by Susan Slater
Waiting until a group of adults came out of the tent, Pauly used the noisy distraction to stand and moved in the shadows to the back of the trailer that was one down but across from the boys. She waited, afraid to move, and realized that her feet were numb with cold. Suddenly the door of the trailer opened and a heavy-set man yelled for the boys to come in. Two of the three scampered up the steps, leaving the third without so much as a wave.
She breathed a sigh of relief…he was alone. Pauly wondered what he was going to do, but she was poised to follow. She’d keep to the shadows of the opposite row of trailers and work her way along parallel to him until he did something, stopped or went into a trailer. She didn’t have a plan.
What he did was duck between two trailers parked by a clump of trees. Pauly didn’t even give it a second thought but hurried across the road, then, when she was certain that he had had enough of a head start, she plunged into the brush. She couldn’t risk losing him. This might be her only chance.
Clouds obscured the moon, but a flashlight was out of the question. Something scurried away from her making soft, furry-body, scratching noises among the twigs and leaves. She didn’t let her mind dwell on what it could be. Mice and rats were not favorites. The moon popped out of its hiding place and the stand of trees turned a shimmering silver. She shrank against a young poplar and listened and scanned the thicket. How could she have lost him already? He came this way. Had he seen her?
And then she heard the noise, the muted whoosh of water. Urine, if she didn’t miss her guess. He was taking a leak before going back to the trailer. She almost laughed. It suddenly gave a human touch to this creature who haunted her. She waited, staying in the shadows of elm and poplar, then, guessing that she was beside the path that he’d use to return, she slipped to her knees and rocked back on her heels. She’d be less imposing this way. Didn’t every elementary teacher intuitively know that he or she was less threatening when eye to eye with the audience?
He didn’t stay long but was still zipping his fly as he came into full view. She waited until he was almost upon her, then she simply raised her arm and held the teddy bear in her bare hand out away from her body, offering it in a gesture of friendship. He stopped. She heard the soft intake of breath, saw in his eyes the flickering thought of flight. But he remained.
He was a beautiful child. Porcelain perfect, creamy-tan skin ringed by black-brown curls, hands delicate, not effete, perfectly balanced by a slim body with no hint of puberty. And he seemed naturally shy. There was none of the provocative posturing that she had pictures of. Maybe…just for a second…she could see why this child might be so prized. And then hated herself for thinking that way.
“I want to be your friend, Jorge Roberto Suarez Zuniga—” She paused, then softly added “McIntyre” and watched him. There was no reaction, maybe a slight widening of his eyes. Then keeping her voice low, she repeated “Amiga” and pointed to her chest and then at him. What would he do? Would he acknowledge his name, that she knew who he was? She waited. She could hear her own heartbeat bang in the stillness.
One minute. Two. Still he didn’t move, didn’t even blink it seemed. He stared at her, but the eyes had softened, lost their fright, their need to escape. Then he took a step forward and gingerly took the teddy bear.
“Gracias.” His voice was soft, a caress. She could see how small he was for his age. Words like delicate and frail came to mind. He seemed curious about her and she didn’t really feel his hand on her face; it was just a soft tentative touch, the tip of fingers pressing ever so lightly to her cheek and then he was gone, looking back once from the edge of the trees. She waited long after she heard the door of a trailer slam shut.
She knew he wouldn’t come back. But somehow it was the weight of all the other things that she knew that kept her from getting up—kept her oblivious to the cold. This child had been adopted by her husband…and maybe was more to him, meant more to him than she had. But the terrible secrecy—if there hadn’t been some reason to keep the adoption from her, wouldn’t Randy have shared the news with her?
Even Sam Mathers had known. “Hadn’t you discussed adoption? Randy had looked into it recently.” Weren’t those his words? Pauly jerked forward. Sam Mathers. How much did he know about all this? She struggled to her feet, drawing the blanket closer. She’d contact Sam; if he knew about the adoption agency, had an address, she could go there.
And for now she wouldn’t pursue trying to get the boy to trust her. She innately knew she’d earn his trust by not pushing herself on him, not making demands that might be misinterpreted. If she wanted to give a voice to what she really hoped for, then she’d admit that she wanted him to come to her. And maybe he would.
Tonight she’d given him the teddy bear. At their next meeting it would be something else. She didn’t know what, but she’d think of something…and she wouldn’t make him feel cornered. He seemed safe with the carnival; he hadn’t tried to leave. But the pictures. Was he still being used? Posed and photographed by someone who was making a lot of money exploiting his vulnerability? Something told her she needed to find answers in a hurry.
***
Sam had agreed to see her at nine, even personally met her at the door to the reception area and ushered her into his office. He stopped to pour each of them a cup of coffee at the bar in the back of the room. The scent of hazelnut was pleasing.
“How are you doing?” He was sincere and waited for an answer as he pulled a chair up to his desk for her. He had a way of giving someone his complete attention. It was difficult not to like this man, trust him.
“Better than I thought I’d be doing in this short a time period.” Then Pauly filled him in on work. How she was getting involved in the Rio Grande Conservancy project as manager and tech writer. Things were going smoothly. Archer left her alone and Tom was being attentive and that made things easier, but she didn’t tell Sam that. The business was flourishing and making her a very rich woman, Sam broke in to add.
“So how can I help you now?” His keen eyes held a wonderful fatherly twinkle. Pauly felt herself relax. She’d rehearsed this part and mentally crossed her fingers that it would work.
“When Randy talked about adoption, he was never particular about age or race. I mean it wasn’t necessarily important to him to adopt the customary white baby under six months of age. I have to admit that I was the one who wanted to try to reverse the vasectomy, but if that didn’t work, he felt we might not have to stand in line if we worked with a group who specialized in matching children from Mexico or Central America with interested parties in the U.S.” Pauly waited and tried to read Sam’s expression.
“Are you thinking of adopting a child?” He’d picked up a pencil and was gently tapping the point against the thick blotter in front of him. She didn’t think his frown indicated approval.
“Yes. It may sound crazy to you. But I would be doing something that Randy wanted to do…actually, wanted us to do. I could complete something that had been important to him and help someone unfortunate. I certainly have the money—his money. It might be putting it to good use if there were someone to carry on his name. He even mentioned an agency, but I’m afraid that it wasn’t important to me at the time. I’m hoping that you might know the name.”
“Rings a bell, seems like he mentioned something. Let me check the files.”
Sam left the room. There was no indication that he knew about the adoption sanctioned by a Mexican court in Chihuahua, after papers were drawn up by an agency called Amistad. She suddenly felt depressed. She had so hoped that Sam could produce the name and address, give her a place to start. She wanted the place to be legitimate, not some front for an operation that pandered to the tastes of lascivious old men, or youngish ones like Randy. But if there weren’t a good reason for secrecy, wouldn’t Sam have had the original adoption papers in Randy’s file here, or, better yet, have been involved in drawing up the papers instead of this Mexican agency?
“This may be what you�
��re looking for.” That hadn’t taken long, Pauly thought as Sam walked back into the room. “Randy had asked me to check the agency, make sure it was on the up and up a few months back. I’d forgotten about it; I’m afraid other things took precedence.” Sam didn’t say what “other things,” but Pauly guessed that Randy’s death was one of them. Sam referred to a legal tablet. “The agency is in El Paso and is listed simply as Amistad…friendship…appropriate name, don’t you think? Looks like they have other businesses under the same heading.”
“Is there an address or phone?” El Paso. This was better than she had hoped for. They would speak English, at least.
“Both. Let me copy them for you.” Sam jotted down the information, and handed her the slip before sinking into a chair beside her. “I’d like to be involved.” He waved away the start of her protest. “I think I need to be involved from the standpoint of protecting your interests. Some of these people can be unscrupulous, demanding unbelievable sums of money up front only to deliver a child who may have been abducted.” He had leaned over to place a hand on her arm. He smelled crisply clean with a hint of citrus. “Taking them to court can be expensive and ugly. They can embroil you in legal hassles, not to mention the emotional stress and pain.”
Pauly sighed. She needed to play along. “What do you suggest?”
“Let me make a few calls. There’s a local agency that comes highly recommended. I have two clients who have used them with total satisfaction. Both became eligible within a year to adopt a newborn.” Sam leaned across the corner of his desk to pull his Rolodex closer. “Here. Let me add their number.” Pauly handed back the piece of paper with the number of the only agency that mattered. But she wasn’t going to say that. It couldn’t hurt to pretend that she’d do as he suggested.
“There. Now I want you to start here. I have to be frank. I really don’t believe parent or child in a mixed-ethnic situation is really happy. My job is to look after you as well as your interests. So my meddling is perfectly within bounds.” He smiled and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers, elbows resting on the only part of his anatomy that might be considered rotund. “I really want you to give this some careful thought. You’re still possibly reacting to Randy’s death. I’m no shrink, but couldn’t you be searching out a replacement for the love that you’ve lost? Rushing into a lifelong commitment on the strength of misplaced emotion?” He paused and leaned forward. “I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn. I’ve grown to care for you. I don’t want anything else to happen to you.”
“I understand. I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been, how much peace of mind it’s given me to have you as both a legal advisor and a friend.” Pauly hoped she sounded sincere. And, God knew, she wanted it to be the truth. She carefully folded the slip of paper and tucked it into her purse. She’d found out a part of the information she’d come for. Randy had shared the name of the agency with Sam. That gave a legitimacy to the adoption papers. Jorge was Randy’s son. And after Sam’s reaction to her wanting to adopt someone other than an Anglo baby, it made sense that Randy hadn’t said more to his lawyer.
“Would you like me to make an introductory call?”
“Yes. That would be helpful.” She knew he didn’t mean to the firm, Amistad. And she’d have to play along in order to cover her tracks. It wouldn’t hurt to visit a legitimate agency; it would give her something to compare with. “Don’t make any promises that I’ll see them until after Christmas. Things are a little hectic at work.”
“I’ll just tell them that you’ll call; you can make the appointment. And, Pauly, let me know how it goes.” He’d risen when she did and now took her arm and walked her towards the door. The quick hug before he opened it didn’t surprise her; he wasn’t out of line. Sam Mathers genuinely liked her.
***
There were a dozen roses on her desk when she got back to the office—red, this time—and a note that said, “I won’t give up.” Pauly picked up the phone. This time she’d take the initiative, choose the time and place. Make certain that she would meet Tom in the daylight. Maybe a silly precaution, but lunch should be safe and short. She couldn’t continue to ignore him. Not as a partner. Tom’s secretary put her through, said she’d been given instructions to interrupt his ten o’clock meeting if Pauly should call.
“The roses are beautiful.”
“I’m glad they got your attention.”
Same old Tom, but he seemed happy to hear from her.
“What if I said I’d like to take you to lunch? ’Fessed up to feeling a little guilty about breaking our date?”
“Sounds like my lucky day.” She could feel Tom relax and slip into his old bantering self. “My choice of place or yours?”
“Mine. I’ll meet you at your office at a quarter ’til.”
She hung up, then dialed the in-house library service and asked to have all the issues of the local paper that dealt with the water conservancy project sent over. Especially those from the last six months. Research needed to include local opinion, and there was some indication that all was not well. The project wasn’t a popular one and wasn’t improving with time. Randy had penciled in several questions in the margin of the proposal, and she would follow up. Starting with Tom. He’d offered to be a mentor, and she planned on giving him a chance.
Besides, the group that MDB was teaming with had its headquarters in El Paso. What better excuse to spend a week on the border looking into Amistad than a little legitimate work? She just needed to let Tom know, not necessarily to get his blessing, but to gain his support, if possible.
Then she dialed the agency that Sam had recommended. She might as well get a feel for what they had to offer. She was curious, and maybe it was important that Sam knew she’d taken his advice. He meant well.
At first the receptionist was reluctant to let her talk with a counselor, insisted, in fact, that she make an appointment. But Pauly persevered, dropped Sam Mather’s name, said he’d recommended the agency and she only had a few questions, didn’t want to waste anyone’s time, especially this time of year. She was finally put through. Ms. Perkins sounded bubbly but older. Her own babies were probably grown and now she had an overpowering need to provide this gratifying experience to others. She rattled off her credentials, which included social worker, minor in psych.
“Am I to understand that you are currently not married?”
Ms. Perkin’s voice was friendly, but reserved when Pauly mentioned being single. But Randy had been unmarried…at first. Maybe this was a stumbling block.
“I’ve been recently widowed.” That sounded stilted. It was still a word that she couldn’t get used to.
“Oh. I’m sorry. May I assume that there would be no financial worries then? Anything that would preclude your being able to provide for a child?”
“Financially, I’m comfortable. There would be no problems.”
“We would, of course, need a financial statement.”
“Of course.”
“Our agency is more concerned with quality of care than having two parents. We all know the divorce statistics today. There are just no guarantees.”
You can say that again, Pauly thought to herself but added aloud, “Do you only place babies?”
“Newborns, in fact. All adoptions are completed by five days after birth.”
“Do you match prospective parents with the child in some way?”
“Absolutely. In addition to general physical characteristics, we wouldn’t want six-foot parents to have a five-foot son, now would we?” Ms. Perkins paused to laugh good naturedly. “We also match for aptitude. We test mothers here at the facility. We hope to screen for any deformities in the genes someday soon. But right now health records are provided by both parties.”
“It all sounds so complicated. How is the final choice made?”
“The mother herself. She will be given the scrapbooks of several appropriate prospective parents. She bases her decision on what she views as your potential to provide t
he kind of home she envisions for her baby.”
“A scrapbook?”
“You would be required to put together a pictorial rendering of why you feel you would be a good parent. It’s a sales tool. But if you think that’s crass, look at it as a way of introducing yourself, showing your potential. They usually include pictures of your house, the baby’s room, pets, relatives, anything that will help that mother choose you.”
Fleetingly, Pauly thought of her room at the B&B, of Steve’s tattoos and Grams’ cosmetic chest surgery. And weren’t there snakes in the garage? Pauly felt nervous laughter well up and threaten to burst into sound. She cleared her throat. No wonder Randy chose to take another route. She thanked Ms. Perkins and promised to call back after she’d thought about it.
***
She’d chosen the Rio Grande Yacht Club for lunch, close enough to have walked, but Tom insisted on driving.
“I think I’m going to put it in the by-laws that the partners, minus one, must have lunch together on a weekly basis.”
Tom was kidding but he was attentive, opening the car door for her, pulling out the wicker high-backed chair from the table by the fireplace, ordering two Samuel Adams. She could get used to this.
The waiter recited an incredibly long list of fresh seafood dishes. Tom chose a medley of seafood on a pasta bed; Pauly stayed with the spinach salad. She never ordered anything different. A real lack of risk-taking behavior or imagination— she preferred to think of it as the latter and only when it came to food.
“Noralee says you’re jumping right in. Office in order. Staying late.” Tom asked for another twist of ground pepper on his salad before the waiter moved away.
“Just trying to impress.” She grinned and tried not to think of Noralee spying and running to tell.
“Is everything going well?”
“Actually, yes. It was a good idea to get involved.”
“Not too much, too soon?”