We saw at least a dozen sets of eyes peeking through the blinds of the windows on the first and second floor. And we looked at the small parking area by the turnaround which housed a stone fountain that was overgrown with those vines that were everywhere on the grounds, including winding up the tree trunks of two ancient looking oak trees near the stone stair entrance.
The water looked clean in the circular reflecting pool below the fountain, telling me they had a few funds for the upkeep of the grounds, including the meticulously trimmed little lawn. I knew that a groundskeeper used to live in the tiny cottage we could see peeking out at the side of the main building, but it was deserted now.
I wished we could do more to help the orphanage... sorry, girls home, more. We had discreetly started the ball rolling on setting up a non-profit charity to help this and homes like it with a budget for technology for the girls, like cell phones for the older children, or more modern computer systems for their offices and the classrooms.
Until the girls turn fifteen, they are schooled on the premises, then they were enrolled in the Ashfield Girl's High School a couple of blocks away so they could socialize with children their age before they joined the workforce as adults when they aged out of the system at eighteen.
I leaned in without tearing my gaze from the watching eyes and whispered, “What are they doing?” I even saw a couple of women peeking out with the children.
Jane said in a hushed tone, “I don't know. Maybe they're all curious.” She indicated the parking area that was empty except for an old sedan and two fairly old vans with the Sydenham Home For Girls logo on them. “Doesn't look like they get many visitors, and everyone is probably curious about a potential adoption.”
I nodded and whispered back, “Why are we whispering?”
She chuckled and said in her normal snarky tone, “I don't know pipsqueak, you started it.”
I snorted and that got Calvin to bark once as his tail swished back and forth when he interjected himself into the new game we were playing.
Jane reached for the handle, and then hesitated when I didn't move. I sat wringing my hands and trying to breathe as she assured me, “Come on Finnegan, everything is going to be great, you'll see. Let's go meet our future daughter face to face.”
I inhaled, steeled myself and put a nervous smile on. “Do you think she'll...”
“Oh for fuck's sake Finny, let's get in there before she thinks we're changing our minds.”
I blinked in alarm and almost fell out of the car I opened the door so fast. “She wouldn't think that would she?” I gacked as Calvin flowed over me as I hung half out the door, to hop gracefully onto the ground. I chastised him in a Brooklyn accent, “Hey! I'm hangin' here!”
I pulled myself out and to my feet, straightened up my dress, smoothing the skirt, then put on my hat as I grabbed the little bag for Luce. Jane joined me and gallantly offered her elbow. I blushed, tucked some hair behind my ear, and placed my hand in the crook of her arm. We looked up to the windows again, and all the blinds quickly closed.
Jane chuckled and started us up toward the steps. I realized I wasn't the only one who was all nerves when I felt the muscles in her arm were so tight they were almost shaking, but you couldn't tell it from her cool and calm exterior. It was a sort of armor she wore as a cop, having to be twice as hard, and twice as cool as the men in the precinct. So I patted her arm and she shot me a smile I knew was just as nervous as mine probably looked.
What? We were hopefully about to be parents. How the ever lovin' fluffy heck were we remotely qualified to care for another human being? But... we already loved Luce.
When we reached the top of the steps, we stood at the old eight-foot tall oak doors that had windows of thick, colored glass on the upper few inches of it. The glass was so old it had the warp and run that old glass was wont to have.
You can see the effect in old colonial houses back in the States, or some of the rustic farmhouses in upstate New York. The urban myth is that glass is a very slow moving liquid and thus sags and warps over time. That has been disproven, and these sags and warps were just a result of the manufacturing method before modern methods gave us a more uniform glass.
The strap hinges told me these were likely the original doors on the structure and were in good repair. Jane smashed her lips to one side and I pointed at a little doorbell button to the right which looked out of place, with a little brass placard that was embossed with “Visitors please ring.”
She reached over to press the glowing button when the doors started swinging in, and to my surprise, the hinges didn't creak one bit. I was a little embarrassed at my first impressions. Maybe the place wasn't as bad off as I was making it out to be in my head.
Two familiar faces greeted us. Mrs. Johnston, the headmistress of the home, and Mrs. Doyle, the counselor for the girls and our primary contact throughout the adoption process with the home.
Before we could even say anything, Mrs. Doyle stepped up to us and said enthusiastically as she shook each of our hands vigorously, “Mrs. Mcleary-Mays, good morning.”
I couldn't help but smile. She was taller than I thought she'd be, almost as tall as Jane. It was hard to gauge someone's height over video conference.
She rushed out, “You know Mrs. Johnston.”
I nodded and dropped Calvin's leash when he whined, “Of course. And, Finnegan, please.”
Jane reached over to shake Mrs. Johnston's hand, “Jane.”
Calvin dashed past them into the hall beyond where we saw a few sets of little eyes peeking out of doorways. I started, “Calvin! You haven't been invited in yet, you goof!”
Mrs. Doyle waved it off and said, “I'm so glad you found the place. Miss O'Conner here was worried you wouldn't...” She started looking around like Luce was hiding behind her or something.
“Miss O'Conner?” Then she raised her voice as the two women chuckled nervously, their eyes plastered on us. “Luce Caitlin O'Conner, get out here and greet your guests properly.”
We heard a little squeal. “Sir Calvin. You really came.” Then she was telling someone, “This is Sir Calvin Cornelius Fluffytoes, he's the smartest canis lupus familiaris ever.”
“Miss O'Conner!”
“I'm coming you old busybody!”
My heart stopped when a familiar pre-teen girl stepped into the corridor, her curly burgundy hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her face sprinkled with a heavy helping of freckles that looked way too adorable to me.
And... she was in a little white sundress that was in sharp contrast to her dark red curls. And underneath, she wore well-worn hightop sneakers and knee-high rainbow striped socks that should have looked out of place with the outfit, but she seemed to somehow make it look natural on her. Maybe it was the ironic, yet frightened and excited look in her fierce green eyes that told you she was her own person, no matter how people tried to get her to act otherwise.
She hesitantly moved up to us, Calvin leading her as she had one hand desperately clenching his fur in a fist, her legs moving mechanically. She wouldn't make eye contact, but when she reached us she thrust something she was holding in her other hand at us, “Here. The brain trust of nagging langards runnin' this place said I should make you something out of clay to demonstrate I'm just like a normal girl.”
I blurted, “Luce!” As Mrs. Doyle said, “Be civil, Miss O'Conner.”
I looked at the gift, made by her own two hands, and smiled at it as Jane reached over to place a hand on it as we looked together. It was... well it was a pottery ashtray... and in the center of it was a handprint, just a little smaller than mine. And etched into the glazed finish, was Luce's name, in a tidy serifed font that looked so precise a machine could have done it, and yesterday's date.
Luce refused to make eye contact with the women and she got a sly smile on her lips, leaning forward into our personal space to whisper with wide eyes, “Sorry.” Then she looked at the gift in my hands and furrowed her brow. “I don't know why they think giv
in' ya an ashtray with my handprint will illustrate that I am just like any other dumb kid. I told them neither of you smokes, what use is it to you? It just...”
I stooped slightly, not as far as I would have thought as she was taller than I had made her out to be in my head, to put myself on eye level with her, and interrupted, saying, “I love it.”
Jane corrected. “We, love it.”
I nodded in earnest when her eyes widened in delight. I assured her, “And I know just where we'll put it. We've been wanting a special spot to put our keys by the entry door of the apartment.”
Luce nodded sagely. “That only makes good sense to have a dedicated place for them.” Then she turned and told the women, in an about-face to her prior words, “See? They like it.”
The smile on Mrs. Doyle's face was priceless as she nodded and said patiently, “Yes. We see.” Then she asked with that same patience, “Now, would you like to give them a proper greeting before we move this inta the intake room?”
Luce looked to almost panic and she stood stiffly like a board was strapped to her back as she said, “Of course. Finnegan, Jane, Sir Calvin, good morning. Welcome to the Sydenham Home For Girls, please do come in.”
Then she leaned back into our personal space and said behind her hand like the others couldn't hear. “They told me to say that. Like saying hello like a normal person isn't good enough, the old...”
Mrs. Johnston cleared her throat. “We're right here, Miss O'Conner, we can hear you.”
As Luce avoided being touched on her shoulder to be led away, she blurted, “I know that you bloody langer, that's why I'm speakin' so loud.”
“Luce!” I warned.
She leaned in again with a grin that split her face. “Sorry.”
Mrs. Doyle looked overly worried as she studied Jane and my reactions like she was concerned we were going to dash off at any moment. We knew that a lot of Luce's random and unorthodox behavior was a result of her being on the spectrum, her Aspergers, and the girls back home say that Luce and I are cut from the same cloth, but I don't see it, I'm totally...
Shut up.
I just wanted more than anything at that moment to hug the girl we had flown across the Atlantic to meet, but I knew her aversion to being touched was much more pronounced than mine. I hear it is common for people with OCD, and since I'm just a slight touch OCD-ish myself... shut up again... I understand. So instead I offered her a pinky.
I knew from our teleconferences, that she and fellow resident, Bri, would often link pinkies because of Luce's aversion. They even called each other pinky sisters. Bri was her best friend, sisters in all but blood, and a moderating influence on her, much the way Kerry was to me growing up. Luce looked at me then back at the expectant women, as if looking for permission, then she smiled such a genuine smile it made her light up like a thousand-watt bulb as she linked pinkies with me.
My heart melted when Luce blushed profusely as Jane just offered a fist, and the girls fist bumped. Jane had this way of connecting with people that either put them at ease like this or made them want to kill her and bury her body in a shallow grave in the forest... like when we first met.
I whispered to the young Irish girl, “We're so very glad to finally meet you in person, lady.”
Luce bit her lower lip again and her cheeks reddened as she started almost violently rubbing the back of her hand across her jaw in an almost involuntary motion.
We followed the women down the corridor after they closed the doors, and Luce just struck up a conversation with our fuzzy boy as we walked, like he could respond, “I didn't think they would really come. I thought it was just an elaborate joke. But you're all here.”
My heart broke a little as we followed.
Chapter 5 – Rules
We sat in a sort of all-purpose meeting room beside the offices on the first floor. As Mrs. Johnston excused herself to get some paperwork for us to sign, I looked at my hands and then blurted, “Oh!”
I slid the gifts for Luce across the table said with a squeak, “These are for you.”
Jane rolled her eyes at how smooth I was. Not. I scrunch-faced her into submission.
I had to smile when I noted Cal had followed Luce in and sat beside her on the other side of the table, and Luce had fisted her hand in his long fur again. He has a knack for seeking out the most anxious person in the room.
She rocked a little as she just stared at the bag for a moment before releasing Calvin and looking over at Mrs. Doyle, eyes wide. The woman rolled her eyes and nudged her chin and Luce about dove on the bag.
She pulled the shirt out, her brows furrowed. “This is like something Bri wears to fit in at the high school. All the girls get weird about boy bands.”
Jane said with a crooked grin, “That one's from me.”
Luce blinked and asked, “Do you like boy bands?”
My wife nodded and said, “I like good music. Even Finny here has a band tee, it is like a rite of passage.”
The adorable redheaded girl furrowed her brow again like she was trying to assimilate the information as Jane reached out a hand. “We can get you something else if...”
Luce hugged the shirt to her and shook her head. “I didn't say I didn't want it.” She looked down at the sundress she was wearing and said, “I'd put it on but it would look odd with a dress. Dresses are sensible you know.”
I nodded and assured her, “They certainly are, and they're fun too.”
She cocked her head and looked down at herself, considering my words. Then she nodded to herself and peeked back in the bag and let out a squeak of excitement as she pulled out the little label maker.
Luce showed Calvin, who sniffed it, “Look Sir Calvin, my own label maker. I love it!” Then she held it in Mrs. Doyle's face enthusiastically, “Look!”
“I see, Miss O'Conner.”
“Now I don't have to borrow the one from the...”
Mrs. Johnston called in from the office area, “Miss O'Conner, where are the supervised...”
Luce blurted out without looking over her shoulder, “Top shelf third bin, right where it is labeled you old...”
I chirped out in warning, trying not to laugh, “Luce.”
She scrunched her head to her shoulders, looked side to side then stretched halfway across the table to us and whispered, “Sorry.”
Mrs. Johnston stated, “Right. Thank you, and where are...”
Luce finished for her as she rolled her eyes. “Unsupervised Visitation forms are on the first shelf, first bin.” Then she whispered to us, “They wouldn't be able to find their arses around here without...”
“Luce!”
“Miss O'Conner!”
“Sorry.”
Mrs. Johnston came walking in with a clipboard with some paperwork and a file folder, which looked moments away from bursting there were so many forms in it. I started looking around, needing to organize something or clean something up when I realized it was Luce's adoption folder, and all those forms likely represented all of the other couples over the past ten years who had looked at the possibility of adopting Luce, but backed out when they couldn't handle her little idiosyncrasies and unique randomness. But the place was impeccable... I sensed Luce might have had something to do with that.
Mrs. Johnston said to her as she sat down, and looked at the death grip the young tween had on the label maker in one hand and her other hand fisted in Calvin's fur again, “Really child, why aren't the two visitation forms next to each other?”
When the woman called her child, I saw the first emotion I had seen Luce turned toward the women since we arrived that wasn't one of frustrated resignation. She looked almost like a mother who was trying to impart wisdom in her children. “All of the forms on the first shelf pertain to external activities of residents outside the supervision of staff. The other two shelves in between should be self-explanatory, and the upper shelf deal with external activities of residents under the supervision of staff.”
She went on before
they could ask, “And why is Unsupervised in the first bin when it begins with a U? Because it is form AUX-43... they are alphabetical in each grouping.”
Mrs. Doyle gave a sly smile. “Then why would the unsupervised be at the bottom and supervised at the top?”
Luce was about to answer but I got it, I was nodding, it was an elegant system she had apparently set up for them, but everyone has a signature, a bit of flair and artistry to make a system theirs, and I stated the obvious. “Because there are more people in a supervised visit...” I held a hand high, palm down. “...and less in an unsupervised.” I held my hand low.
It was simple math and I knew for a fact that Luce enjoyed the structure of math. The first drawing she had drawn for us wasn't a bunch of stick figures by a tree, it was a Mandelbrot fractal that was all about a set of complex numbers for which the function does not diverge when iterated from.
Luce pointed her label maker my way and gave them a 'See?' look as I said, “It only makes good sense and has a sort of mathematical beauty to it.”
The women just stared between Luce and me who was just staring at the two women, well three when I include my wife whose eyebrow has been cocked at us for an inordinately long time. We beamed at the room as Luce said accusingly, “Exactly! I told you Finnegan knew things.”
My heart warmed at the way she said that. And I noted her hands had unfisted, the label maker on the long table in front of her and her hand was now absently petting Calvin's head. He was such a good and patient boy, as he made no effort to move away from her.
Finally, Mrs. Doyle smiled hugely and assured the girl, “Yes, Miss O'Conner, you did.”
The two women exchanged pleased as punch looks before the dreaded, “Now we'll have to go through some things it is difficult to do over the phone or online. Some rules for this next phase in the...”
Unleashed- Case of the Hound About Town Page 4