“You mean Mr. Conrad adopted the baby?” she asked.
“No Nicky, there was no adoption.”
“But how could that be? Does my father know?”
“Yes.”
“And he never told me. I can’t believe he never told me.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” I said not too convincingly.
We drove in silence as Nicky studied the pictures of her daughter Zeebooker had taken on his cell phone.
“She’s so beautiful.”
“She looks, just like her mother.” I said.
Nicky alternated between tears of joy and anticipation and anger.
“Listen to me Nick. Keep focused on your daughter and how wonderful it’s going to be for both of you. You can’t undo what has happened, but you have the rest of your life to make up for it.”
“I know you’re right, but I can’t believe my father and Mr. Conrad would keep this secret for almost eight years. What will we do if Mr. Conrad doesn’t let us see her?”
“I don’t think Conrad has any leverage here. He wants to run for governor. Can you imagine what would happen if we went public with this. Since there was no adoption, you never relinquished your parental rights. He kidnapped your baby.”
Two hours later we pulled up to the Conrad property. As we walked up the steps to the porch the door opened. A tall woman whose features resembled her younger brother stood by the door.
“Ms Conrad?” I asked.
“Yes, you must be Mr. Green, and you’re Nicky. I’ve been expecting you. Please come in.”
She told us her brother had called to alert her to our arrival. Apparently Nicky’s father had called him.
“I’m so relieved that Bob finally agreed to this. I never felt right about it.”
“Grammy, who’s here?” Nicky’s daughter ran down the stairs.
“Bobby, there’s someone special here I want you to meet,” the woman said.
“Hello,” the little girl said as she peeked out from the woman’s side.
“Hello, I’m Nicky and this is my husband Bernie.”
The little girl stood next to Ms Conrad and stared at Nicky. She looked up at the woman and said. “Grammy, she looks just like the picture of my Mommy.”
“Yes honey. This is your mommy,” the woman said
“But you told me my mommy died.”
I could read the confusion on the child’s face. For the past eight years she had been told that her mother had died and now she was alive. Could her grandmother and uncle have been mistaken?
“But I don’t understand,” the little girl said.
“Well, we’ll explain everything to you later. Why don’t you show your mommy your room? OK?” the Conrad woman said.
The little girl was still uncertain but extended her hand to Nicky. “Would you like to see my room?” she asked.
Nicky tears streaming down her face took her daughter’s hand and followed the child up the stairway, leaving the Conrad woman and me at the door.
“My brother asked me if you would call him to discuss your intentions.”
“I’ll get in touch with him after we take the child home.”
“Mr. Green, I realize that this is awkward. I mean I understand that what my brother did wasn’t right. But we love that child. She is Bob’s granddaughter, he only wanted to do what he thought was for the best.”
“Well you know what they say Ms. Conrad, the road to hell is paved with the stuff your brother intended.”
Bobby was sitting in Nicky’s lap when Ms. Conrad and I walked into the room. She was telling Nicky about the trip to Disney World her Uncle Bob was planning. I saw the picture from Nicky and Bobby’s prom on the bureau. They looked so happy, so filled with life’s great expectations.
“Bobby,” Ms Conrad said. “Would you like to spend some time with your Mommy?”
“But Grammy, would Mommy come here to stay with us?”
“No honey. I thought you could go for a visit to see where your Mommy lives. Don’t you think that would be fun?”
“Bobby, would you like to come stay with Bernie and me for a little while?” Nicky asked.
The little girl thought for a moment, and then said, “Can I still see Grammy and Uncle Bob?”
“Whenever you want,” Nicky answered.
“Can we still go to Disney World?”
“Absolutely.”
Bobby looked at the woman she thought was her grandmother and the woman who she had been told had been dead and was now alive and said, “I guess so.”
Nicky sat in the back with Bobby. Mother and daughter talked about things little girls and their mothers discuss, almost as if the eight years they had been denied the relationship had never happened. About an hour into the drive Bobby fell asleep.
“Bernie,” Nicky whispered. “You should see her. She must be having a wonderful dream, she’s smiling. I’m so frightened. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I’m suddenly the mother of an eight year old girl, without the benefit of the first seven years.”
“Don’t over think it. I think Bobby will teach you everything you need to know.”
“But what are we going to tell everyone. How are we going to explain that we have an eight year old child? What will people think?”
“I really don’t care what people think. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them the truth. She’s your daughter and after searching for her for eight years you found her. It’s just that simple.”
But, of course, nothing is really that simple.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Congratulations Dad
“Can we get a puppy?” Bobby asked me as we walked through Rittenhouse Square. It had been six weeks since mother and daughter had been reunited. She was watching a brown and white terrier with little legs defy gravity as he repeatedly caught a Frisbee in mid-air and proudly returned it to the young man who was tossing it to the applause of the assembled crowd. The terrier whose name was Moish, how cool was that, was the young man’s chick magnet.
A bevy of college age women and Bobby were attracted to the show Moish and his master had no doubt rehearsed to perfection. I watched as Moish, looking embarrassed if that’s possible in a terrier, shamelessly dropped the Frisbee at the feet of a gorgeous coed as his master ran over to admonish the dog for disturbing the young woman. I momentarily wished I had a cool dog like Moish when I was a callow young man.
“I don’t know honey. We’ll have to ask your Mommy.” There was no way I was going to be the heavy in this.
We had formed a family unit, of sorts, mother, daughter, and me. We had the summer to sort things through. Nicky tried to explain how mother and child had been separated and Bobby seemed to accept the explanation. Nicky and I had decided that we would be completely candid with the child and Bobby seemed to accept our explanations.
Nicky wanted to enroll Bobby at Friends Select, the private Quaker school a few blocks from our apartment in the fall. The children of a number of the women in the neighborhood with whom Bobby had become friends attended the school. They assured Nicky the Quaker school environment was superior to the local public school, and would expose Bobby to the caliber of friends she would need to get accepted at the best colleges and universities.
The Greenfield Elementary School two blocks away from the Square, and the kids who went there looked OK to me. The way I figured, Bobby was only eight years old. She’d have plenty of time to make the ‘right friends’. For now, she should just concentrate on being a kid having fun. The thing is, I was not her father, I was her mother’s husband, and if Nicky wanted Bobby to attend a private school, that’s fine by me.
“Bernie, we’ll need to change Bobby’s last name to Green. That way we’ll avoid a lot of confusion. OK?”
“I think that requires court approval, and probably means a formal adoption.”
“I know,” she said. “Don’t you want to adopt our daughter?”
“Of course I do. But don’t you think that�
��s rushing things? I mean, Bobby’s just getting used to all of this, shouldn’t we let everything settle in for a while?”
“Bobby adores you. It would be so awkward for her to enroll in school as Roberta Conrad and then change her name to Green. Besides, the name on her birth certificate is Baby Miller. We’ll have to have you declared her guardian anyway so that you can be recognized by the school for emergencies and stuff.”
“OK. But don’t you think we should discuss this with Bobby?”
The next morning the three of us discussed the topic of adoption at breakfast.
“Bobby, would it be all right with you if Bernie became your Daddy?”
“But Mommy, he’s my Bernie.” The little girl said flashing me a miniature Nicky smile, melting me in my place.
“I know that silly. He’ll always be your Bernie, but he can be your Daddy too. Then all three of us can be Greens.”
Bobby laughed, “You mean we’ll all be green, like the color?”
I laughed.
“No like Bobby Green, like Bernie Green and me, Nicky Green.”
“Why can’t we be a different color, like blue or pink?” Bobby teased.
“Oh you!” Nicky said.
“I’m good with blue, but pink is definitely a deal breaker,” I said.
“Bernie’s being silly,” Nicky gave me one of her “don’t be silly” looks.
“Can I still call Bernie, Bernie?”
“Sure,” Nicky nodded.
Bobby looked at me; I nodded agreement.
“OK, but, can we get a puppy too. He can be green too.” Bobby looked from her mother to me. “Mommy, Bernie said it was OK with him, but it’s up to you.”
“He did, did he,” Nicky gave me one of those how could you do this to me looks. I shrugged.
“OK.” Nicky surrendered and Bobby smiled knowing she had gotten the best of the deal.
“Congratulations Dad,” Joel Solomon said as I showed him the Petition I had cut and pasted together from the formbook.
“What does Conrad think of this?”
“Dunno,” I replied.
“How about the Major?”
“Haven’t discussed it with him either in fact, he’s been persona non grata at the Greens since we brought Bobby home.”
“You mean he hasn’t called or come over to see his daughter and grandchild?” Joel asked.
“No, he called a number of times. Nicky refuses to return his calls. He’s practically begged me to intercede on his behalf.”
“So what’d you do?”
“I interceded, and Nicky reminded me I haven’t spoken to my own father since I was sixteen, so I kinda shut up. I figure Nicky’s the forgiving type and maybe in a decade or so she’ll let her father out of the deep freeze.”
“Seriously Bernie, this is not a good state of affairs,” Joel said shaking his head.
“I know,” I agreed. “But, Nicky’s got a lot on her plate right now. She’s feeling guilty about missing out on all those years with her daughter. She’s angry as hell with her father and can’t understand how he could have kept Bobby a secret. Tell you the truth, neither can I. Anyway, I think she needs some time to think it all through.”
“So, are you gonna sign this petition where I put your name and represent me at the adoption?”
“But that means I have to vouch for your good character.”
“I know. So you’ll have to exaggerate a little bit,” I said.
“Can you afford my fee?”
“A round of golf at Walnut Lane and a Chubby’s cheese steak with peppers and onions and extra grease, and an ice cold Yuengling; I’ll throw in the anti-acids for the inevitable indigestion that will surely follow such gluttony!”
“Deal,” he said and we shook hands like proper lawyers.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
The Good Samaritan
“Mr. Green, Sgt. Brunner from the 12th District.”
The 12th Police District covered half of my legislative area.
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour.” I looked at the clock radio beside the bed it was 2 AM.
“Is everything all right?” I realized that this was without a doubt a stupid thing to say. “I meant to ask, what’s wrong.” I said before the police officer had a chance to say something like, “Oh nothing, I just felt like waking you up in the middle of the night asshole.” Better he should think that than say it I thought.
“There’s been an explosion at 3115 North Front Street. Since it’s in your District I thought you should know about it. Bob Gronski, asked us to keep you posted on events that involve your constituents.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“We’re not sure. The thing is, we’ve had some calls from that location over the past couple months. It seems that an African American family moved in and some of the neighbors haven’t quite gotten used to the idea. There have been a couple instances of graffiti and some verbal abuse.
Reverend Delaney and a group of his supporters are at the scene jawing with the neighbors. I thought maybe you could help keep a lid on this before it gets ugly.”
“Thanks for the call officer. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”
“Who was that honey?” Nicky asked as I hung up.
“It was the 12th District. There’s been an explosion at a row house in Fishtown. Bob Gronski asked the police to keep me informed of events in my district.” I filled her in on what little I knew.
“I’m going to the scene to see if I can help out.”
“Promise me you won’t try to be a hero. You’ve got a wife and a daughter who need you.”
I leaned over and kissed her. “I promise.”
Philadelphia is a city of neighborhoods, each having its own culture and distinct ethnicity. Fishtown, one of the river ward neighborhoods just north of center city, was one of the few neighborhoods that had maintained its identity, for the most part, for many decades. The area is roughly defined by the triangle created by the Delaware River, Frankford Avenue and York streets. The name is derived from the area’s former role as the center of the shad fishing industry on the Delaware River. Generations of Irish and Polish families still resided in the narrow streets of row houses, and continued to maintain a stable working class community long after the Stetson Hat factory and Schmidt’s Brewery, where many of the residents had been employed, had been shuttered.
Three Roman Catholic Churches were the anchors that continued to hold Fishtown together. The Polish community built Saint Laurentius and the Irish Catholics founded Immaculate Conception and Holy Name of Jesus. During the recent real estate boom before it hit the skids, many of the neighborhoods in Green’s District were in transition. Fishtown’s proximity to Center City and the rebirth of the Frankford Avenue business district with hip restaurants, art galleries and coffee houses, was beginning to yield to young professionals. The transition was predictably showing signs of stress.
By the time I arrived the fire had been extinguished, but the crowd of neighbors and Delaney’s supporters were heating up. I checked with the Fire Chief who informed me that no one had been hurt. According to the Chief, a neighbor who was walking his dog heard the explosion and called it in. He lived three doors away from the house that had exploded and evacuated his neighbors to his home.
The Fire Department had not yet determined the cause of the explosion. The Chief told me there was no obvious sign of arson. The basement and kitchen windows had blown out, and there was no evidence that anyone had thrown any incendiary device in. The investigation would not begin for several hours, until the hot spots had been completely put out.
I went to 3119 the address at which the Browns, the family that had recently moved in and were at the center of the local controversy, were waiting. A large man in his mid-thirties with a shaved head wearing a wife beater shirt with both arms covered in tattoos came to the door.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m Bernie Green, your District Representative. I understand you he
lped save your neighbors and they’re here now.”
“I’m Rocky Malone,” he said as he extended his hand.
“May I come in?”
Malone stepped aside to let me in the house. It was a typical Fishtown row house, a straight through, living room, dining room and kitchen on the first floor, with a staircase to the left of the entrance leading to the second floor.
As I entered the living room an English bulldog sitting at the foot of a pretty woman, I assumed was Malone’s wife, looked my way and growled. Mrs. Malone was consoling a young black woman who was sitting next to her.
“Quiet Finn,” Malone pointed his finger at the bulldog. Finn gave me another menacing look and returned his attention to the two women.
A black man walked down the stairs.
“James,” Malone said. “This is Bernie Green. He’s our Congressman, no what exactly are you?” he asked.
“I’m your State Representative. You must be Mr. Brown.”
We shook hands. “I spoke to the Fire Chief. He told me that Mr. Malone reported the explosion and helped you and your family out safely.”
“Yes that’s true.”
Malone shrugged.
“The Chief told me they haven’t determined the cause of the explosion, but there do not appear to be any signs of arson. Nothing was thrown into your house or anything like that.”
“I understand some of your neighbors have been…”
“Acting like dickheads,” Malone said.
The two men smiled at each other.
“You know,” Brown said, “when we moved in I was convinced that everyone on the block hated us. I was especially certain that Rocky was responsible for the graffiti on the sidewalk in front of our house. I was wrong. He saved my family I owe him everything.”
“Mr. Brown, Mr. Malone, will the two of you help me make sure that your neighbors and Reverend Delaney and his people don’t blow this out of proportion. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
We walked down the block. The police had cordoned off the street. Delaney and his people were pressing against the barrier and the police were stretched thin trying to keep Delaney and the neighbors apart.
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