"I'll have to take your word for it."
"I kid you not. He shook hands with her and he suddenly became docile. If I believed in magic, that's what I'd say it was."
"I've heard of people who have that effect on animals."
Immediately Bill felt himself bristle within. "Danny's not an animal."
"Of course he's not. I was just drawing a parallel." He scrutinized Bill. "A little touchy, aren't we?"
"Not at all." Then he thought about it. He'd been on edge since the Loms had left. Why? "Well, maybe a little."
"Because someone might adopt him?"
Bill glanced at Nick. He'd grown to be a perceptive son of a B. True, Bill had been wondering whether the prospect of facing St. F.'s without Danny Gordon running around might influence his judgment, but
"I don't think that's it, Nick. It's possible, of course. After two years with Danny I feel as if we have a blood relationship, and it will cost me a piece of my heart to see him go, but this feels different."
"You mean like it doesn't feel right?"
Very perceptive, that Nick.
"Yes. Maybe I do mean just that."
"Well, you did say you thought he had to go to an older couple. These two don't sound as if they fit that particular criterion."
"An older, experienced couple. They don't exactly fit that either."
"Then that's probably why it doesn't feel right."
"But Sara says she practically raised her brothers, and I believe her. That would give her credit in the experience column. And if Danny consistently responds to her the way he did this afternoon"
"Then he wouldn't be exactly hyperactive anymore, although quite frankly I can't see anyone slowing that boy down for long."
"You had to be there."
Bill called Danny over and sat him on his lap.
"What did you think of that lady you met here today?"
Danny smiled. "She was nüüce."
"How did you feel when you were holding her hand?"
The smile'broadened as Danny's eyes got a dreamy, faraway look.
"Nüüce."
"Can you tell me anything more?"
"Nope!"
And then he was off and running again.
"I gather she was a nüüce lady," Nick said with a grin.
Bill shrugged. "Danny's new word. But I think I'm going to put those two together once more."
"To see if it happens again? Good move. Reproducibility is an indispensable factor in the scientific method."
"This is not an experiment, Nick."
Sometimes, though, Bill wished there were a scientific method for this adoption business. There were protocols and procedures, checks and evaluations and waiting periods, all sorts of safety measures and protections for both the child and the adoptive parents. Yet there had been plenty of times over the years when Bill had found himself operating on instinct, flying by the seat of his pants.
Some instinct within him warned against this match, but he suspected the feeling might be fueled by an emotional attachment to this particular child. Finding a good home for Danny, that was what really mattered. And if this woman had some special rapport with Danny, then he had no right to turn her away.
"I just want to see them together again. Maybe it was some kind of freak accident. But if it wasn't, if he responds to her that way again"
"Then maybe you've found him a home. But if that comes about, I see another problem."
"I can let go. I've had to do it before." He'd let Nick go when the Quinns adopted him sixteen years ago. "I'll do it again."
"I had no doubts about that," Nick said, staring at Danny. "But you're going to have to find a way to get him to leave you."
Bill nodded. He'd already foreseen that problem. He figured he'd solve it when the time came.
Bill invited both the Loms back but Sara came aloneHerb was tied up at his office. She arrived the following Tuesday between school dismissal and the dinner hour.
"Have you reconsidered?" she asked brightly when she had seated herself in his office.
She was wearing a white and yellow flower-print sundress that deepened her already dark complexion. Bill wondered if there might be a little Mexican blood mixing with the Texan flowing in her veins.
"I'm in the process of doing so," Bill said, "but I'd like to get into specifics with you about your experience in raising your younger brothers."
They talked for about half an hour. Bill was impressed with Sara's easy familiarity with the ins and outs of child-rearing. But what came through more strongly than ever was her desire for a child, her need for one.
And then the inevitable occurred: Danny arrived.
He skidded to a halt when he saw her. A big smile, tiny white teeth
"Hiya, Sara."
She seemed to glow at the mention of her name.
"You remembered!"
"'Course I did. I'm smart."
"I'll bet you are! What did you learn in school today?"
Once again Bill watched in amazement as Danny stood calmly before her with his hands clasped behind his back. No hand holding this time; no contact at all. Yet he stood still and answered all her questions, even going so far as to elaborate on his friends and some of the games he liked to play.
And Sara
Bill saw the light in her eyes, the warmth in her expression as she focused on Danny and made him the center of her world for those moments. He sensed the deep yearning within her and allowed himself the possibility that he had made a matcha miraculous one.
Danny turned to him.
"I like her. She's nüüce."
"Yes, Danny. Sara is very nice."
"Can I live with her?"
The question took Bill by surprise. The title of an old song flashed through his brain: "Am I That Easy to Forget?" But he ignored the hurt and concentrated on Danny. He had to be very careful here.
"I don't know, Danny. We'll have to look into that."
"Can I pleeease ?"
"I don't know yet, Danny. I'm not saying no and I'm not saying yes. There's lots of things to be done before we come to that."
"Can I visit, maybe?"
"We'll look into that too. But Sara and her husband and I have many things to discuss first. So why don't you get washed up for dinner and let us get to work."
"Okay." Hope shone like a beacon behind his eyes as he turned back to her. "See ya, Sara."
She gave him a hug, then held him out to arm's length.
"See ya, Danny."
He trotted off down the hall.
"I think you've got a friend," Bill told Sara.
"I think so too," she said, smiling warmly. Then she gave Bill a level look. "But will that friend be allowed to become my son, Father Ryan?"
"If I've learned one thing in this job, Sara, it's never to make a promise I'm not absolutely sure I can keepnot to the adult applicants, and certainly never to the boys. But we're off to a good start. Let's see where we can go from here."
Her eyes widened, her voice was suddenly small and husky. "You mean you've reconsidered?"
When he nodded she lowered her face into her hands and began to sob. The sight of her tears moved Bill and confirmed his growing conviction that he was doing the best thing for Danny. Only a tiny squeamish part of him remained unconvinced.
SEVENTEEN
The reference checks went smoothly. Both Herb and Sara had excellent academic records at U. of Texas, he in accounting, she in early education. Their credit record was excellent. The home inspection was perfecta two-story center-hall colonial in a quiet residential neighborhood in Astoria where the Loms were active in the local parish. Bill went so far as to call Sara's old pastor in Houston. Father Geary knew Sara Bainbridgeher maiden nameand remembered her as a sweet, wonderful young woman; Herb came from a wealthy family and wasn't quite the churchgoer Sara was, but the parish priest considered him a good man.
The whole process went swimmingly. The weekend visits came off without incident, and Danny's st
ays were stretched to a week at a time. He loved it. And he loved Sara. He seemed totally taken by her, completely infatuated. He'd still visit Bill's office on a daily basis, still sit on his lap, still disrupt the Saturday night chess games. But-all he talked about was Sara, Sara, Sara. Bill thought she was a fine woman, exceptional even, but God he was getting sick of hearing about her.
By late fall Danny was no longer the same Danny who'd torn around St. F.'s all summer. It wasn't apparent at first, but slowly, in fits and spurts, Bill could see a definite change taking place. Over the course of the investigative and processing procedures Bill had noticed a gradual deceleration in Danny. Not a slamming on of the brakes; more like a racing truck whose driver was slowly, systematically downshifting as he progressed from the freeway toward a school traffic zone. The motor was still revving high, but the speed was falling off. The nuns who taught him in second grade said he was much less of a discipline problem these days, and that his lengthened attention span was resulting in improved schoolwork.
It was almost miraculous. Almost too good to be true.
And that bothered Bill a little. In his two decades with St. F.'s he'd rarely seen an adoption go so smoothly. And so when he lay in bed at night, alone with the dark, the lack of glitches would wake that nagging little voice and spur it to whisper its nebulous doubts in his ear.
That was why he was almost relieved when the first little glitch reared its head during the week before Christmas.
Herb had been pushing to finalize the adoption by Christmas, his reasoning being that he wanted to usher in the new year with the three of them together as a family. Bill didn't doubt that, but he had an inkling that with Herb's background in accounting he was well aware that Danny was good for a full year's deduction as a dependent if the adoption became official anytime before midnight December 31.
Which was okay with Bill. Raising a child in New York City was hellishly expensive and parents deserved any financial break they could get. That wasn't the glitch.
The glitch was Danny. The boy was having second thoughts.
"But I don't want to go," he told Bill one evening during the week before Christmas.
Bill patted his lap. "Why don't you hop up here and tell me why not?"
"Because I'm scared," Danny said as he settled into his usual spot.
"Are you scared of Sara?"
"No. She's nüice."
"How about Herb? Are you scared of him?"
"No. I'm just scared about leaving here."
Bill smiled to himself and gave Danny a reassuring hug. He was almost relieved to hear of the boy's misgivings. They were common, perfectly normal, and expected in Danny's case. After all, St. F.'s had been his home longer than any other place in his lifetime. The residents and staff were the only family he'd known for two and a half years now. It would be cause for concern if he weren't suffering a few pangs of separation anxiety.
"Everybody's a little scared when they leave, Danny. Just like they're scared when they come here. Remember when Tommy left last week to go live with Mr. and Mrs. Davis? He was scared."
Danny twisted around to look at him.
"Tommy Lurie? No way! He's not scared of nothing!"
"Well, he was. But he's doing fine. Wasn't he back just yesterday telling everybody how great it was?"
Danny nodded slowly, saying, "Tommy Lurie was afraid?"
"And don't forget, you're not moving far away. You can call me whenever you want."
"Can I come back and visit like Tommy did?"
"Sure can. You're welcome here anytime you want to come and the Loms can bring you. But pretty soon you'll be so happy and busy with Herb and Sara you'll forget all about us here at St. F.'s."
"I'll never do that."
"Good. Because we love you too. The Loms love you. Everybody loves you. Because you're a good kid, Danny."
That was Bill's message to all the boys at St. F.'s, most of whom were basket cases in the self-esteem department when they arrived. Bill began pounding it home from the moment they stepped through the front door: You are loved here. You have value. You are important. You're a good kid . After a while a fair number of them came to believe they were worth something.
The message was more than mere rote in Danny's case. Bill was going to miss him terribly. He felt as if he were giving away his own son.
So he sat there with his heart breaking as he held Danny on his lap and told him of all the wonderful times he was going to have with the Loms, of how Bill was going to send a message to Santa Claus to let him know Danny's new address and make sure he brought Danny lots of extra good stuff for Christmas.
And Danny sat, smiling as he listened.
Danny was quiet the rest of the week. But on Christmas Eve, as the final documents were being signed, he began to cry.
"I don't want to go with her!" he sobbed, tears spilling from his eyes onto his cheeks.
Sara was seated by Bill's desk; the battered valise holding all of Danny's worldly possessions rested by her feet. Bill glanced up and saw her stricken expression. He turned and squatted next to Danny.
"It's okay to be a little scared," he said. "Remember that talk we had? Remember what I told you about Tommy?"
"I don't care!" he said, his voice rising in the suddenly silent office. "She's bad! She's mean!"
"Come now, Danny. There's no call for that kind of"
The boy threw his arms around Bill's neck and clung to him, trembling.
"She's going to hurt me!" he screamed. "Don't make me go! Please don't make me go! She's going to hurt me!"
Bill was shocked at the outburst. But there was no denying Danny's genuine terror. He was literally quaking with fear.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sara rise to her feet and step toward them. Her eyes were full of hurt.
"II don't understand," she said.
"Just some last-minute jitters," Bill told her, trying to assuage the pain he saw in her eyes. "Coupled with an overactive imagination."
"This seems to be more than just a case of simple jitters," Sara said.
Gently, Bill pushed Danny to arm's length and held him there.
"Danny, listen to me. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to. But you must tell me about these terrible things you're saying. Where did they come from? Who told you these things?"
"No one," he said, blubbering and sniffling.
"Then how can you say them?"
"Because!"
"Because isn't good enough, Danny. Where did you get these ideas?"
"Nowhere. I just know !"
Sara stepped forward. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and placed her hand on Danny's head, gently smoothing his perpetually unruly blond cowlick.
"Oh, Danny. I would never hurt you. How can you possibly think such a thing?"
Bill felt Danny stiffen at Sara's touch, then relax; saw his eyes roll upward for a heartbeat, then focus again. He stopped sobbing.
"You're going to be my little boy," Sara was saying in a soothing, almost-mesmerizing voice as she stroked his head. "And I'm going to be your mother. And together with Herb the three of us will make a wonderful family."
Danny smiled.
In that instant Bill was nearly overcome by an almost-uncontrollable urge to call the whole thing off, to wrap Danny protectively in his arms, chase the Loms from his office, and never allow them to cross the threshold of St. Francis again.
He buried the impulse. It was the father-son thing rearing its selfish, possessive head. He had to let go of this boy.
"You're not really afraid of me, are you, Danny?" Sara cooed.
He turned and looked up at her.
"No. I'm just scared of leaving here."
"Don't be afraid, Danny, my dear. It's supposed to snow tonight, which means tomorrow will be a white Christmas. Come with us and I promise you this Christmas will be utterly unforgettable."
Something in her words sent a chill across Bill's shoulders but he forced himself to let go of Danny and
guide him toward Sara. As Danny's arms went around her hips and Sara's arms enfolded the boy, Bill felt his throat constrict. He turned away to hide the tears in his eyes.
I have to let go !
"I'd better take a rain check, Nick," Bill said into the phone. "It's snowing like crazy."
Nick's voice was tinny over the wire, and genuinely annoyed.
"Since when did a little white stuff ever bother you? Either you get yourself over here now or, snow or no snow, I'm coming over there and dragging you back."
"Really, Nick. I'm good where I am."
"The Quinns will be hurt if you don't show up. And besides, I don't think it's such a good idea for you to be alone on Christmas Eveespecially this Christmas Eve."
He understood and appreciated Nick's concern. He'd always spent part of Christmas with Mom and Dad. But this year
"I'm not alone. I'm going to spend it with the boys. Which reminds me that I've got to check on them right now. I'll see you Saturday night. A Merry Christmas to you, and to the Quinns."
"All right," he said resignedly. "You win. Merry Christmas, Father Bill."
Bill hung up and walked down the hall to check on the kids. The dormitory was quiet. Excitement had filled these halls all week, rising ever higher with the decorating of the tree, reaching a fever pitch here a couple of hours ago as he'd overseen the hanging of the stockings by the old never-used fireplace in the dining hall downstairs. But all the boys were in bed now and those who weren't already asleep were trying their best to doze off. Because everybody knew that Santa didn't come until the whole house was sleeping.
Christmas. Bill's favorite time of year. And it was being around the boys that made it for him. They were so excited this time of year, especially the little ones. The bright eyes, the eager faces, the innocence of their euphoric anticipation. He wished he could bottle it like wine and decant off a little at a time during the year to get him through the times when things got low and slow.
God knew there were periods since the fire last March when he could have used a couple of bottles of the stuff. Tomorrow was a milestone of sorts, a dread marker along his personal road: the first December 25th in his life when he wouldn't be able to call his folks and wish them a Merry Christmas.
An aching emptiness expanded in his chest. He missed them. More than he'd ever thought he could or would. But he'd weather tomorrow. The boys would carry him through it.