The boy slept in his own bed in the guestroom again Sunday night. He must have slept well, because he bounced out of the room in chipper spirits the next morning. His breakfast consisted of oatmeal and raisins again, with a side helping of eggs. His own T-shirt and jeans—and underwear, too—were freshly washed, as was he himself, despite a mild protest the previous evening. He had not protested brushing his teeth, though, perhaps because of the brand new toothbrush, or perhaps because protesting the bath had availed him nothing.
No one mentioned the mission for which Craig and Kara were preparing. The boy did ask, though, as they dropped him off at school, whether they would pick him up later or if he should walk home. They decided someone would pick him up, unless they called the school to say otherwise. He seemed satisfied with that answer; the possibility that they might find and contact his real family to come and claim him did not seem to occur to him. The boy was utterly convinced he would stay with them.
The only office in the state where they could go to pick up a copy of the his birth certificate in person was in Tumwater, a suburb of the state capital, Olympia. It being only an hour's drive away, they considered this option preferable to waiting for the certificate to arrive in the mail. So after they dropped the boy off at school, Craig and Kara swung west to Interstate 5 and headed south, Craig maneuvering them through the rush hour traffic.
Wrapped up in their own thoughts, they didn't talk much as they drove. They had discussed most of their questions before the boy had gotten up. If Elliott were indeed the father, and if they could get the birth certificate on that information alone, they would look up the address and phone number of the boy's mother on Craig's smartphone as soon as they left the office and try to get in touch with her. If they couldn't reach her, they would call Craig's Uncle Pete, Elliott's father. He lived somewhere in western Washington state, so they could likely take the boy to him before the day was out. It wasn't right for the boy to be with them.
And if Elliott were somehow not the father…well, they would be back to square one, unable to retrieve the birth certificate unless the name of another relative they might suggest appeared on it. Kara tried not to think about how complicated finding the boy's family might be if they could not acquire that certificate. They would have to call the authorities sooner or later, and that would be awkward—both for the boy, who would likely be sent off to a foster home until his family could be found, and for her and Craig, who would be obligated to explain why they had been keeping someone else's child in their home. Somehow, "the police brought him here" and "the boy said we were his parents" did not sound convincing.
It was mid-morning when they reached their destination and pulled in to park behind the state's Department of Health building. Inside, they located the office they needed.
At its door, Craig stopped and turned to Kara. "Are we doing the right thing?" he asked her. Was he nervous? She certainly was.
"Yes," she answered with more determination than she felt. "He's family. We should do what we can." They had covered this ground already, but there was something reassuring about knowing Craig still felt as hesitant as she did. This was unfamiliar ground, each step tenuous.
They entered the office and found a counter where a clerk in his forties, his hair and mustache graying early, met them. "How can I help you?"
To her own surprise, Kara spoke first. "We need a copy of a birth certificate," she said. She had expected to let Craig take the lead; the boy was from his family. Why should she be so nervous?
"I'd be glad to get that for you," the clerk answered. "The charge is twenty dollars, and I'll need some information about the person listed on the certificate." Kara received his words with a nod. He pulled up a new screen on his computer. "First, let me get your name."
"Kara Carpenter—er, Fleming, sorry. Carpenter is my maiden name." She gave herself a tiny shake. She had not made that mistake for a long time. She must be nervous indeed.
"The full name of the person for whom you need the birth certificate?"
"Zechariah Timothy Fleming," Kara replied. "Zechariah with a Z-E."
He keyed in the information. "Birthdate?"
"April—" At the critical moment, she had forgotten the day.
Craig rescued her. "Third. And he's ten years old, so…"
"Got it," the clerk replied. He punched in that information. "Here he is."
A surge of adrenaline hit Kara, lifting her spirit. The man had found the record. Would he permit them to receive it?
"Before I print this out, may I see your driver's license, Mrs. Fleming?" he asked her. She fished it out and handed it to him across the counter. "Very good," he said, noting her name and returning it to her. "It'll take just a moment for the printer to do its work…"
Craig glanced at Kara. He was thinking the same thing she was. Did they not need to give the man Elliott's name? This was turning out to be a less complicated transaction than they had anticipated.
The clerk retrieved the printed certificate, stamped it with an official seal, slipped it full-length into a large envelope, and handed the envelope to Kara. He and Craig swapped twenty dollars for a receipt, and Craig and Kara departed, envelope in hand.
They made it all the way outside the building and into the sunlight before Kara could stand to wait no longer. She stopped and opened the envelope. Craig seemed as eager to view its contents as she was. She lifted the certificate out carefully and held it in the sunlight where he could see it, too, over her shoulder. "Okay, Elliott, who's the mother?"
She read the certificate silently—and nearly dropped it.
"No, no—Craig, this is wrong!" she gasped. Her first impulse was to turn around and march back into the office, but her husband put his strong hands on her shoulders to hold her where she was.
"They won't be able to fix it," he told her. "That's the information they have."
"But it's wrong!" she yelled at him, causing a passer-by to glance over at them in momentary concern.
"I know," he said grimly. "But they won't believe us. We'll have to track down the error before they'll listen." That calculating look appeared in his eyes; already he was trying to figure out how to do just that.
"Somebody put our names on this certificate!" Kara spat. A part of her wanted to scream. "Ten years ago! That must be why he wanted to see my driver's license—to make sure I was the mother! That's why he didn't need the parents' names! Somebody gave the state our names, and then they told Zach, and that's why—"
"That's why Zach thinks we're his parents," Craig finished.
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 27