Lottery

by Kimberly Shursen

  “I miss you guys.” Jenee grimaced when she leaned in closer to Baileigh. She looked at Justin. “I turned the page on an ad in Parent’s magazine that I want you to look at. It’s in the back.” She nodded at the magazines on the table.

  Justin picked it up and flipped through the pages.

  “It’s in the middle of the right hand page.”

  Justin studied the page for a few seconds. “The free adoption ad?” Frowning, he closed the magazine and put it back on the table.

  “Won’t hurt to check it out.”

  He scratched his head. “First of all, it’s a little early to be talking about this, don’t you think?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And second of all?”

  “Second of all, just like your dad used to say, there’s no such thing as anything being free.” Justin nodded at Baileigh, signaling they shouldn’t talk about this in front of their daughter. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “My protector.”

  “Always.”

  Jenee’s mind went back to the dream. Mrs. Rager, have you made up your mind?

  itting in the cushy first-class seats of a Boeing 777, Caleb held up his glass and nodded at the flight attendant. “I’ll take a refill, thank you.” The attractive female filled his glass with champagne and then glanced at Ling.

  Ling waved a hand. “Oh, no, thanks. I’m fine.” She buckled her seatbelt. “I can’t believe we’re on our way to China. You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about this.”

  Wearing a silk turquoise blouse that complemented her creamy complexion, ‘perfect’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe his wife.

  Caleb leaned back in his seat. The more he tried to forget about McKenzie Price, the more he envisioned his hands squeezing her neck … harder … harder … her eyes bulging … her mouth … no … God damn it, that wasn’t him. It was Weber who’d killed her. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

  Day after day, he’d scoured the Chronicle, but had yet to find an obituary for anyone named Price. Maybe McKenzie had been estranged from her family and there hadn’t been a funeral. The police would handle this just like every other junkie who’d died either of an overdose or by the hands of another druggie who wanted her stash. To the public, McKenzie Price was trash, just like Caleb would be thought of if anyone found out what Weber had made him do.

  Ling laid her head on his shoulder. Caleb set his champagne glass down in the holder. Catching a whiff of her fragrant shampoo, he put his head on top of hers and nestled back into the seat. He only hoped that Weber would leave him alone so he could enjoy his time with Ling.

  Six hours later, the flight attendant gently shook Caleb’s shoulder. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole,” she said sweetly. “We’re about to land in Shanghai.”

  Once they were through customs and collected their luggage, Caleb and Ling boarded the Shanghai Maglev train. Instead of opting for a cab or limo, Ling wanted to experience all of what China had to offer.

  An abstract of colors whizzed by as the sleek silver coach traveled at a speed at almost three hundred miles an hour. Caleb’s knuckles turned white from grasping the armrests so tightly. The train whipped over a river, flew alongside a jumble of highways, and seven minutes after they boarded, came to an abrupt halt.

  “That was awesome,” Ling said when they stepped off.

  Making an attempt to smile, Caleb put his hand over his stomach to try and ease his queasiness. Out on the street, he hailed a cab to take them the rest of the way to their hotel.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Ling said, staring out the window of the taxi.

  The Huangpu River divided the city into east and west parts, with a maze of skyscrapers and temples that ran along both coasts. The traffic was so thick the driver inched his way through the downtown area.

  When they stopped at a red light, Caleb noticed most of the men were wearing suits and ties, and the women were dressed in tailored suits and heels. Both the city and people looked more sophisticated than Caleb had expected.

  “I want to find the neighborhood where my mother grew up,” Ling said to Caleb, her eyes dancing with excitement. “And visit the museums … oh, and see the art district.”

  When Ling and Caleb stepped into the regal Hyatt on the Bund, the lobby was bustling, and each group of tourists seemed to be speaking a different language. A lone saxophone player standing beside one of the thick white pillars in the vast lobby nodded at them when they passed.

  Almost to the front desk, Ling stopped. “I need to talk to you privately,” she said to Caleb somberly.

  Caleb nodded at the bellboy, signaling for him to wait, and followed her a few feet away from the crowd. He put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  She crossed her arms across her chest. “You know I don’t feel comfortable in these kinds of places. We are staying in an expensive hotel while children are starving and can’t even—”

  “You’re right,” he said calmly. “I just wanted to spoil my girl.” Caleb held up an index finger. “Just this once.”

  She glared into his eyes for a few seconds, her expression softening. “Once.”

  “Ah … Missur and Miz O’Toole,” the receptionist greeted after Caleb introduced himself. “Welcome.” She handed Caleb two key cards, and then opened a colorful brochure, briefly explaining the two restaurants, the indoor swimming pool, spa, and fitness center. “And,” the receptionist said, glancing in the direction of another pretty Asian woman sitting behind a desk, “our concierge would be happy to make any reservations for you.”

  Ling’s mouth dropped open when she walked into their suite on the twenty-second floor. “Oh, Caleb,” Ling gushed. “This is amazing.”

  The wall of curved windows not only framed the river, but Pudong, the futuristic business district of Shanghai. A deep soaking tub, as well as a private shower with enough room for two, was open to the cozy sitting area. A bottle of Sauvignon on the coffee table sat next to a basket of assorted French cheeses, crackers, and Swiss chocolates.

  Caleb picked up the phone. “Yes, we’d like reservations in the VUE Restaurant tonight. Around nine is perfect.”

  When he hung up, Ling asked, “How did you know about this hotel?” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “It’s a husband’s job to know where to take his beautiful fiancé.”

  “Speaking of that,” she said coyly, “it’s our job to set a date for our wedding.”

  “I thought we’d talk about it while we’re here.” He touched the end of her nose with the tip of his index finger. “I have an idea.”

  “I’m beginning to like your ideas,” she flirted.

  Caleb bent over and picked her up in his arms. Gazing into her eyes, he walked to the bed and carefully laid her on top of the white silk comforter.

  He sat down beside her and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, and then followed the curve of her neck with gentle kisses. Caleb caressed her small perfect breasts, slowly moving his hand down to her thigh. “You’re my everything, you know that, right?” he whispered, and lovingly pushed her hair back off her forehead. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. Caleb wanted to breathe her in—become a part of her—be the only person Ling could never live without.

  Caleb made love to Ling gently, tasting and touching every part of her until he could no longer resist the urge to become one.

  Two hours later, they were sharing Caesar salad, escargot Bourguignon, and roast duck in the VUE Restaurant. The eclectic setting featured everything from hanging racks stacked with culinary paraphernalia to book-lined shelves, to vintage collections of model cars, pipes and corkscrews. They discussed what they would do for the two days before their appointment at the Children’s Welfare Institute.

  Ling had worked tediously to prepare the necessary documents for the meeting, and had already hired a staff of two people to handle the details. Usually it took m
onths for paperwork to be finalized to represent a foreign orphanage, but with the generous amount of money Caleb had gifted the institute, they had been assured the documents would be filed with the necessary agencies by the time they arrived.

  The next morning, Caleb and Ling sat in Fuxing Park under the shade of a century-old Sycamore tree and watched an elderly woman wearing pajamas sing opera songs; her voice wobbly, yet passionate. Children’s laughter echoed through the park as a man garbed in a traditional Chinese silk gown chatted to his caged bird while strolling the curved pathways.

  “I wonder what my life would have been like growing up here,” Ling asked.

  Caleb put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t want to think about that. We might not have met.”

  “We would have if it was meant to be.”

  “My karma girl.” Caleb smiled. “If it’s meant to be—”

  “It will be,” she finished.

  Walking the boulevards, they passed mansion after mansion that years ago had been subdivided into apartments. Frayed towels and sheets hung from clotheslines in the grassless yards, and small children giggled as they played tag, while their young mothers chatted on dilapidated front porches.

  They caught a bus to Moganshan Road and admired works from famous Chinese artists like Cai Guo-Qiang, and abstracts by Ding Yi. The sun was just starting to set when they reached the fashionable Xin Tian Di Street in the center of the city. The scenic area boasted of a variety of outdoor cafés, bars, and romantic restaurants that catered to the leisurely lifestyle of the newest generation while still retaining the original architecture.

  “I feel like I belong here.” Ling wrapped her arm inside Caleb’s. “There’s so much to see and experience.”

  It was almost eight when Caleb and Ling were escorted to a patio table at the M On The Bund restaurant. With an unobstructed view of the river, the streetlights silhouetted couples strolling along the wide riverside promenade.

  Sipping their martinis, Caleb picked up Ling’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I was thinking,” he began.

  She turned toward him.

  “What would you think about getting married here?”

  She sat up straight. “In Shanghai?” Ling asked, her eyebrows knitting together in concern, “but I want my mother and father to be at our wedding.”

  “I don’t think that would be a problem,” Caleb said.”

  “So you’d bring my parents here?” she asked eagerly. “For our wedding?”

  “I think it’s time your mother see her home country again, don’t you?”

  She quickly cupped Caleb’s face in her hands and gave him quick kisses all over his face. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  Deserve him? If Ling only knew what Weber had made him do, but … that would never happen.

  Early the next morning, they stepped into the car Caleb had requested. As they crossed the upper level of the double-decked Minpu Bridge, the limo merged into the eight lanes of traffic. The lower deck hosted six lanes of traffic, the driver told them, as well as a walkway for pedestrians.

  Ling pointed out a long barge that was carrying tree trunks down the river. The smog was so thick that the tops of skyscrapers weren’t visible. Caleb had read that smoke from steel mills and the burning of coal the city depended on for fuel was becoming a health hazard for Shanghai.

  The driver turned into a circular drive when he saw the sign for the Children’s Welfare Institute.

  “This is huge,” Caleb said, looking out over the acres and acres of manicured grounds that surrounded the stately sprawling u-shaped building.

  “Six-hundred children live here,” Ling said, as the driver opened her door.

  Ling had told Caleb that many of the children were physically or mentally handicapped. He’d never had the stomach for being around sick people and hoped he would be able to make it through the tour.

  “Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole,” a young Asian woman dressed in black slacks and a crisp white cotton blouse greeted as she approached them.

  “Yes,” Ling said. “Please, just call us Ling and Caleb.”

  “My name is Chun,” the woman said when she shook their hands. “I’ll be your tour guide today.”

  After a brief introduction on how the institute was established, Chun started down a long hallway. “The institute cares for daily needs, healthcare, rehab, education, and recreation. Ninety-five percent of our children have physical or mental challenges.” Chun stopped at a doorway and looked in. “This is our nursery.”

  Employees and volunteers wearing yellow smocks held babies, or sat on the floor playing with toddlers. The walls were covered in artwork the children had made and toys and books were arranged on built-in shelving. A myriad of rocking chairs lined the walls, and staff members hurriedly filled baby bottles.

  Caleb’s eyes clouded over when he watched small children maneuver their way around the room in make-shift walkers. As he scanned the nursery, he noticed toddlers with thick red openings above their upper lip from cleft palates, while others had flat facial features, and the prominent upward slant of their eyes that were symptoms of Down syndrome. He started to feel light-headed.

  “Are many of these children adopted?” Caleb asked, tasting the bile rush into his throat.

  Chun shook her head, her expression sad. “No, not many. A family has to qualify financially so we know they can to care for any health or mental challenges.”

  A miniscule child using a walker worked her way to Ling. The toddler held up her arms, her innocent eyes begging for attention. Ling knelt down next to her and laid a hand against the child’s cheek. “She’s so beautiful.”

  Chun put her hand on top of the little girl’s head. “This is Min. She needs an operation for her heart very soon.”

  Ling stood. “Who will pay for it?”

  Chun turned and started down the hallway. “The Ministry of Civil Affairs and the Ministry of Public Health have jointly launched health projects. Hospitals give free hospitalization to orphans, and many only charge half of the normal fees for an operation.” Chun stopped in front of another doorway. “However, we rely heavily on donations.” She opened a door. “Many times there is not enough money to go around.”

  Inside this large room, metal cribs were lined up in four rows; seven in each row. Babies cried or babbled; some lying in their cribs, while others were being fed by employees or volunteers. Each child was clean and neatly dressed.

  “The ratio is fifteen babies to four adults,” Chun told Ling and Caleb.

  “Is there a restroom close by?” Caleb asked, fidgeting with a button on his shirt.

  Ling put her hand on Caleb’s arm. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Caleb said. In reality, his heart was breaking from seeing so many children who needed help.

  Chun pointed down the hallway. “At the end of the hall and then make a right.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Caleb said. When he found the restroom, he stepped inside praying no one else was here. Closing the door to a private stall, he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and took out the flask that fit into his back pocket.

  “Thank God,” Weber said. “I’ve needed a drink ever since you got to this place.”

  Ignoring him, Caleb gulped the liquor. Maybe if he didn’t acknowledge Weber, he’d go away.

  When Caleb caught up with Ling, Chun was explaining that when children reach the age of sixteen they were given two years of education. Once they turn eighteen, the institute helped in finding jobs and securing a place to live.

  “Do most of them find work?” Caleb asked.

  Chun smiled. “Shanghai businesses welcome the opportunity to find or create jobs for our children.”

  When Chung reached the director’s office, she knocked on the door. “Dr. Wang,” she announced, “Ling and Caleb O’Toole are here to see you.”

  “Come in,” a pleasant voice called back.

  When Chun opened the doo
r, Dr. Wang came out from behind his desk, his hand outstretched. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole? I’ve been expecting you. Welcome.” The slightly built man with salt and pepper hair parted to the side appeared to be his early to mid-forties.

  Caleb shook his hand first. “Good morning, Dr. Wang.”

  The director turned to Ling. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said in perfect English. He nodded at the two chairs that sat in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.” He walked back to his desk chair and sat down.

  Manila folders were sprawled across the director’s desk, with even more folders stacked on the floor. Caleb glanced at the bookcase that ran the length of one wall that was filled with books on adoption. His gaze moved to a large framed family photo.

  “Ah.” Dr. Wang turned, following Caleb’s gaze. “You found my family. My wife and I have five children, three of them are adopted. It is difficult to work here and not fall in love with many.”

  “Beautiful family,” Caleb commented.

  “Thank you. They keep us very busy.” Dr. Wang smiled. His focus turned to Ling. “Tell me what you hope to accomplish with our institute.”

  “Well …” Ling leaned back in her chair. “It’s always been my dream to place Chinese children with American parents.” She placed a hand over her chest. “My mother was born in Shanghai. My father is Caucasian.”

  “I see.” Dr. Wang picked up a pen on his desk. “And you screen potential parents well, I assume.”

  “I’m just starting the process.” Ling changed positions. “So far, I have hundreds of applications.”

  “As I’m sure you both know,” Dr. Wang continued, “helping our children find a permanent loving home is our goal.” The director leaned back in his chair. “In the past few years we’ve been placing over three hundred children a year overseas.”

  “That’s so exciting,” Ling said.

  “The one thing that we ask of our adoptive parents is that they foster the child’s heritage by helping them become familiar with the Chinese language and the culture of their ancestors. We also have websites where our adoptive parents can interact,” the director said. “This is not a requirement. We can only encourage the interaction.”