Kids by Christmas. Janice Johnson Kay
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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.
“Do you spank?” Sophia asked.
Suzanne shook her head. “No. I don’t believe in it. And besides, bed-wetting is something Jack can’t help.”
“He sucks his thumb, too.”
“I do not!” the boy flared.
Lifting her brows, Suzanne looked at his sister. “Do you have any bad habits? Things you do you’re not supposed to?”
She seemed interested in the idea. “I punched a boy at school. I had to go to the principal’s office.”
“Why did you punch him?”
“He called me a name.”
She hardly blinked, that intense gaze fixed on Suzanne, who wondered if she was being tested. What will you do when I’m bad? she seemed to be asking.
“Did you try telling an adult what he’d said?”
Sophia shook her head. “I was mad.”
“We all get mad without hitting people.” To avoid a continuing debate, Suzanne asked, “What else?”
“Mostly I just get mad. I told a teacher last year he was a big fat liar.”
Well, that had probably gone over well.
“What did you do when you got mad at your mom?”
For a moment, her long, dark lashes veiled her eyes. “I didn’t get mad at her.”
“I was mad at mine for dying. Really mad.”
“I’m not.” But that unnervingly direct gaze didn’t meet Suzanne’s.
She knew a lie when she heard one, but let it pass.
“Is there anything you want to know about me?”
They were momentarily silenced. Then Jack whispered something to his sister, who said, “Can we see your house?”
How humbling to know that they were more interested in her home than in her.
Sitting to one side, Melissa smiled. “That will be for another visit, kids. In fact, I have an appointment, so it’s time for Suzanne and I to go. Jack, will you go let Mrs. Burton know we have to leave?”
He nodded, slipped off the couch and went down the hall.
“Would we still go to the same school?” Sophia asked.
Suzanne shook her head. “I live in Edmonds, so you’d have to transfer there. I know it’s hard to move in the middle of the year….”
“I hate it here,” she said with startling vehemence. “I want to move.”
“What about Jack?”
“Kids pick on him. He doesn’t like it either.”
Oh, Lord! What was she getting into? Suzanne asked herself, knowing full well she’d long since made a decision. Jack and Sophia had no resemblance to her dream child, who neither wet beds nor slugged other kids, but were also far more real, more needy and interesting and full of promise.
She hoped they liked her, but would settle for them liking her house.
The foster mother reappeared and they said their goodbyes. The children stood in front of Mrs. Burton on the front porch and watched as Suzanne and Melissa went to the car and drove away.
“So, what do you think?” Melissa laughed. “Or do I have to ask?”
“Wow.” Suzanne felt dazed and a little limp, now that it was over. “I think I’m even more scared than I was on the way over.”
“And with good reason! Sophia is…unusual.”
“She is, isn’t she? But amazing, too. She’s so strong! At her age, I was timid and apologetic and unwilling ever to cause trouble or draw attention to myself.”
“She won’t be easy to parent,” Melissa warned. “You did notice her challenging you?”
“I suspected. But that’s going to happen with any child, isn’t it? Unless I start with a toddler.”
“Yes, but most kids would wait a while. They’re usually saintly for a few months. Then, at some point, they start wondering if these new parents would want them if they weren’t so good, if they really love them. That’s when the tough times start. Now, with Sophia…”
“They’ve already begun?”
Melissa had a hearty laugh. “Something like that.”
“I like her.” She thought. “Did you see her when I suggested she might be mad at her mother for dying?”
“I did. But she can’t let herself, so she’ll be mad at everyone else instead.”
“When can I see them again?” Suzanne asked.
Melissa laughed again. “Are you sure you don’t want to let first impressions settle a little?”
“But it was such a short visit. I’m not sure I can wait for days and days.”
“I can ask whether Mrs. Burton could bring them over Saturday for a while.”
Suzanne turned a hopeful gaze on the caseworker. “Please.”
Another laugh. “I’ll call her.” But her expression was serious when she said, “But you have to promise not to rush into anything, either. You’re right. It is a big commitment. The adoption won’t be final for months, so you have time to back out, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how tough that would be on the kids.”
Her excitement dimmed. “I know it would. I won’t make up my mind for sure until we get a chance to spend more time together.”
“That’s all I ask. And here we are.” She signaled to turn into the parking lot in front of the adoption agency. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Burton and give you a call.”
“Thank you,” Suzanne said fervently.
She drove back to her shop wishing she could rush home instead and prepare. What she’d actually do to prepare, she wasn’t sure. Paint the bedrooms tonight? But she’d already promised to let them choose their own decor. Clean house? Well, she had to do that tomorrow anyway. With the long hours at Knit One, Drop In, Sunday was no day of rest for her. But maybe she could get started tonight. Vacuum and scrub the bathroom. She’d put out her prettiest guest towels.
Suzanne made a face in the rearview mirror. As if they’d care. The only time she could ever remember as a child even noticing someone’s towels was when she’d gone to a sleepover at a classmate’s house and found out her family was really rich. The bathroom fixtures were shiny gold, maybe even plated with real gold. The floor was stone with pale veins running through it—marble, she’d later realized. And the towels were half an inch thick, a deep maroon jacquard, incredibly soft and textured in a basket weave. They were nothing like the towels at Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Miles’s house.
Even