The Yellow Sock: An Adoption Story (7 page)

“Not in a while. Why?”

“She’s pregnant.”

Forgetting her throbbing toe, Megan slid down the wall and sat on the floor. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. She told us last night, and she’s already made her plans. She and Todd want to get married next month. The baby’s due in November.”

Megan’s senses skittered in stunned disbelief. “She can’t be pregnant, she’s not the kind of girl who sleeps around. The last time I talked to her she said she and Todd were doing great, that he was a really nice guy—“

Realizing that she was babbling to cover her confusion, Megan snapped her mouth shut.

Her mother sighed audibly. “All kinds of girls get pregnant, Meg, and Todd does seem to be a nice guy. Your father and I were upset, of course, but we’re beginning to think marriage is the best answer for them. That way the baby will have a home and a father—“

Megan’s heart pumped outrage through her veins. “The baby will have a couple of
children
for parents! Melanie and Todd aren’t ready to have a baby—why, they couldn’t have survived the first
week
of our home study. They don’t know each other, they have no financial security, and they don’t know the first
thing
about raising a child!”

“All parents learn by trial and error, Meg.”

“You sound like you’re on their side!”

“Megan,” her mother’s voice flattened like chilled steel, “I’m on everybody’s side. I want what’s best for this baby, for Melanie, for Todd, and for you, honey. I know what you must be feeling.”

Megan stiffened. “You could not possibly understand.”

There was a short silence. “Maybe I can’t,” her mother finally answered, “but Melanie’s situation has nothing to do with you, Meg. I only called because, well, you’re her sister, and I thought you should know.”

Megan bit her lip as desperation fortified her courage. “Maybe—if they really want what’s best for the baby, they could give it to me and Dave. Maybe this has been the Lord’s plan all along. We could adopt him, and he’d have two stable parents, but Melanie and Todd would know the baby was growing up in a good home, and Melanie could see him whenever she wanted—“

“Melanie wants this child, Meg. Somehow, believe it or not, this experience has been good for her. For the first time in months she’s been focused on something other than herself. She’s already been to the doctor, she’s been taking her prenatal vitamins, she made sure everything was fine before she even told us the news.”

Through her own regret, Megan heard the pain in her mother’s voice. She drew a deep breath, realizing that the grief she felt had to be but a shadow of the anguish that had engulfed her parents. They had raised their daughters in a Christian home, they had taught their girls how to behave as examples of godly purity. One of those daughters had made a mistake.

Megan had made mistakes, too—but none so public.

She brought her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Mom, about what I said before. I know this can’t be easy for you or Dad. And I understand, I really do. If Melanie can love and raise this baby, then she should. It’s just that—“

“You don’t have to explain, Meg.” Her mother hesitated a moment more, silence rolling over the telephone line, then added, “We’d appreciate your prayers. We’re all going to need them.”

“Okay, Mom.” Megan blinked back tears and replaced the phone in its cradle.

Chapter Six

In May, Melanie and Todd married in a quiet ceremony in the church chapel. Megan and Dave attended the wedding, then hosted a small reception in their home. The occasion marked the first time Megan met Todd, and she later told Dave that her new brother-in-law seemed little more than a pimply-faced adolescent. He certainly didn’t look like father material . . . but she couldn’t and wouldn’t question their decision.

Melanie was in love—with Todd, her unborn baby, and the world. The newlyweds would live with Megan’s parents until the baby came and Todd graduated from high school. Then he’d find a job and go to vocational school, and Melanie would go back to her job at the local grocery store. She had promised to get her GED and think about college. Together, Megan admitted, with help, they might make their marriage work.

The next two months passed with agonizing slowness. At work, Megan went about her duties as usual. In quiet lulls she stared at the big clock above the reception desk, noticing that the minute hand seemed to struggle to move from one black notch on the dial’s perimeter to the next.

Belinda had urged her to call at least once a week. “Obviously, I won’t have news, or I would certainly call you,” she explained at the conclusion of their home study. “But I know how hard the waiting can be, and I love to hear from my prospective parents. So call me whenever you like, just to keep in touch.”

Megan rationed herself to one call per week. She marked her calendar with “Call Belinda” every Monday, and made the ritual contact during her lunch break. On Monday mornings, the work seemed to go even slower than usual, the moment when she could call Belinda fluttering ahead of her like the tail of a kite. And each week, though Belinda had no concrete news to offer, that simple contact assured Megan that Belinda was alive and well, their names were percolating in the system, and the Virginia State Social Services computer was humming with good intentions to place waiting children with eager parents.

Spring melted into summer, and Megan struggled to look for the silver lining in the overhanging clouds. She and Dave took a few weekend trips to their favorite little hotels, romantic getaways that would be impossible once they had a baby to care for. They ate once a week in the town’s nicest steakhouse, knowing such extravagances would be unwise once their family expanded. They stayed up late on Friday nights, slept late on Saturdays, and exploited the freedoms of childlessness. For soon, Megan told herself, this season would end.

Every day felt like a battle. Every hour was another yard gained on the field of conquest, every week a mile, every month a major victory. Months passed would never have to be relived again. Every day of waiting was one less she’d have to endure . . . if God was faithful and kept His promises.

In June, Belinda reported that she had placed one child and was working on another placement. Megan hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this activity signaled some sort of adoption baby boom, and they’d be called next.

In July, Megan was checking her makeup in the lady’s room at church when a pregnant friend came in to wash her hands. “We felt the baby kick yesterday,” she said, catching Megan’s eye in the mirror. “Michael ran over to get the video camera, and we could actually see the little guy kicking.”

Megan nodded. “That’s nice.”

The woman’s gaze dropped to Megan’s flat stomach, then her mouth wobbled in a poor imitation of a smile.

“So—have you adopted that baby yet?”

As if babies grew on trees! Megan bit back a caustic answer and shook her head. “No,” she said, forcing a smile. “It takes a long time. We’ve been waiting nearly a year, and we might have to wait many months more.”

The friend lifted her brow in surprise. “Really? Gosh, with all the people who don’t want babies and abuse them, you’d think it’d be easy to get one.”

The corner of Megan’s mouth twisted. “It’s not.” Excusing herself, she left the ladies’ room.

On July 13, Megan marked the one year anniversary of their “we will have no babies day” with a glass of orange juice in her kitchen. She sat alone at the breakfast table, the newspaper at her left hand, a breakfast pastry at her right.

Another year of waiting lay beyond the horizon, and she steeled herself to face it. She had recently read a quote from Samuel Johnson. He called sorrow “a kind of rust of the soul,” that could be “remedied by exercise and motion.”

She knew exactly what he meant. The home study experience had been difficult, but she’d found pleasure in it, for she was doing something to bring her child home. Now she could do nothing but wait, and inactivity chafed at her rusty, sorrowful soul . . . as did guilt. She was a Christian, she was supposed to have joy and faith, but both seemed as elusive as quicksilver.

What did God want of her? Did he want her to quit her job to demonstrate faith that she’d soon be a mother? She’d quit in a minute, but it seemed foolish to sit home doing nothing when she could be earning money they’d need when they became a one-income family. And God was not the author of foolishness.

Sighing, she picked up her newspaper and shook it open. Nothing to do but wait.

Chapter Seven

The high-pitched warble of the bedside telephone shattered the predawn stillness. Megan sat up, as awake as if she’d been slapped from sleep by an invisible hand. She peered at the digital clock and read the glowing numerals: 5:45.

No one ever called with good news at this hour.

The room shifted dizzily as she reached for the phone. “Hello?”

She had expected to hear her mother’s voice, instead a man spoke her name over a weak connection.

“Yes,” she said, strengthening her voice. “This is Megan Wingfield.” Beside her, Dave stirred, then lifted his head.

“Megan, this is Joe Hogan.”

Megan pushed a hank of hair out of her face and struggled to place the name. She had known a Joe Hogan in high school—they’d attended the same church, then he’d gone off to college and seminary. The last bit of news about Joe Hogan had him going overseas to be a missionary somewhere . . .

“Joe Hogan--from my church?” She tried to keep the disbelief from her voice.

Joe laughed. “Bet you didn’t think you’ve be hearing from me in the middle of the night, did you?”

Dave tugged on her arm. “Who’s Joe?”

She gestured toward the lamp, feeling that somehow things might make sense if she weren’t having this conversation in the dark. Light flooded the room as she asked, “Joe, why are you calling me?”

He laughed again. “This may sound crazy, Megan, but I’ll come right to the point. You probably know my wife and I are missionaries in South Korea—“

She hadn’t known, but she let him continue.

“—and yesterday someone left a baby on our doorstep. This happens fairly often, you know, but it’s never happened to us. Some of the nationals here think all Americans are rich, therefore, life with a rich American has to be good. Anyway, Susan and I were praying about it, and your name popped into my head. I’m pretty sure the Lord put it there.”

“You thought of me? For a baby?”

Megan stared at Dave. She needed a minute to orient herself—no, she needed an
hour
. This was too sudden, too unreal. There was no earthly reason why Joe Hogan, a man she hadn’t spoken to or thought of in years, should wake her in the middle of the night with news of a baby.

Why her? Why now? And why that baby?

“Joe,” confusion clotted her voice, “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

The line hissed with silence, then, “Don’t you know?”

Megan hesitated, blinking with bafflement. What was she supposed to do? She and Dave had investigated international adoption, but the expense had been prohibitive. They couldn’t afford to pursue international adoption last year, and they certainly couldn’t afford it now.

“Don’t you want a baby?” Joe’s voice filled her ear, insistent and strong. “I’m sure you’re the one I was supposed to call.”

“Yes.” She whispered the word. “Yes, but things are so complicated. We’re already on a waiting list here in Alta Vista.”

“I don’t know about you,” Joe went on, as cheerfully as if he were discussing the weather, “but I’m going to see what I have to do from this end to have this little girl declared adoptable. You do what you have to from your end—and don’t worry about a thing in the mean time. Susan and I will take care of her until things work out. We think she’s about three months old, and she’s a real sweetheart.”

Megan nodded numbly into the phone. “Okay, Joe. We’ll be in touch.”

“What was that all about?” Dave asked as she hung up.

Megan gave him a bewildered smile. “Joe Hogan, a guy I went to church with years ago, is a missionary in Korea. He and his wife found a three-month-old on their doorstep. They seem to think we are supposed to adopt her.”

Dave snorted softly as he lay back down and punched his pillow. “Was our name pinned onto the kid’s diaper or something?”

“Something like that,” Megan answered softly, reaching over him to switch off the lamp.

She returned to her pillow, but her whirling thoughts wouldn’t let her sleep. Someone must have written the Hogans and mentioned that she and Dave were waiting to adopt. It was no secret—Megan had encouraged her friends to share the news, because you never knew when someone might hear of a frightened pregnant girl who could not mother a child. Obviously, the Hogans had heard the story, so when they found this baby they naturally thought of her and Dave.

But she’d had her hopes dashed too many times to pin them on a baby half a world away. A few weeks before, a pregnant girl who called herself Jillian had wandered into a local maternity home and applied for free care. While church members scurried to find her a place to live and a job with which she could support herself, the girl made all sorts of references to kind of family she wanted to adopt her baby. She wanted Christian parents for her child, a couple who had been married at least three years, a family who loved animals and would let the child have a dog . . .

A friend called Megan, of course, and she’d let her hopes rise, even arranging to take Jillian to lunch for a friendly let’s-get-to-know-each-other meeting. Two hours before the lunch, however, one of the girls from the church office called with devastating news. There would be no baby. Jillian’s pregnancy was nothing more than a sweater tucked under her dress. They might never have known if one of the other ladies hadn’t seen a cardigan fall onto the floor when Jillian entered a bathroom stall . . . and realized that Jillian hadn’t been wearing a sweater in the summer heat.

Megan turned onto her side, pillowing her cheek on her hand. “Why now, God?” she whispered. “If this is from you, why today and not yesterday? Why is the baby in Korea and not Virginia? And why would you lead us away from a low-cost adoption to an expensive situation we can’t possibly afford?”