Three Little Words

by Ashley Rhodes-Courter

  “Were you hurt?” I asked, looking at them differently. They no longer seemed like cardboard parents, but flesh-and-blood people who had almost died before I had even met them.

  “No, we were fine.” Gay’s voice quaked as she relived her shock. “Phil and I rushed out the front door. The rear door had already flown open when the plane made the sharp turn. Josh was almost thrown out, but the seat belt held him inside. We dashed as far away from the plane as possible. ‘Back farther!’ Phil ordered when he saw fuel dripping from the broken right wing.”

  “Did it explode?”

  Gay pointed to the picture. “No, this is how it ended up. The sandy earth absorbed the volatile fluid.”

  “We checked each other and we were all okay, except Josh had an abrasion from the seat belt,” Phil added.

  Gay glanced from me to Phil and back to me. “Then something magical happened.” She gave me the most relaxed smile I had seen on her face so far. “Phil hugged me and said, ‘I think we survived because we’re meant to do something else.’”

  Phil nudged me with his elbow. “And that, my dear, would be you.”

  On the plane Gay asked if I wanted a snack. She had cheese slices and peanut butter crackers in her purse. “I also packed ramen noodles, mac-and-cheese, and a travel hot pot.”

  I nodded and stared straight ahead as if the phone in the back of the seat in front of me were the most fascinating object I had ever seen. “Do I have to call you ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’?”

  “Of course not,” Phil replied.

  “Ever?” I directed my words to Gay.

  “It’s entirely your decision,” she said.

  From her bottomless carry-on, Gay pulled out magnetic checkers, a mini Yahtzee set, and Go Fish and Old Maid cards, which we played until we landed in Hartford.

  As soon as we were on the highway, I gasped at the foliage. It was every color I could remember from a Crayola box and more—orange-red, green-yellow, mahogany, gold.

  We passed a pick-it-yourself orchard. “Apples! May I pick one?”

  Phil stopped, and I ran up to the first tree, plucked an apple, and took a huge bite. Sticky juice ran down my chin, but I did not care. It was the most scrumptious apple I had ever tasted.

  After filling a bag with me, Gay checked her watch. “Josh is probably waiting for us.”

  We were attending parents’ weekend at Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts. This campus had little in common with Andrews University, where the Merritts’ daughters had gone. Both had dramatic vistas over rolling lawns and tall trees, but the students here were almost a different species. Hampshire hairstyles ranged from dreadlocks to electric blue Mohawks to shaved heads. Men and women flaunted wicked tattoos and piercings in crazy places, and most wore comfortable rather than trendy clothing.

  “You must be Josh’s folks,” a girl in a long, homespun skirt said as we entered a courtyard. “He’ll be back in a few.”

  The back door to his dorm—called a “mod”—banged open. “Hey, buddy!” Phil exclaimed. He and Josh hugged and patted each other’s backs.

  Josh walked over to me. His wavy hair was longer than mine and pulled back in a ponytail. “So, this is my little sister!” he said with a wide grin.

  The next day Blake drove in from Boston to join us. He shook my hand like a business client, yet he sounded like a cowboy when he said, “Howdy.” The gap between his front teeth made him look friendly.

  We crowded into Josh’s car, which had more room than our rental, and headed to New Hampshire to have lunch with Phil’s mother and his brother’s family.

  The Courters were so busy catching up and joking with one another that they did not pay much attention to me. I noticed that Blake looked like Phil but seemed to have more of Gay’s abrupt personality, whereas Josh resembled Gay yet had Phil’s mellow mood. I could not figure out where I would fit into this tight-knit group.

  Phil’s brother, Dan, was a pastor. He and his wife, Linda, reminded me of the Merritts. As I held their newborn granddaughter, I thought, They would never consider getting rid of her, but I could be sent back at any time.

  “How about a family reunion shot?” Grandma Courter suggested. I did not think that I would be included, but Gay made sure I was in the front row.

  Dan said, “Will you look at this great bunch of Courters—and Ashley fits right in.” Linda agreed that I looked like their youngest daughter, who also had red hair.

  Instead of finding her observation comforting, I was offended. My hair color had nothing to do with whether these people accepted me or not. I felt as if Phil and Gay were showing off their “good deed” and nobody realized I was overwhelmed and frightened.

  The next morning we said good-bye to Josh and headed to Boston with Blake. “Ash, why don’t you ride with me?” he suggested when his parents pulled up in the rental car. The inside of his van looked like a living room. There were no seats in the back, just an Oriental carpet and a stereo the size of a home entertainment center.

  “Want to hear my new CD?” I asked. “Play track three.”

  As the music to “Barbie Girl” started, Blake winced at the high-pitched voices mimicking Ken and Barbie. “Play it again,” he said. Soon he was singing the male parts while I did the female. We kept it up for the rest of the trip.

  We were going to stay with Gay’s cousins, Bob and Shirley Zimmerman, who lived on the top two floors of a Back Bay town house. They greeted us with outstretched arms. I disliked being hugged and had been relieved that the Courters in New Hampshire hadn’t been touchy-feely, but when Shirley reached out, I didn’t want to seem impolite.

  “Hey, Blake,” Bob said, “Your hairline is getting to look like your old man’s. If you keep it up, it will look like mine.” Without warning, Bob whipped off his toupee. I lurched so hard, I almost fell back into their china cabinet.

  “Ashley,” Blake said, “welcome to our crazy family.”

  I despised most of the meals Gay cooked.

  “I know you’re a fussy eater,” she said, “but I’m not a mind reader.” She asked me to write out a list of the foods Hiked.

  On my next visit Phil started to grill hamburgers. “I only eat junior bacon cheeseburgers.” I announced. “Can we go and buy one?”

  “We’re also having mashed potatoes, fruit salad, coleslaw, and carrot and celery sticks. I am sure you’ll find something to eat,” Gay replied.

  “I don’t think so.” I gave Phil my cutest pout.

  “If you’re still hungry when I drive you back to Tampa, we’ll stop for something,” he said.

  I picked at some of the mashed potatoes—which were more delicious than I let on—but as soon as we were in the car, I begged Phil to stop at Wendy’s.

  “Can’t send you back hungry,” he said.

  “Are you going to tell Gay?” I asked.

  “Gay and I stick together on everything.”

  “But she didn’t want me to have extra food.”

  “Ashley, both of us want to make you happy. Give Gay a chance, okay?”

  I knew Gay was trying to please me, but for some reason, I resisted every attempt she made. She made chicken nuggets in the oven so they’d have a KFC flavor but not as much fat. They were quite good, although I was annoyed by the way she preached to me about eating healthy foods. One of the few veggies I would eat was cauliflower, and Gay smiled whenever I gobbled it down with either buttered bread crumbs or a cheddar cheese sauce. The Courters preferred fancy salads, but Gay would make me a separate one with chunks of plain iceberg. I could not tolerate anything with a sauce or any foods combined, so Gay would separate the meat and vegetables for me.

  Gay wanted me to taste the food she’d make before asking for an alternative dinner. Sometimes she would prod me to try a few more bites. Mostly, she would shrug, and then I could leave the table and make ramen noodles, canned soup, SpaghettiOs, macaroni-and-cheese, or grilled cheese.

  When Gay reheated some chicken from the night before, I said, “We
never have to eat leftovers at The Children’s Home.”

  “Help yourself to an alternative meal if you want,” she responded.

  I poked around in the pantry and came out cradling a bag of Doritos.

  “That’s not a nutritious choice,” Gay groaned.

  I rattled the chip bag, then slowly parted the sides. My mischievous look dared Gay to say something as the bag burst open.

  “Put that back!”

  “Would you like me to make you a grilled cheese sandwich?” Phil asked.

  “Sure. I’m starving! I want five.”

  “Five!” Gay exploded. “You can have two,” she sputtered, “then have some salad or fruit. If you are hungry after that, you can have more.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll just make her what she’ll eat,” Phil replied.

  “She’ll never eat five sandwiches.”

  “Then she’ll learn to self-limit,” he said.

  I wolfed down three of the sandwiches, belching loudly to punctuate my victory. I plopped myself on the couch to watch television. Gay fumed as she cleaned up the waste.

  I overheard her whispering to Phil in the kitchen. “We have to teach her healthy eating habits. And, besides, this was about control.”

  “Who lost control?” he countered.

  “You didn’t back me up, so she won.”

  “She’s lost control of her whole life. Isn’t it good that she has some now?”

  “There’s a difference between self-control and manipulation,” Gay snarled, and stomped upstairs to her office.

  Phil came and sat beside me on the sofa. I plopped my feet in his lap—a signal for a foot rub. It was nice to have him on my side.

  After the New England trip I asked to move in with the Courters full-time. “You haven’t completed the visitation schedule,” Beth Lord reminded me.

  “I don’t want to waste more time at Roland Park Middle.”

  “There are technical problems,” the adoption worker admitted. “The Department of Children and Families hasn’t completed some paperwork.”

  The next time I saw Gay, I appealed to her. “I want to celebrate my birthday with my new family; and now because they can’t get the papers done in time, I can’t.”

  Gay contacted Mary Miller. “We’re licensed as foster parents,” she told my guardian. “We can take her as a foster child while they work out the details.”

  Mary Miller agreed to the plan; however, the department didn’t have anyone available who could supervise me. Beth Lord, who often visited her mother in Citrus County, offered to do it.

  My last day at The Children’s Home was Halloween. For Luke’s sake, I went trick-or-treating in the university dorms. The next day Phil picked me up. I packed every last possession, said my farewells to Sabrina, the rest of the cottage staff, and the other kids, and headed out the door.

  Luke trailed me. “Don’t go yet,” he whined.

  “The Hudsons are picking you up soon,” I said. “You’re going to visit them.” He clutched my arm. “C’mon, Lukie. I gotta go.” It was like trying to disengage an octopus. As soon as I unwound one arm, he curled his leg around mine.

  When a staff member pulled him off me, Luke turned and kicked the wall. Phil hurried me to the car. In the distance I could hear my brother screaming. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

  When I arrived at the Courters’, Gay helped me unpack. She held up one of my collared Roland Park shirts. “Since you won’t be wearing uniforms, you’ll need more school outfits.”

  “May I get new sneakers, too?”

  “Yes,” Gay said. “But you still have to try everything on.”

  I agreed, but I refused to allow Gay in the fitting room.

  Phil asked me to model my new outfits. “Which should I wear the first day?”

  “What about the overalls?” he suggested.

  “That sounds good,” I said, and laid them out with a pink tie-dyed shirt.

  At bedtime the Courters came to tuck me in. Phil said, “We like to give good-night kisses. Is that all right with you?”

  “Yes,” I replied, “but I’ll never kiss you back.”

  “That’s fine”—he brushed my forehead with his lips—“though you can always change your mind.”

  After Phil left the room, Gay stroked my hair. “It’s okay not to love us.” I kept my face buried in my pillow, yet my ears were on full alert. “And I’m not going to say that I love you, because I haven’t known you long enough to feel that way. I like you very much and I want you to be my daughter forever, but love is something that grows with shared experiences. I feel the buds of love growing, but it hasn’t blossomed yet.”

  I could not believe she was being so honest. She took a long breath. “There is nothing we can say to make you believe that we’ll be here for you. You’ll only learn it by living with us year after year after year.” She smoothed my hair again and stood up. The bedsprings creaked. I turned enough to see her hovering over me, and for the first time, I saw her as more of a protector than a stranger. “Ashley, one of these days I will tell you that I love you. When you hear those three words from my lips, you will know they come from my heart. Sweet dreams, sweetie,” she said, and stepped out in the hall.

  On my first day of school Phil handed me a lunch box containing cheese sandwiches and pickles. “I want to be certain you’ll have something you like.”

  “I’ve never taken my own lunch.” I had always been a free-lunch kid.

  He handed me two dollars. “Here’s money in case you want to buy something else. Later you can choose whether you want to pack lunch or buy it.”

  Since Phil’s office was close to the school, he said he would drive me. “You’d have to get up an hour earlier for the school bus, and some of those kids can be tough.”

  “No kidding!” I told him about the time one of The Children’s Home kids had terrorized a bus and the police had to rescue us.

  The guidance counselor knew Phil, and they chatted while he filled out the enrollment forms. Phil noticed that I was quivering. “Cutie-pie, you’re going to be fine, but if you need me, I can come back in two seconds.”

  A girl walked up to me. “I’m Grace Morrow,” she said. “I’m here to walk you to Ms. Mac’s class.” I followed her closely because my eyes were blurring. “We have a bunch of the same classes.” The hallway swarmed with so many students that I almost lost sight of my guide. Grace waved me into the science classroom.

  “Hi, I’m Ms. MacDonald, but everyone calls me ‘Ms. Mac.’” The teacher smiled. “You came on a good day, because we’re watching a movie and having popcorn. But don’t think it’s always this much fun.”

  A pack of students thundered into the room. My knees felt like jelly. Tears spurted unexpectedly. Ms. Mac steered me into the hall. “Honey, are you okay?”

  “I w-want to go h-home!” I wailed.

  Ms. Mac asked Grace to take me back to the guidance office. In a few minutes Phil was sitting beside me. “Take me home!” I begged.

  “Ash, I’ll do that if you want, but you’ll still have to come back tomorrow.” I soaked Phil’s handkerchief. “Okay, cutie-pie? You can do it!”

  Grace walked me back to the class, where everyone was now watching the movie. At the bell Ms. Mac said, “Why don’t you stay and help me pop the popcorn for the rest of my classes today?”

  Gay picked me up at the end of the day. “We’re proud of you for sticking it out,” she said. “Tomorrow will be easier, and in a few days you’ll make a friend.”

  “I doubt it,” I mumbled, although two days later Grace invited me to a slumber party at her house with her friend Tess. I had never been allowed to stay overnight at a friend’s house before. “Please can I go?” I begged Gay.

  “You’re still a foster child.”

  “So I can’t go?”

  “I don’t want to risk them sending you back on a technicality, even for a few weeks, but there’s no reason Grace can’t come to our house.” She gave a theatrical
groan. “And then we have to plan for your birthday the week after that.”

  “I hardly know anyone here to invite.” I sighed.

  “The only solution is to have two parties,” Gay replied. “We’ll have a few of your school friends and family here, and then we’ll invite all of your Children’s Home friends to a restaurant in Tampa. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure,” I said, fully expecting something would go wrong the way it always did.

  On Friday, November 21, we had a dinner party at our house to celebrate my twelfth birthday. Guests included two girls in our neighborhood, Tabitha and Jillian; Gay’s father, Grampy Weisman; the Hudsons and Luke, who was having an overnight visit with them; and a few other family friends. Gay somehow knew that I had never recovered my dolls from Mrs. Moss and gave me a doll designed to look like me. It came with an overalls outfit and a nightgown along with matching clothes in my size. Even though I really was too old for a doll, I was glad to have it. I had chosen the dinner menu, so I liked everything—especially the ice-cream cake.

  Early the next morning the phone rang. Gay came into the kitchen with a peculiar expression on her face. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”

  I expected that somebody at the cottage had flipped out and ruined the day for everyone. “So is the party off?” I asked.

  “Not all news is bad news,” Gay said. “That was the director of the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption inviting us to Busch Gardens for an event later today. She also said we could bring other adoptive families with us.”

  Daphne, who was now living with her family full-time, was coming to my party, so I asked if her family could be included.

  “I already invited them.”

  During the long drive I asked the Courters, “How did you hear about me since you live so far from Tampa?”

  “We have some friends from there—in fact, you’ll meet them at Busch Gardens today,” Phil said. “They handed us Hillsborough County’s children-in-waiting directory, which had your picture with Luke.”