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For George, forever and always
Chapter One
Jaden sat on the floor, holding on to a half loaf of unsliced bread. He switched his lamp on and off, the bedroom lighting up and darkening over and over. Electricity had always relaxed him. For sure it was the most amazing thing about America. He bit off the biggest chunk of bread that could fit in his mouth. It was sourdough, which he liked because it was so chewy.
On, off, on, off, on off on off onoffonoffon.
Thomas Edison had called electricity “a system of vibrations.” Jaden loved Thomas Edison. Edison had more than a thousand US patents. He had invented things left and right. Jaden wouldn’t hate life like he often did, if only he could invent that much.
He mostly wanted to invent anything related to electricity. Atoms were in constant motion, even when you were asleep. When you died, your personal electricity kind of turned off. And yet everything on the earth held constantly moving atoms. So even if your personal electricity died, your body still had a system of vibrations. Jaden hadn’t figured it all out yet, but he would someday—he’d promised himself that.
He closed his eyes and stayed very still, concentrating on his electricity. He could feel a slight tingling in his hands. He hadn’t even known what electricity was when he was first adopted from Romania four years earlier. In Romania he’d lived in four different group homes, and none of them had electricity.
Anyway, here he was at twelve, and now his adoptive so-called parents were adopting another child, a baby boy from Kazakhstan. He figured he knew why they were adopting again: They weren’t satisfied with him. Whenever he thought that, he felt tears welling up. He didn’t know if he was upset for himself, because they weren’t satisfied with him, or for the baby, because if the baby was up for adoption, it meant the mother had abandoned him, and Jaden knew what that was like.
The baby’s name was Bahytzhan. In his picture he appeared Central Asian, and he had scabs on his forehead—from bugs? That’s how Jaden had gotten scabs on his face when he lived in Romania. Steve, his “dad,” had made three copies of the Bahytzhan picture: one for himself, one for Penni, and one for Jaden. Jaden kept his copy in a drawer in his night table.
Off.
He sat in the dark. He could hear Penni calling him. He called her “Mom” to her face and “Penni” in his mind. He only had one mother, and she’d given him away when he was four. He could still remember her vaguely. But what he really remembered was the home where she’d placed him—twelve people, one room, one bed. He’d slept on the floor. And he remembered being afraid. When his mother left him, he’d been so out of his mind that he hadn’t even screamed and cried; he’d howled. He could still remember the feeling when he’d howled, the feeling like someone was cutting through his skull and pulling out his brain, all while he was awake. Even today, sometimes he was in so much pain about it that he thought it would kill him. He did admit that this home in America was different and, yes, better than anywhere he’d lived in Romania. And yet he always came back to how Romania was his true home and how Penni and Steve had had no right to take him from there.
One of his psychologists had told him he should be grateful to Penni and Steve. The shrink didn’t understand that they didn’t adopt him for him, but for themselves. But what the guy really didn’t understand was that it was impossible for Jaden to feel grateful, for anything ever. It wasn’t personal to Penni and Steve. Jaden had a distaste for parents in general. And he knew he wasn’t alone. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of kids in America just like him—adopted when they were older, hating their new parents. He knew this because one of his psychologists or psychiatrists had said so. He couldn’t remember at the moment which doctor it was. So he pretty much was nothing special.
“Knock, knock,” Penni said from behind him.
He turned around, saw her shadow in the doorway. “I’m ready, Mom.” They were going out to eat with Penni’s older sister, Catherine, and her family. Things could have been worse for Jaden—he could have been adopted by Catherine: yuck. He let the bread slip from his fingers so Penni wouldn’t see that he’d been eating before dinner.
He got up and followed her through the house. It was a nice enough house, but not his house. He didn’t have a house. Never had—he’d only thought he had one. His mother, the only person he figured he’d ever loved, had given him up. He refused to feel love again, ever. Every day all he wanted to do was cry. He hated school, sitting there like a soldier in the army. He hated home, with Penni always trying to get through to him. He wished she would ignore him more.
Steve had just gotten home from work, so he was wearing a suit and tie. His suits were all slightly too small because he’d gained weight recently. “I hear you didn’t go to school. Whatcha been up to all day?” Steve asked Jaden.
“Packing,” Jaden lied.
Steve took off his wire glasses, cleaned them, and gazed at Jaden like he wanted to see him better. “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it? In forty-eight hours or so from now we’ll be in Kazakhstan, meeting your baby brother.” Steve smiled. Jaden looked at Steve’s face. The smile looked real, not phony the way Steve’s smiles sometimes looked. Steve used to be a smiling, lovable geek. But he’d changed. That is, Jaden had changed him.
“Yeah, cool,” Jaden said.
It was raining, so the three of them sprinted out the door to the car.
Jaden always sat in the middle of the backseat, so that if someone came from one side and tried to pull him out to take him to a foster home—or wherever—he would have a better chance of getting away, out the other side. That was only a theory, of course, but he believed it. He saw Penni and Steve meet eyes, and then Steve started the car and said, “When we get Bahytzhan, we’ll need to put the baby seat in the middle. That’s where experts say it’s safest.”
Jaden didn’t even answer. He couldn’t sit on a side. Period. “I won’t ride in the car anymore,” he said. “I’ll ride my bicycle everywhere.” He felt bitterness well up inside himself, moving up from his stomach to his mouth, and he gagged slightly. He knew he was overreacting, but he couldn’t help it.
Steve and Penni met eyes again. Penni turned all the way around. “Jaden, it’s just that Steve read an article saying the baby seat should be in the middle. Okay?”
So this was all Steve’s idea. Jaden didn’t answer. He shook off the bitterness and stared out the side window at the rain falling hard on front lawns, at porch lamps lighting up the houses. It was hard to believe that this lit-up neighborhood existed on the same planet that he’d lived on before. If—if—he decided to go to college, he would study electricity, which he’d done a science project on at school. He’d hooked up a cocoon so that a tiny light would go on every time the future moth moved inside the cocoon. Then, when it was born, a bell would ring. He’d gotten his only A ever on that project. He didn’t get an A for the class, though. He got a C. That was because the only thing that interested him was electricity.
Jaden knew it didn’t make sense, but he felt like if his real mother could have had electricity, if she could have only plugged in a light and turned it on, she wouldn’t have had to give him away. He’d told this to one of his former psychiatrists—a man whose name he couldn’t remember—and the psyc
hiatrist had asked, “Why do you think that, Jaden?”
“Because electricity is magic,” he’d answered. That same psychiatrist was the first of many to say that Jaden couldn’t attach properly to Steve and Penni because of being betrayed by the one caretaker he’d ever had—his mother. From age four to eight, he’d had to fend for himself in group homes.
“I kind of wish I hadn’t let Catherine talk me into this dinner date,” Penni was saying. “We’ve got so much to do before we leave.”
“I too wish you hadn’t let her talk you into it,” Steve replied.
“I too” was exactly the kind of thing Steve said. “Perhaps” for “maybe,” “distressed” for “upset,” and so on. He was a word nerd.
Catherine was kind of strange because she was so different from Penni. Jaden had to admit that Penni was a nice person—he just didn’t love her—but Catherine was less than nice. Much less. But Penni refused to see this because of “the importance of family.” The importance of family was one of Penni’s themes. Penni told him that the more family who loved him, the better. Jaden didn’t even know for sure what anyone meant when they used the word “love.” Was it like an electrical charge that developed between two people? He didn’t know.
Chapter Two
It was just like Catherine to insist they have dinner together right before the big trip to Kazakhstan, when they were so busy. She said she had a big surprise for them. When they reached the restaurant, they got out of the car in a rush and hurried in, partly because of the rain and partly because Catherine and her husband, Marty, were very prompt people.
Sure enough, not only were Marty and Catherine already at the restaurant with their baby, but as soon as Catherine spotted them, she checked her watch. They must have been on time, because she and Marty smiled. Marty told everyone where to sit—Jaden between Catherine and Penni. “Jaden between the lovely ladies,” was what Marty said, indicating a chair. Jaden sat down.
“Jaden, I swear you grow taller every time I see you,” Catherine said.
“Yeah, I, uh, guess I’m growing.”
“You certainly are! And I have to admit you’re becoming a handsome young man.”
“And he knows it!” Steve exclaimed.
Pride surged through Jaden. He was handsome. Whatever happened in the future, wherever he went, whatever he did, he had that.
Then there was a silence. Jaden hated these weird silences that happened sometimes at dinners. If you couldn’t even be quiet without it feeling weird, why would you bother to have dinner together in the first place? In fact, this dinner proved just how unimportant family was. Finally he had to say something. Even though a shrink had told him not to speak impulsively, now Jaden said the first thing that came to mind. “The last time I saw you, all your baby did was cry.”
Catherine and Marty put on their serious faces. “Well, she’s a baby, Jaden,” Marty said.
“Yeah, but she never laughs or smiles,” Jaden answered, feeling a little defensive. The baby started to cry on cue. She was not a happy baby. Yet what would she have to be unhappy about?
“Well,” said Penni. “Well. I’m famished.” She glanced around for a server. “I’m going to order an iced tea. I need the caffeine, because believe it or not, I’m not even finished packing, and I need to wash and clean the money we’re bringing. Did I tell you we have to take fourteen thousand dollars in perfect hundred-dollar bills? And my bank, who’d told me that they’d have the bills by today, ended up having exactly seven perfect bills? Seven?” Sometimes when Penni was trying to make peace, she said every sentence like it was a question.
“Have you communicated with your adoption agency lately?” Catherine asked. “I remember you saying they hadn’t been answering your e-mails.”
“I did hear from them, the other day. They’re, um, well, they’re going out of business.”
“What?!”
“Yes, we were pretty shocked. But they say everything they needed to do for our adoption has been done. It shouldn’t affect our process at all. Knock on wood.”
“Knock on wood indeed,” Steve said.
All the grown-ups started talking about the adoption and the agency, and also about how Jaden would have to “work at” being a good big brother. “But, ultimately, I’m sure he’ll be a remarkable big brother,” Penni said. She always stuck up for him, and Jaden knew she believed everything good she said about him. She believed good things that he didn’t even believe himself. Though Jaden wasn’t sure what love was, he was pretty sure that Penni felt it for him. The reason she’d sent him to so many psychologists and psychiatrists was to make him love her back. The one person he’d ever loved was his mother, who gave him away. So why love anyone? The shrinks hadn’t worked, and Jaden ended up not loving anyone in the world. And then he started refusing to go to any more doctors. After trying to pry his hands off the bedpost in his room to take him to a psychologist, Penni and Steve finally decided not to send him to more doctors for a while. So right now Jaden was shrink-less.
“Why doesn’t everybody decide what to order?” Marty said.
They all obediently picked up menus. Jaden’s eyes went straight to the filet mignon Penni had promised would be there. Marty and Catherine were picking up the tab, according to Penni. So Jaden wasn’t sure if he would be allowed to get two orders of filet mignon. His mouth began to water at the thought of nearly raw meat. He got only well-cooked or cured meat when he lived in Romania, because there were no refrigerators to keep meat from spoiling. “Can I get two entrées?” Jaden asked. No matter what he ate, he was always just so hungry.
“No,” Marty responded crisply, not even lifting his head from his menu.
“Yes, you may,” Steve said, also not lifting his head.
Then Steve and Marty raised their eyes at the same time. There was a pause. They both probably had something they wanted to say, but then they both pursed their lips and returned to their menus. Jaden felt a little guilty—sometimes he caused trouble even when he hadn’t meant to.
Jaden decided on two orders of the filet mignon. He glanced at Penni because he could feel her eyes on him. She smiled. It was weird how he always knew when she was looking at him, like they were connected or something—even though he didn’t feel connected to her.
She touched his hand, for no particular reason. His doctors always told him how much Penni loved him. Steve not as much, though the doctors never actually told him that. A couple of years back, when Jaden was starting fires in the house, Penni had refused to put him into residential treatment, even though Steve wanted to. Instead Penni had sent him to a psychiatrist, Dr. Wilder, who saw it as his mission to stop Jaden from starting fires.
Dr. Wilder actually read three books about electricity so he could talk to Jaden about it. He made Jaden go through behavior exercises every week. Like, once a day he was supposed to think of something good about Penni and Steve, and once a week he was supposed to tell them something good about themselves. Jaden didn’t think that was why he stopped with the fires, but anyway, for whatever reason, he’d stopped. But then Dr. Wilder had given up his practice to write a book about relationships.
His next shrink tried to make him understand that setting fires was sometimes a behavior of kids who were adopted at older than four or five. Jaden didn’t understand why, and maybe nobody truly understood. Behavior, behavior, attachment, attachment. He heard those words over and over. When he thought of those other adopted kids setting fires all across the country, he wished that he could meet some of them, and not to start fires together. Just to talk.
Then his next shrink had tried to get to the bottom of why Jaden was so charming and cooperative sometimes and so utterly uncooperative other times. He thought Jaden might have a split personality. That was plain crazy. There was only one Jaden inside his head.
When the waiter appeared, everybody paused so Marty could decide who was goin
g to order first, as was tradition on account of how bossy he was. Frankly, Jaden thought Marty could use a shrink himself.
“Jaden, why don’t you order first?” Marty said.
Jaden felt a little electric jolt inside himself at the happy thought of ordering first. He cleared his throat. “I’ll have two orders of filet mignon cooked rare.” He held his breath, but nobody commented.
Jaden couldn’t help smiling when the bread came. It was so beautiful. In Romania, the people living in his last group home would have scratched his eyes out for a slice of damp bread picked out of a garbage dump. He’d found bread twice, so he knew whereof he spoke . . . or whatever the phrase was. Now he took three slices of bread and six butters. The butter was perfect—not too hard and not too soft. And it was a little yellower than most butters. He loved that. He tried to spread it evenly over the whole slice. Buttering bread had to be one of the most enjoyable things to do in the world.
Steve said, “So how did your art project go? I forgot to ask you.”
Jaden perked up. “Pretty good,” he answered. “Mrs. Malady said it was my best art project this year.” He’d cut and pasted bright pictures so that the final product looked like a stained-glass panel.
“Good for you. Bravo!” Steve said happily.
“I thought art was one of your weak subjects,” Catherine commented.
That made Jaden want to mash butter in her face, but he rose above that. Penni said, “Our total travel time is thirty-one hours?” Everyone just stared at her for a moment.
“Can you believe I’ve never even been out of the country?” Catherine finally asked.
Actually, Catherine was so narrow-minded that Jaden could believe it, but he was good and didn’t say so. He never got credit for all the times he was good.
Then everybody except Penni started ignoring Jaden and instead talking about adoption and work and vacations. Basically, they were talking about making money (work) and spending money (adoption and vacations). Penni was an administrative assistant, and her boss was letting her take three months off for the adoption. Seven weeks or more of that would be spent living in Kazakhstan. The reason the trip would take seven weeks was that Kazakh law involved seeing your baby two hours a day for two weeks in order for you and the baby to bond with each other. Then you had to wait (and sometimes wait some more) for a court date, followed by at least fifteen days when any of the baby’s relatives or the prosecutor had the opportunity to protest the adoption. And then you had to do some paperwork. Often it all took even longer than seven weeks.