“Why would they lie?” Char asked.
Sarah covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh my God. They knew we were considering other people. They must have wanted to be sure we chose them.”
“But why—?”
“There’s a subsidy. We get money from the state every month for Morgan. We said we’d send it to them—”
“Jesus! So they were doing this for the money?”
“I didn’t think so,” Sarah said. “Everyone asks for the subsidy. And it’s fair. If they’re taking her in, they should be the ones to get it. But they said they didn’t care about it. They didn’t even want it, they told us. They said they had good jobs, they could support her on their own. We could keep the subsidy.”
She let her hands drop to her lap. “I can’t believe it. We got taken. It was all an act. They could tell from talking to Dave that he was the kind of person who’d send them the checks no matter what. They said it to make themselves look good. So we’d choose them. And we fell for it.”
“Allie said Dave met the sisters,” Char said.
Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief and she opened her mouth to speak. But she closed it again and lowered her chin to her chest. She was quiet for a long time, before she finally whispered, “He must have known that if he told me, I’d change my mind. I’d drive down there myself to get her. And he didn’t want her back.”
They drove for a long time in silence, until Sarah said, “I wonder if they lied about anything else.”
Char thought about the “dump” Allie had described on the phone. It didn’t jibe with the “good jobs” and not being in it for the money. But as angry as she was with the Crews, she wasn’t up for pouring more salt into Sarah’s wounds.
She also wasn’t ready to put the issue to rest, though. “What about a hospital?” she asked. “Couldn’t you have checked her into someplace with a children’s psychiatric unit? Just until the cutting was under control, and there was nothing more for Stevie to copy?”
“You can’t just ‘get cutting under control,’” Sarah said. “It’s not a quick-cure thing. And she wouldn’t be eligible to stay on a psych ward anyway, not under her insurance. To qualify for inpatient care like that, she would need a whole cluster of symptoms that are a lot more severe, and she doesn’t have those. I thank God she doesn’t. The children in those units are very, very troubled.”
“What about something private?” Char asked. “Like those rehab places, where you pay your own way, outside of insurance, and—”
“Residential care facilities,” Sarah said. “That’s what they’re called. We looked into a few of those. They want you to commit to several months, and we didn’t think it would be good for Morgan to be sent away, given her history. Even being sent for a week would’ve been devastating for her, let alone a few months—”
Char sputtered and Sarah said, “I know what you’re thinking. But we meant for the family in Ohio to be permanent. Obviously, it didn’t end up that way. But that was our thinking at the time. Find her a new home where she could be happy forever. That would be better for her than being sent away for treatment and brought back again.
“Plus, those places are all out of state, and they want the family to attend weekly therapy. Sometimes more than once a week. We could never have afforded to fly us all out for that. Even if we could’ve covered the cost of the stay itself. Which we couldn’t. Not even close. Those places cost a fortune.”
“But wouldn’t your church have helped?” Char asked. “Isn’t that one of the things churches do? Raise money for families in need? Why didn’t you go to your pastor? Explain the situation? Ask for help? I know you said a temporary visit would’ve been hard for her, but this Ohio family ended up being temporary anyway, and maybe at a care facility—”
“It’s not just the money,” Sarah said. “It all comes back to the fact that a stay in a place like that simply isn’t a guaranteed solution. Because there is no guaranteed solution. You have to believe me. If this was something we could have fixed, we would have. Gladly.
“We’d have kept her even if we knew it would never get fixed, if we didn’t have Stevie to worry about. We’d have stuck it out, despite the cost and the time and the work and all of it. It’s the combination we couldn’t deal with anymore: the fact that it might not get better soon, or at all, and that we have Stevie to think about.”
“What about the Department of Human Services?” Char asked. “Isn’t that the one? DHS? The one in charge of foster care? Wouldn’t they have helped? Allie told me Morgan’s afraid of getting sent back to foster care. Is that even possible? Could you have sent her back and asked them to find a new family for her? They’re experts at matching kids with families and at doing thorough background checks. They would’ve figured out that the people in Ohio weren’t legitimate.”
“Morgan always thought we were going to send her back,” Sarah said. “But there’s no return policy on adoption. You don’t get to send them back.”
“That’s what I thought,” Char said. “But Allie keeps mentioning it. I guess it’s because it’s a fear of Morgan’s. Even if DHS wouldn’t take her back, though, why didn’t they do something else? Provide her with a different therapist, or more sessions, or, I don’t know . . . something? Wouldn’t they be obligated to help? Wouldn’t they have wanted to, for Morgan’s sake?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Oh, come on. Are you telling me they wouldn’t help at all? That there was nothing they could do? Don’t they feel any responsibility to her? To you and Dave?”
Sarah shrugged.
“I can’t believe they’d be like that,” Char said, “after Morgan was in the system for so many years. I can’t believe they’d sit there and listen to you tell them what’s been going on with her and then say, ‘Sorry, she’s your problem now.’ But you’re telling me that’s basically what they told you?”
“No,” Sarah said, “that’s not what they told us.”
“Well, what did they—”
“They didn’t tell us anything,” Sarah said. “We didn’t call them.”
Char swiveled so forcefully to face Sarah that the car almost veered onto the shoulder. “You didn’t even call them? Sarah! Why wouldn’t you give them a chance to—”
“Because!” Sarah said. “Once you tell DHS that you can’t keep your biological son safe from your adopted daughter, they might decide you’re unfit parents! And then they might come in and take both of your children away from you!”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense. You mean, you do the state a favor by taking a child out of foster care, and if something goes wrong and you ask for their help, you lose your other kids? I can’t believe that’s how it really works.”
“That’s what people on the website said,” Sarah said. “They also said that some states are cracking down on it. On rehoming— that’s what it’s called when you give an adopted child away. They said some people have been charged for it—”
“Wait. I thought you said it was perfectly legal. Back at the house. No different than Lindy giving me permission to keep Allie for the rest of high school. That’s what you said.”
“It is,” Sarah said. “Well, there’s not a law against it, I mean. Not in most states. But it’s been getting a lot of attention lately, and people on the website said there are prosecutors who’re going after people for it. Even if there’s no rehoming law, they can still get you for child neglect and abandonment. You can get sent to jail for that, and then you’d definitely lose your other children. So we couldn’t risk calling DHS.
“And that’s another reason we decided not to ask our pastor for help. We weren’t sure if he’d be required to report us, if he found out we were worried about Stevie’s safety. People on the websites said the number one thing was not to tell anyone. Pastors or lawyers or therapists or anyone. You never know who will tell.”
&
nbsp; “So, you took their word for all of this?” Char asked. “People you’ve never even met in person and have only talked to online—”
“Our son was the reason we had to do something about Morgan! We weren’t going to ask for help if it meant we might lose him!”
Sarah took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “We messed this up. I admit it. We got taken by these people, and Morgan’s the one who suffered, and I will never forgive myself for that. We should have been so much smarter about it.
“We were so desperate to get her away from Stevie as fast as possible, so nothing else would happen to him. We rushed things. We should have taken our time. We should have gone down to check them out first. I should have gone. If I had, I would have realized they weren’t the right people for Morgan. We should have kept looking until we found the perfect situation for her. I wish I could change a lot of things.
“But I don’t regret not calling DHS, or asking our pastor for help, or Morgan’s therapist or our family doctor or our friends or anyone else you’re thinking of asking me about. We should have done a better job of finding a new family. But involving other people might have led to us losing our son. So, if I had to do it over again, that’s the one part I wouldn’t change.”
Thirty-five
It was a little after eight thirty at night, and Char and Sarah were eastbound on I-96, east of Brighton. Soon they would take US-23 south, then connect to I-75 around Toledo, a good three hours from Mount Pleasant. Allie and Morgan had begun their trip from Toledo. That gave them at least a three-hour head start, assuming they were in Toledo the last time Char spoke to Allie.
There was no guarantee that assumption was correct, though. Char had dropped Allie at school at seven thirty that morning. If Allie had gone right home, she could have pulled away by eight and reached Morgan before noon. They could be eight hours south of Toledo by now, while Char was still two hours northwest of it. Even if Allie found a hotel immediately where the clerk believed she was eighteen, or didn’t care, it could be almost morning before Char and Sarah caught up with them.
Char had tried reaching Allie earlier, when she was pulling out of their neighborhood. She tried again when she left Mount Pleasant on US-127 South. No answer. Outside Lansing, she had stopped at a rest area and sent a text: Could you pull over so we can text? Sarah Crew told me everything. I know now that Morgan’s telling the truth.
Allie: ok—pulled over
Char: Stop driving south. Please. Stay where you are. Let me come get you. We’ll figure something out.
Allie: no. not unless you can promise morgan won’t have to go back to those horrible people—in oh or mi. or to foster care. and you can’t promise me that
Char: I need time to work all those things out. It’s late—we can’t do anything about any of it now. Let me bring you home, where at least you’ll both be safe. I’m sure Sarah will let me keep Morgan for a few days while I make some calls.
Allie: what calls?
Char: I don’t know.
Allie: i’m not coming back until you do know
Allie: i mean it. don’t ask again, or i’ll stop answering
Char: A, please. This isn’t like you.
Allie: what’s not like me?
Talking back to me like this, Char wanted to type. Acting so impulsively. Taking a car without permission, driving without a license, racing off into the night with someone else’s child.
But then, if Allie hadn’t done any of those things, would that be better? Would Char be happier with her, prouder of her, if the teenager had ignored Morgan’s texts from Ohio? Told the little girl, Sorry, I can’t help you. I can’t skip school. I can’t take the car without asking. Can’t drive without a license.
It would have been best if Allie had come to Char with Morgan’s texts, of course. But then again, if she had, what would Char have done? Likely, she’d have asked the Crews about it, bought their lies about Sarah’s relatives, and told Allie she should stop listening to Morgan’s tall tales. Which is precisely what Char had done, at first.
Sure, Allie’s measures were extreme. And illegal. But the girl had done something.
Char typed another text to Allie: Could you do one thing for me?
Allie: depends
Char: It’s getting dark. You’ve been driving a long time. Would you stop for the night soon?
Allie: yes
Char: Would you text me when you’ve checked in? So I know you’re off the roads, and safe? And that you actually found a place that would rent you a room?
Allie: ok
Half an hour later, Char’s phone dinged with another text: checked in
Char instructed Sarah to text back while Char drove: Did you find a chain, like I asked? Near the highway? Upper floor? Did you lock both doors?
Allie: yes to all—desk attendant too busy watching ball game to check id or care how old i am
Char thought about having Sarah ask for the name of the hotel. Maybe she could catch up to them while they slept. But Allie would figure it out in a second, and Char didn’t want to do anything to make the teenager stop answering her texts. So she asked Sarah to text Good girl.
There might have been a way she could have gotten Allie to tell her what hotel they were staying at, or even what town they were in, without making the girl suspicious, but Char was finding it difficult to think straight. She blamed the passenger seated to her right. It was beyond distracting, having Sarah in the car. The woman had slumped so far down in her seat that Char wondered if she was going to slip out from under the belt and onto the floor. A few times, Sarah had, with obvious effort, made herself sit up straight. But she had run out of energy to maintain her posture and, after a few minutes, slid down again.
It got worse when Sarah finally reached Dave on the phone and let him know she was with Char, and they were going after the girls, and he would need to stay home with Stevie. He was angry that they had left town without discussing it with him, as Char had promised to do. And he was livid that Sarah had let Char in on their family secret. Char could hear him yelling through the phone.
Sarah hung up the phone and rested her head against the passenger-side window, closing her eyes. “He’s not happy with me,” she said. “And not just because of this.” Without opening her eyes, she waved a hand in front of her, indicating the car and the highway ahead of them. “But that’s good. I’m glad he’s not happy with me. I’m not happy with me, either.”
She said nothing more, and Char, not knowing how to respond, said nothing. After a few minutes, Char heard sniffing beside her and turned to see tears running down Sarah’s cheeks. Sarah made no effort to wipe them away.
Char cleared her throat, unsure what to say. “Are you okay?” seemed so inadequate.
Sarah opened her eyes and lifted her head from the window. “Dave still thinks we did the right thing,” she said. “He’s forgiven himself, and he believes God has forgiven him. Forgiven us both. We did the best we could, in his opinion, with a child who wasn’t truly ours. A child someone else messed up.
“The odds were against us from the start, given all she had been through. We did everything we could for her. There was nothing more we could do without putting our son in danger. We had to make a choice. That’s what he keeps telling me. We had to choose, and we chose our son, and it was the right thing to do.
“But Morgan was my daughter.” Sarah’s voice faded and Char had to lean sideways to hear. “She still is my daughter. She always will be. The second Dave pulled out of the driveway with her that day, I felt like a part of me had been torn off. The feeling’s never gone away. It’s like having a phantom limb. I’m constantly aware of her absence.
“It might sound . . . made up. But I can’t move like I used to since that day. I’m slower, clumsier. I drop things. I lose my balance. It’s like I’ve lost control over my own body. And I don�
��t care if it comes back.” She waved a dismissive hand at her torso and legs.
“I’m not the mother I used to be to Stevie. Already. It’s only been two weeks and I can already see I’m failing him. I can’t bring myself to change back to how I was, though. I can’t allow myself to feel joy in spending time with him. I feel guilty for smiling, for laughing. Every time he hugs me or kisses me, I feel physical pain.” She put a hand to her chest as though it hurt to even think about it.
“I can’t bear receiving affection from my husband, either. And I can’t allow myself to give any to him. We haven’t touched since the day he drove Morgan away. He’s losing patience with me. It’s one of the reasons he was yelling. . . .” She indicated her phone. “We made our choice so Stevie’s life would be better, he keeps telling me. So our family would be better.
“He says I’m making it worse. And he’s right. I am. At first, he was so sympathetic. So sweet. He put a lot of time into trying to cheer me up. He realized I was having a tougher time than he was, living with what we had done. He was desperate, for my sake, to help me reach the same level of peace about it that he had found.
“Whenever I’d break down, he’d try to hug me, and when he saw I couldn’t allow it, he’d pray for me. Right in front of me, so I could hear.” She pointed to her feet as though Dave were kneeling there. “He’d pray for God to help me, to ease my heart.”
She retracted the hand that had been pointing, placed it in her lap, and turned once more to the window. “Now when I cry in bed at night, he sighs, and rolls over and goes to sleep.” She sniffed and leaned forward to retrieve a tissue from her purse. She blew her nose and returned the tissue to her purse, making no effort to stop her tears.
“I know he wishes he could leave me. But he could never allow himself to do that, after I chose him over our daughter. We’d be happier apart, both of us. For me, being with him is a constant reminder of what we did. For him, being with me is a . . .” She paused and looked down the length of her body as though the missing word might be hidden there. “A misery,” she finally said.
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