie looks up and grins at her. Mar’s eyes fills with tears. “I told you,” she whispers, “she shows no signs! Nothing, nada, not even a blip.  The tests all come back negative.”

“Except that her babbling is not really talking. She’s making noises, yes, but she’s not making words. You know Dylan says she should be talking by now. Other than that, yeah, she’s great. But Mar, and this is a big but, these things can show up later.”

“What are you saying?” Mar’s eyes narrows. “Are you saying you’d tell them she’s not OK?”

Shirley puts on her best business voice as she considers Mar across desk. “No, Mar, I’m not going to lie to them. My job is to find the best home for the children that come under my care. My recommendation to the court, should you decide to pursue adoption, would be that you can provide Elizabeth with the best home. There will be other babies and the Ferrins are on the top of the list as adoptive parents. The fact that there is concern that one day Lizzie may show developmental or behavioral problems associated with her mother’s drug abuse is not debatable. That being the case, and knowing the Ferrins, I believe that they’ll opt to wait. If, however, you decide not to pursue adoption, I think that it is best that Elizabeth be placed as soon as possible so that she can begin to develop bonds with her new parents. Whatever the case, though, I need an answer. Today.”

Mar looks up, panicked. “Today?”

“Today.”

The fight leaves her swiftly and Mar drops down on the bench next to Lizzie. “Yes, honey, you see? The Strawberry Shortcake did the trick.” With a finger, she pushes a stray blonde curl back from the little girl’s forehead, watching as it catches momentarily before gently slipping away. She bites her lip to try to stem the tears, but they slide down her cheeks regardless. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispers. Lizzie looks up, frightened by the sadness in Mar’s voice, and launches herself into her arms.

Mar’s arm tighten around Elizabeth and her heart thumps heavily. Can she do this? Would Lizzie be better off, safer even, with a mother and a father? Will life finally give Mar someone she can hold onto? She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. The smell, the sweet baby smell of Lizzie, talcum powder, baby sweat and all the good things that little girls are made of.
Rose,
she thinks,
Rose and gold and powder-puff clouds of yellow and white
. She knows then that there will never be a day that she won’t fear losing Lizzie. But that, she guesses, is probably how every parent feels. She kisses Lizzie’s precious neck and smiles. “I’ll do it,” she whispers.

“Well, hale-fucking-luyah.”