The Yellow Sock: An Adoption Story (6 page)

Dave picked up her thought. “But perhaps we shouldn’t go on record as approving that choice,” he said, his voice firm. “A mental illness like bipolar disorder would be difficult for us.”

Belinda inclined her head in a matter-of-fact gesture. “Would you consider a child with a learning disability?”

“Yes,” Dave answered without hesitation.

“Would you consider a child who needed elective surgery such as the correction of a cleft palate?”

Megan nodded. “Yes. We have good health insurance.”

“Would you consider a child who needed braces? Orthodontia is not usually covered by health insurance.”

Megan closed her eyes. She’d never dreamed she’d have to consider so many options. This experience was almost like choosing between options in a new car—but this was a
child
, not a clump of steel and fiberglass.

“Braces aren’t a problem,” Dave answered. “Somehow, we’ll make it work.”

“Now let’s talk about age,” Belinda said, adjusting her tone as she pulled out another sheet of paper. “You’ve stated your preference for an infant. Would you consider a child up to two years old?”

Megan smiled. “Yes.”

“Up to three?”

“Of course. We’ve discussed it, and we’d be happy to accept any child of preschool age.”

Belinda had glanced at her notes again. “Okay, what about a sibling group—one infant, one child school age?”

The sound of the front door’s click snapped Megan out of her reverie. She glanced at her watch. Dave was ten minutes late, but she’d forgive him if he remembered to bring the fresh-cut flowers for the kitchen table.

She found him in the foyer, bouquet in hand.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the bundle from his hand. “Let me put these in water. Did you have trouble getting away from school?”

“No, Dr. Comfort covered for me.” He followed her into the kitchen. “And I brought home some work to do this evening . . . afterward.”

Megan filled the vase with water, then snipped the stems from the long-stemmed daisies and placed them in the water. She barely had time to pull them into a pleasing shape before the doorbell rang.

Chapter Four

Dave followed the women, his hands in his pockets and his thoughts wandering as he toured his own house. Despite Megan’s casual demeanor, he could tell she felt nervous. She laughed more frequently than usual, and her voice sounded tight and strained.

Belinda, on the other hand, seemed as unflappable as always. She simply walked through the house and smiled as Megan pointed out the bathrooms, the two bedrooms, and the new wallpaper in the nursery.

He knew Megan would spend most of her time in the bright yellow room, so when they reached it, Dave leaned against the wall, crossed his arms in a posture of polite interest, and allowed his thoughts to roam. These days Meg thought of little but the adoption and the coming child, but his job forced him to think of other things. Now that Dr. Comfort had announced her impending retirement, he had hoped that the school board would notice that he’d been given more than an assistant principal’s fair share of administrative duties. Dr. Comfort had purposefully arranged to gradually shift the mantle of responsibility from her shoulders to his, but so far the school board seemed unaware of her friendly maneuvering.

“Dave and I liked this rainbow wallpaper,” Meg was saying, playing Vanna White as she lifted her arms and gracefully gestured to the bright walls. “I read somewhere that primary colors are more stimulating for babies than pastels—and for small children, too, of course.”

Dave repressed a sigh. Meg was at it again, second-guessing every word that slipped from her lips in Belinda’s presence. She’d added the bit about small children just so Belinda wouldn’t think their hearts were set upon an infant. Truthfully, they preferred a baby, but so did almost every other waiting adoptive couple. Healthy white infants were hard to find, especially if you couldn’t afford to pay for a private adoption arranged by people with connections.

He didn’t move in the circles of doctors and lawyers—his circle included teachers and administrators and educational bureaucrats, and lately that circle had done little but frustrate him. Instead of noticing how so many students had
improved
over the course of the Comfort/Wingfield administration, the school board had focused on a recent series of standardized exams and whipped itself into a frenzy. Because the exams indicated that Valley View students were statistically average—
only
average--they’d commissioned a demographic study of the city and unearthed a series of comparable student test scores. They bemoaned the fact that Valley View students did not test as well as a similar group in 1985, and ignored the fact that mindless television, video games, and absentee parents had undoubtedly taken their toll over the years . . .

A month ago, he’d been confident he would be the next principal of Valley View Elementary. But if the school board’s demographic study revealed a population shift to the outlying suburbs, Valley View might not even
exist
next year.

He needed to discuss these things with Megan. She had a real gift for helping him to calm down, put his emotions in order, and take the long view of things. But in the last few weeks she had thought of little but Belinda’s home study, and tonight she’d be too tired to do more than whisper goodnight, crawl into bed, and sleep. She had exhausted herself with concerns about the adoption, and he didn’t want to burden her with yet another uncertainty.

But she had to know. Like it or not, their future was anchored to the fate of Valley View Elementary School.

Standing on the concrete front porch, Megan waved a final cheery farewell to Belinda, then stepped back into the cool shade of the foyer. As Dave turned toward the kitchen, she closed the door and leaned against it, sighing in relief.

They were finished. Done with meetings, soul-searching questions, family histories, investigations, examinations, and confessions. Belinda now knew them better than anyone outside their families, and she’d peered into practically every corner of their house. Now all the social worker had to do was collect their letters of reference, write her report, and submit it to the state. If she was any kind of a friend, she’d do those things as quickly as she could.

Megan pulled herself off the door and moved toward the kitchen, where Dave was rummaging in the refrigerator. Poor man. In all the excitement, she hadn’t even
thought
about dinner.

“Hey,” she whispered, coming up behind him and slipping her arms about his waist, “you want to go out for a bite? Celebrate the end of the inquisition?”

Hunched inside the open door, he froze. “I’m afraid I don’t really feel much like celebrating.”

His flat tone caught her by surprise. She stepped to the side and peered at his face. “You sick or something?”

His skin color was normal, his eyes set and serious. “Things at school are in a bit of an upheaval.”

Relieved, she waved the matter away. “Things at school will settle down, they always do.” Suddenly thirsty, she moved to the cupboard and took out a glass. “That went well, don’t you think? Belinda seemed to like the house.”

Dave pulled a package of bologna from the fridge. “What’s not to like?”

A little annoyed by his curt tone, Megan turned and studied him. Had the home study process taken a toll on him, too? She’d tried to relieve his stress by handling all the appointments and correspondence herself, but perhaps she’d underestimated the mental burden he carried.

A malicious little voice cackled from some obscure corner of her brain.
What
mental burden did he carry? Though she knew he wanted a child as much as she did, he’d come through the adoption process relatively unscathed. He had not had to endure the trial of knowing all his friends were pregnant. He hadn’t spent more than twenty months playing pregnancy guessing games with his body and refusing to take medicine for a head cold on the chance that he
might
be pregnant. He had a job, an important career, to distract him from the waiting and the frustration, while puppies and kittens and birth and life surrounded her even at the office . . .

“Listen.” Against her will, her voice trembled. “I think we’ve come through this pretty well, and it’d be nice if you could celebrate with me. I know things aren’t always perfect at school, Dave, but school is only a job, and what we’ve been dealing with here is our entire
life
. Our family, our dreams for the future, who we are—all those things are wrapped up in this adoption. So I’d appreciate it if you could put the school out of your mind for a couple of hours and think about what’s really important.”

He turned to her, concern and confusion mixing in his eyes. “Meg, I’ve been with you every step of the way.”

She lifted a hand. “Not quite. On the surface, sure, you’ve been great. But you don’t know what I’ve been going through, Dave, not really. I haven’t told you a lot of things because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

A sudden spasm of grief knit his brows. “You mean . . . because this is all my fault.”

Wincing, Megan clutched the edge of the counter, drowning in waves of guilt. She’d promised never to bring this issue up. She had never wanted to shake her finger in his face or point to the reason why they couldn’t have biological children . . . but maybe she’d been pointing all along, and had been too engrossed to realize it.

“Honey,” she closed her eyes, “I love you, and I know God put us together. I don’t blame you for anything, and I know God has allowed this for a reason. It’s the reason I can’t understand. Of all the men I know, you’re the one who would make the best father, and I’ve wanted to be a mother since I was old enough to dress my cat in baby clothes. I’ve been ready, I’ve been willing, and I haven’t been able to understand why we weren’t allowed to have kids like everybody else.”

She turned from him and stared at the calendar hanging over the phone. “Remember last week when I went to Susan Michael’s baby shower?”

His voice came out hoarse, as if forced through a tight throat. “I was surprised you went.”

“I almost didn’t, but I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it, with Susan having been my maid of honor and all. And I did pretty good through most of it—I sat and smiled while everybody ooed and ahhed over the gifts, and I played those silly shower games even though I felt like an automaton. But then Susan’s mother came over and squeezed my shoulder, and I knew she knew what I was feeling—and something inside me snapped. I ran into the bathroom and stayed there the rest of the night. My eyes were so red from crying that I had to wait until everyone else left the party before I could even come out.”

His voice faded to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “It anything, it’s my fault. I’m just so tired. Tired of fighting a vicious battle against my own stubborn will and longings. Tired of trying to pretend I’m not hurting, tired of striving to be happy for other couples, tired of fighting to be patient and not explode in frustration, tired of struggling to speak of anything but the number one thought on my mind. I’m working to keep my faith, struggling to believe in God, fighting to live each day instead of willingly casting every day aside for just one tomorrow . . .”

She blinked when she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She wasn’t crying, really, the tear resulted from overflowing emotion.

“I feel so alone, Dave. You are the only one who knows what I’m going through, and yet I don’t know if you can know how it feels to be a woman and not a mother.”

She bowed her head as Dave’s arms slipped around her shoulders. “To fight aloud is very brave,” he said, in the hushed voice he often used when he whispered love poems into her ear. “But gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom the Calvary of Woe.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Walt Whitman?”

“Emily Dickinson.” His hand cupped against her cheek and held it gently. “You are the most gallant woman I know, Meg. And I know God is using this to prepare both of us . . . for something that lies ahead.”

Megan groaned. “That’s not a very comforting thought.”

He laughed softly. “Then consider this--you don’t have to fight any more, honey. The hard work is done. Now we wait.”

Megan laughed weakly. Dave, apparently, had no idea how tough waiting could be.

Dave watched as Megan swiped at her eyes and murmured something about needing to use the bathroom. She left the kitchen, leaving him in stunned silence.

In the three years of their marriage, he had never heard such an outpouring of raw emotion. Megan was usually calm and in control, confident in her faith and steady as a rock.

He had no idea she’d been weeping in bathrooms and doubting God.

He sat down at the table and pressed his hands to his right temple, trying to massage away the pain that threatened there. He loved the idea of a baby, he wanted children, but he loved Megan more than any person on earth. Would this as yet intangible and uncertain child drive them apart?

Pressing his face into his hands, he prayed for wisdom.

Chapter Five

Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went. Optimistically predicting that this would be their last Christmas without a baby, Megan and Dave spent the holiday at the Peaks of Otter Lodge, a rustic retreat atop a mountain near Roanoke.

January brought snow, February, wind. March came in like the proverbial lion and went out like a lamb, leaving the Virginia mountains covered with the green-gold sheen of Spring.

On a Saturday morning in April, Megan stubbed her toe as she hurried to catch the phone in the kitchen. “Helloooo,” she moaned, massaging the injured digit as she settled the phone against her shoulder.

“Meg?” Her mother’s voice seemed flatter than usual.

Megan’s internal antennae snapped to attention. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

She was hoping for a quick reassurance, but her mother sighed. “Have you spoken to Melanie lately?”