“Honestly, I probably should have made the decision to leave Dan a long time ago.”
“But it’s always easier to see that in retrospect, isn’t it?” he asks. “I mean, when you’re in it, sometimes it’s just easier to keep moving forward.”
“Even if it turns out you’ve been standing still,” I murmur.
“Exactly.” He clears his throat. “Well, anyway, I was actually calling to let you know that you don’t have to come in this afternoon. Riajah has a dentist appointment that Sheila forgot to tell me about until this morning, and Allie has after-school detention.”
“Detention? For what?”
“Apparently she and her best friend skipped school yesterday and got caught.”
“What?” I demand.
“Yeah, it was pretty dumb,” Andrew says, echoing my thoughts. “They didn’t do anything terrible—they just went to the cemetery where her friend’s grandma is buried—but since they were caught, there were penalties.”
“Wow,” I say softly. “I can’t believe she’d do this after what she pulled a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah, well, I think the incidents are connected, to be honest. She had a tough visit with her mom a couple days ago, and I think it screwed with Allie’s head a little.”
My heart sinks. “How did her mom have a visitation? I thought Allie saw her smoking meth.”
“Her mom tested clean. Allie must have been wrong about what she thought she saw.”
“Do you think she was smoking?”
He’s quiet for a minute. “I don’t think Allie would lie about it. But it was dark and Allie is prone to jumping to conclusions.” He pauses. “The bigger problem facing Allie right now is that Salma and Rodney have officially given their notice.”
“What?”
“Allie doesn’t know yet. But this skipping school thing was the final straw, apparently. To be honest with you, I think they’ve been wanting to get out of this since they found out Salma was pregnant. I’m surprised they didn’t dump her after her little incident last week.”
“Oh, Andrew.” I don’t know what to say. Just when Allie is learning that not everyone in her life will let her down, two of the people who are supposed to be the most stable are about to do exactly that. It breaks my heart for her. “How much time does she have left in their home?”
“Eight weeks tops. That’s what Salma said when she called earlier. She kept saying she was terribly sorry, but they just couldn’t justify keeping her once Salma’s through her second trimester.” Andrew sounds pissed.
“Are you going to tell Allie?” I ask.
“Not yet.” In the deep breath he takes, I can hear the pain he’s feeling for her. “I want to see what her options are first. Eight weeks from now is about the time her mother should regain custody if she keeps all her visitation appointments and the social worker assigned to the case signs off on a reunification, assuming her drug tests are all clean. But if that doesn’t happen, I’m going to have to find another home for her, and I may not be able to right away. She might have to go into a group facility for a while.”
“Poor Allie,” I murmur, feeling helpless. “You sure I can’t come today? Maybe a music therapy session would help her if she’s feeling confused.”
“No. She’s in detention until five, then Salma and Rodney are grounding her. Besides, she doesn’t know yet about having to move, and I’ve asked them not to say anything for now. So she should be fine tonight. But I’ll let you know before I tell her, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“And hey, about your breakup.” He lets the fragment hang there for a minute, and I have the weirdest feeling he’s nervous.
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”
Twenty-Seven
F
or the rest of the day, I struggle to keep my mind on work, but by four thirty, the time I should be leaving to head out to Queens, all I can think about is Allie.
Well, Allie and Hannah, actually. I keep seeing snippets from my world with Patrick and Hannah, images of tucking Hannah in, of watching her across the breakfast table, of hearing her laughter as she spins around in Coney Island’s teacups. And the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that the purpose of seeing those things has been to lead me to Allie all along.
I’ve stopped trying to explain away the glimpses into the alternate world; there are just too many connections to real life. But since I have to admit that the existence of Hannah is impossible—despite the girl I saw through the bridal shop window—I have to wonder what the dreams were trying to tell me. Perhaps they were supposed to show me that I deserved to be happier than I ever would be with Dan, and if that’s the case, they worked. But I still have the feeling there’s something I’m not getting, something unfinished, and I’m beginning to think it’s all about motherhood.
I let myself wonder, just for a second, if Patrick is up there somehow, pulling the strings, showing me the way. But the world
I experienced a mere handful of times seemed to be reality for him; it’s not like he was aware I was dreaming and was actively trying to tell me something. In fact, he’d looked confused and alarmed each time I acted like I didn’t belong.
I take a deep breath, push my client notes aside and log on to my computer. I spend a few minutes googling how to be a foster parent in New York until I land on a page at nyc.gov that tells me the basics of the process. I fill out the application and then print every form I can find from New York’s Office of Children and Family Services site too. I walk out the door without looking back.
I
t’s six thirty by the time I walk through the front entrance of St. Anne’s Services, and although the place is relatively empty, I’m not surprised to find Andrew in his office, a lone lamp illuminating the stack of papers on his desk.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway.
He looks up in surprise. “Kate! What are you doing here? I told you you didn’t need to come today.”
I take a deep breath and prepare to say the words that could change my life. “Andrew, I want to apply to be a foster parent. I don’t want Allie to go into a group home or to land in a house with strangers if her mom doesn’t get her back. If she needs a home, I want to be the one to give it to her.”
Andrew just looks at me. “Kate—” he says, raking his hand through his hair. He doesn’t say anything else, but he looks upset.
“What?” I ask when the silence grows uncomfortable. “I thought you’d be happy about this! It’s the perfect solution for Allie.”
He pauses before replying. “I’m just not sure the timing is right.”
I stare at him in disbelief. I’d expected him to jump up and hug me, or at the very least to thank me for helping provide a safety net for one of the kids he cares about. But instead, he’s looking at me with what resembles pity. “The
timing
?” I ask, trying unsuccessfully to keep the edge out of my voice.
He sighs. “You just broke up with your fiancé, right? I think it’s wonderful that you’re interested in becoming a foster parent, but this is a huge life decision, and not one you can make lightly.”
“This has nothing to do with my breakup!” I exclaim. “This has to do with
me
—and Allie.”
“But, Kate, there’s no guarantee you’d even get Allie,” he says gently. “I mean, if we decide this is a good idea, I can expedite your paperwork, get you a home visit right away, and get you enrolled in the parenting skills class you have to take before you’re certified. But even if we rush everything through—and even though you’ve already cleared the background checks, which will save us some time—it may not be soon enough. The process takes time, and Allie might need a home before you’ve been approved.”
“But—”
“Besides,” he says, cutting me off. “You need to remember that her mother is still very much in play. She’s not perfect, but she’s been trying. Allie might be returned to her, Kate. We don’t know what’s going to happen. And I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then wind up getting hurt.”
“I know it’s possible I won’t get her,” I say, although what I’m thinking is,
I’m absolutely positive the dreams led me here.
“But I have to take the chance. And if it’s not Allie, then I’ll be there for another child who needs a home.”
“I just don’t know if you’re ready,” he says after a minute. “I’m sure that you feel like there’s a hole in your life with your fiancé gone. That’s normal. I’m sure you’re feeling a little lonely. But, Kate, you can’t fill that hole with a child.”
I can feel my cheeks burning. “How could you think that’s what I’m doing?” I demand.
“I’m just saying it’s a possibility,” he says. “It’s possible you don’t even know you’re doing it.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying these things!” I cry, although deep down, part of me understands his trepidation. “I’ve been thinking about a child for months now, Andrew, and working with you—working with these kids—has made me sure. I know the timing isn’t ideal, and maybe on paper it looks like I’m not ready, but if there’s even a chance I could provide a home for Allie, I need to do this now, or I let her down. And isn’t that what being a parent is? Taking chances in your own life because you know it will make your child’s life better? I want this, Andrew, and it has nothing to do with having a hole in my life or feeling lonely or anything else. It has to do with me being ready to be a mother—and Allie being ready for a home.”
He stares at me before nodding slowly. “Let me think about it.”
I stand there for another minute. I don’t know whether to feel angry, hurt, or hopeful. I don’t know if he’s really planning to consider what I’m saying or whether he’s just trying to get me out of his office. So finally I settle for a mumbled “Thank you,” and I leave without another word, feeling like I’ve just lost something I never had.
I
spend all day Friday thinking about what Andrew said and waffling back and forth between doubting myself and feeling as if I’ve just made the best decision of my life. I even consider going around Andrew and contacting the Office of Children and Family Services myself, but what holds me back is the knowledge that if Andrew won’t give me his stamp of approval, I probably don’t deserve it. After all, he wants what’s best for Allie and the other
kids he works with. And I know him well enough now to be able to say that his instincts are generally good. Perhaps that’s why it’s so hurtful that his first reaction was to doubt me.
Still, I’m holding out hope that he’ll see I’m right, that I
am
in a good place now. So I wake up early on Saturday morning and begin clearing out the guest room, which I’ve been using primarily as storage. I’m already imagining Allie here while I pack up bags to take to Goodwill and put aside things I want to keep. As I pull box after box from the closet, I can almost see the walls decorated with her posters and her poems. I can visualize her keyboard set up in the corner.
“Thank you, Patrick,” I whisper as I think about how all the dreams have led me here, to this. “Now if you can just help Andrew see my point . . .” My eyes blur with tears, and as I cross the room again to put away a lamp I’ve never liked, I trip over one of the boxes from the closet, spilling its contents. I curse, my toe throbbing in pain, and as I bend to pick up the pieces of paper I’ve scattered across the floor, I freeze.
Inside the cardboard box, which has been tipped on its side, I see the hand-carved wooden chest Patrick gave to me when he proposed, filled with a hundred slips of paper, each of them inscribed with the reasons he loved me. I haven’t seen it in years. I sink slowly to the floor and pick up one of the slips.
I love how you go out of your way to help people,
it says. I pick up another and read in his narrow, slanted handwriting,
I love the tiny dimple in your right cheek when you smile really wide.
I read the rest one by one as I put them slowly back in the chest. There are big ones, such as,
I love the way you always look for the good in people,
and silly little ones, such as,
I love the way that when you laugh really hard, you double over.
There are also specific ones:
I love the fact that when your mom broke her arm, you moved home for two weeks to help out.
I love that you refused to quit softball in eighth grade after you were hit by a pitch that broke your nose.
The last one I put away touches me the most.
I love the idea of having children with you one day. You’re going to be an amazing mother.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks by the time the slips are all put away. I grab a stool, stand on my tiptoes, and push the box as far back on the top shelf of the closet as I can manage. It makes a dull clinking sound as it pushes something at the back of the shelf into the wall, and a second later, a silver dollar tumbles to the ground.
I stare at it for a moment before climbing down slowly and picking it up. With the exception of the one I wear around my neck, I had given all the remaining coins to Joan after Patrick had died, because after all, they were her father’s tradition. So I can’t imagine where this one came from. Regardless, the coins are meant to carry good luck, and having this one fall from the sky—almost literally—feels like a nudge in the right direction.
Any doubt that it’s a sign is erased a moment later when my phone rings. I tuck the silver dollar into my pocket, climb off the stool, and hurry out to the kitchen, where my cell is illuminated on the counter. The caller ID tells me it’s Andrew.
“I’m sorry,” he says before I can even say hello. It sounds like he’s rehearsed the words, and they pour out quickly. “I think you were right. I had a kneejerk reaction based on a typical situation, but you’re not typical, are you? And I believe you when you say you’re okay. I agree that you’d give Allie—or any child—a good home.”
“Really?” I whisper, my heart fluttering. I reach into my pocket and touch the silver dollar.
“Really,” Andrew says firmly. “I’ve already gotten your paperwork rolling. You need to officially fill out an application—
which I’ll fax to you today, if you want—but I’ve signed you up for an accelerated parenting course and contacted a colleague of mine about getting you a home visit as soon as possible. It’ll still take five or six weeks, though, at the very minimum. And that’s only because I’ve pulled every string I can think of. Usually the approval process takes a few months, but I agree that we should make every effort to have you available to take Allie, just in case that becomes an option.”