Making Spirits Bright

by Fern Michaels

  “I’m not going to ask why you did that because I know you’re going to tell me.”

  Mortified, humiliated, and ashamed didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling. “I don’t know what ... I am so sorry! I have no clue why ...” There wasn’t anything she could say to defend her action. She was as baffled as the next person.

  Stephanie passed Bryce a wad of paper towels. He mopped up the remaining drops of water on his face.

  I should have stayed at home with my book and my teapot, Melanie thought. Appalled by her actions, she tried to come up with an explanation, but couldn’t. Maybe it was just one of those knee-jerk reactions, something in her subconscious. Whatever it was, she’d never been quite as embarrassed as she was now. Shaking her head from side to side, Melanie looked at the floor, then her gaze traveled up a pair of heavily muscled black-clad legs. When her eyes came to rest on his flat abs, she looked up quickly and focused her gaze on Bryce’s sculpted face. “I’m sorry. I have no idea why I did that.” Lame, she knew, but she had no other explanation to offer.

  Bryce tossed the crumpled paper towels in the garbage can, then slipped the black sweater back over his head. Melanie could see the darker spots where the water had soaked the wool. On the positive side, at least no one but Stephanie had witnessed her act of stupidity.

  “Stop apologizing,” Bryce said with a sly grin. “It was only water. I’m just lucky it wasn’t coffee.”

  Melanie focused on her surroundings, because she had a fear that if she didn’t, she might do or say something else out of character: oak cabinets. Dark brown granite countertops, flour scattered all over the top. Cream-colored curtain above the bronze sink. Stove. Refrigerator. Dishwasher. Cake containers on the countertop. A burning smell.

  Okay, she was focused. Now if she could keep her hand under control, she’d survive until she could safely come up with an excuse to leave! Fire, the place was on fire!

  “Something’s on fire,” Bryce said casually as though he were talking about the weather.

  “Oh my gosh! The cookies!” Stephanie grabbed two oven mitts, and yanked the oven door open. Gray smoke billowed out in one giant puff. She carefully pulled a baking sheet topped with little black mounds of what must’ve been meant to be cookies out of the oven. Stephanie dumped the ruined cookies in the sink. “I can’t believe I forgot the cookies! I promised the girls they could decorate them.” Stephanie shook her head and began scrubbing the burnt mess off the baking sheet.

  “It’s my fault, Steph. I’m sorry. I’m going to visit the girls and Ella, then go home. I can’t seem to do anything right these days,” Melanie said, irritated at herself. If she hadn’t tossed that water at Bryce, the cookies wouldn’t have burnt.

  “Oh stop it, you two,” Bryce said. “It’s cookies. I say let the girls start a new batch. Let’s air the place out first.” He leaned over the sink and raised the window. A small gust of icy-cold air filled the room.

  Bryce grabbed a kitchen towel, fanning the smoke toward the window. Melanie grabbed a place mat off the small table and followed Bryce’s moves. Stephanie backed away from the sink, allowing them the room they needed to fan the smoke toward the window.

  Melanie hoped this scene wasn’t indicative of her future. If so, her hopes of adopting would surely go up in smoke.

  Chapter 6

  The early-morning air was bone-chillingly cold. Melanie parked her Lincoln Navigator inside the hangar and followed the airport attendant to the small jet waiting on the tarmac. Holding her documents against her chest, she climbed the small steps leading inside the plane.

  She was seated and buckled in when the copilot offered her a cup of coffee from a thermos.

  “Thanks, I needed this.” He handed her a Styrofoam cup full of the steaming-hot brew. She breathed in the aromatic scent, loving the smell of it. She had overslept and hadn’t had enough time to make a pot of coffee or much of anything else. She’d grabbed her makeup kit and a bright red sweater to put on later in addition to the jeans she’d barely had time to slip into. Grateful she’d showered and washed her hair the night before, she hoped she wasn’t going to be judged on her appearance. Because if that was the case, she could forget about adopting a child.

  If she couldn’t dress herself, why would anyone think her capable of dressing a child? Or anything associated with a child. Maybe the whole idea was a pipe dream and nothing more.

  No, it was not a pipe dream. She was ready for this, knew in her heart this was the correct path for her. If the agency didn’t approve her application, she would just accept that now was not the time for her to make a life-changing decision.

  Melanie felt the pressure as the jet lifted off the tarmac. Takeoff was her favorite part of flying, giving her an instant rush. Once they had reached their assigned altitude, she relaxed. The flight was only one hour, just enough time to ponder last night’s dinner with Bryce. She still couldn’t believe she had gone to dinner with him, let alone made plans for a second date. Yesterday was just full of surprises.

  She still had no clue why she had tossed a glass of water in his face. That would have to remain a mystery for a while yet. Once they’d cleared the kitchen of all the smoke and mess, she had helped the girls make a second batch of cookies, the slice-and-bake kind, but they’d had fun in spite of the smoky start.

  She’d had a great visit with Max and Grace. Baby Ella was just starting to walk, and seeing the little girl convinced her even more that she was making the right decision. They’d spent the remainder of the afternoon laughing, talking, and sharing their plans for the upcoming holiday. When Melanie was reminded that Bryce was going to be hanging around until after the first of the year, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit excited. After she’d gotten over her initial bout of mortification, courtesy of Bryce’s easygoing manner, she’d relaxed. They’d talked about everything from the ski conditions to their preference for dark or light turkey meat.

  Melanie couldn’t believe she’d never taken the time to learn much more than superficial things about Grace’s younger brother. They’d been around one another long enough to get to know each other, but Melanie had made the assumption that he was not interested in her or anything she had to say, so she’d kept her distance.

  Now, here she was about to make a drastic change to her life, and all she could think about was their upcoming date, midmorning tomorrow. They’d planned a day of skiing, and both decided if they weren’t too tired, they’d try out that new Italian restaurant everyone was raving about.

  Melanie grinned. Life was good, and if she had anything to say about it—and she did—it was about to get even better.

  The plane landed as scheduled, and her rental car was parked where it should be. She’d asked that the car be equipped with a GPS. She recalled the woman from the adoption agency’s words: Nine o’clock sharp. So far, everything was going according to plan.

  She programmed the GPS with the adoption agency’s address. While she waited for the information to reach some satellite in space, she checked her hastily applied makeup in the rearview mirror, tucked a few loose strands of hair back into her topknot. She’d changed into her red sweater before getting inside her rental car. Yes, things were going just the way she wanted them to. Smooth as silk.

  It was already 7:30 A.M., and the traffic was bumper to bumper on Denver’s I-70. Miles of red taillights stretched out on the road before her. At this rate, she’d be lucky to make her nine o’clock appointment. Slowly, she crept down the heavily trafficked highway. Twenty minutes later, she looked again at the bright green digital clock on the dashboard, then back at the GPS stuck to the windshield. According to the directions, she would arrive at World Adoption Agency in fifty-seven minutes. Somehow this didn’t seem possible with all the traffic, but she knew the GPS also tracked your speed, so she would trust the gizmo to do what it was supposed to do.

  In her peripheral vision, Melanie saw where several of Denver’s large businesses had decorated their office buildin
gs with elaborate displays of colored lights, giant blow-up Santa Clauses, snowmen, and the usual array of decorations. If she’d had more time, she would have taken the exit to get a closer look at some of the outrageous decorations, but she would do that another time. At the moment, she had more important things to do. If she were lucky, this time next year she would have a child of her own to take to view the elaborate Christmas decorations.

  Briefly, she wondered what Bryce would say about her plans. She shook her head; it didn’t matter what he or anyone else thought. She’d made a decision, and she would do her part to see that her plans came to fruition.

  The traffic started moving faster, and thirty minutes later, the electronic female voice told her that her exit was one mile on the right.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach as she weaved her way through the back streets that led to the adoption agency. The female voice told her she had arrived. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but she knew she hadn’t expected what she was seeing. She pulled into the asphalt parking lot and turned the engine off, wondering if she’d been given the wrong address.

  A flat-roofed brick building, which at one time might have been an old school building or a county government facility, was surrounded by a tall wire fence. There were no swings in the side yard, no merry-go-rounds, no type of equipment that would indicate children lived here. Her heart sank. This picture certainly did not match the one she saw on the Internet. Thinking it was possible the Web site designers had gone a bit overboard when they’d created the Web site, in hopes of luring potential parents, Melanie walked down a cracked sidewalk that led to a steel door with faded black and gold letters that read OFFICE. She looked at her watch. She was a few minutes early. Not knowing if she should knock on the door or simply step inside, Melanie went with her gut and opened the door.

  Melanie stepped inside to a dimly lit reception area. A grayish green metal desk, clear of the usual clutter, with a sturdy wooden chair tucked beneath it stood in the center of the room. Behind the desk on the wall facing her were several tall gray metal filing cabinets. She looked to her left and right in hopes of finding another desk, maybe a desk with a computer on it, but saw nothing except for a few small wooden chairs pushed up against the wall. It was obvious the chairs were for children, not guests.

  As Melanie was about to wander down the long hallway to her left, she heard the click-clack of heels coming from the opposite end of the hall. She remained in place, smoothed any imaginary wrinkles from her jeans, and took a deep breath. It was now or never. Exhaling as she’d been taught in her yoga class, she let her breath out slowly. She watched the tall figure make her way down the dark hallway toward the front reception area.

  Where were all the children? she wondered. Surely they were up and about by now. But then she realized that they had probably already left for school.

  In the same nasally accented voice she’d heard on the phone, the tall figure called out as she made her way over to the desk. “You must be Mrs. McLaughlin.”

  She was the exact image that her voice and manner projected over the telephone. Sturdily built, steel gray hair pulled back in a bun so tight her eyes were pulled upward. She wore a brown wool suit, thick stockings, and ugly black shoes with large square heels. It was the sort of outfit that brought to mind a warden in a medium-security prison for women. “Well, are you going to answer me or not?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m she ... I am Melanie McLaughlin.”

  “Follow me,” the still-unnamed woman said.

  Melanie did as instructed. She traveled the length of the dark hallway, the woman’s broad back blocking her view of what lay beyond. At the end of the hall was a small office, this one a bit more personal. There was a wooden desk with a banker’s lamp placed to her right. And two matching chairs, both of which might have been light blue at one time but were now as gray as the rest of the surroundings, were placed on the opposite side of the desk.

  The woman walked around and slid her chair from beneath the desk. She sat down, rifled through a stack of papers on her desk, then gave Melanie a nod, indicating she should sit.

  “You have all of your paperwork in order?” the woman said flatly, her voice displaying not the slightest bit of emotion. Melanie was beginning to regret her choice of adoption agencies. This woman was simply rude—not having bothered even to introduce herself.

  She placed the file folder of papers she’d brought, along with her passport, on the desk. “I think so. I brought along a few extra things.” The woman stared at her as though she could see right through her. “Just in case,” Melanie added in a small voice.

  “You think? If you’re not sure you’ve brought the required documents, how is one to assume you’re capable of caring for a child?” The woman, whose name she still didn’t know, reminded her of the assistant principal in the movie Uncle Buck. John Candy in his role as Uncle Buck had told the hateful old woman to take a quarter and pay a rat to gnaw the giant wart off her face. Though the discourteous woman across from Melanie lacked the giant wart, she might as well have been that character come to life. Just thinking about the comedic scene made Melanie smile.

  “You think this is funny?” the woman asked, her voice rising in anger.

  Melanie wasn’t going to allow herself to be treated this way one second longer. “Not that it’s any of your concern, madam, but I was smiling at a memory that has absolutely nothing to do with my paperwork.”

  There, now, if the headmistress, or whatever this harridan was called, asked her to leave, Melanie would just take it as a sign that this wasn’t the right agency for her.

  “This isn’t the place for silly thoughts, Mrs. McLaughlin. World Adoption Agency requires our prospective parents to be serious and mature. If you feel you cannot meet these requirements, please don’t waste any more of my time than you have already.”

  Melanie was minute by minute becoming more convinced that this shrew had come directly from central casting, an exact replica of the much-hated character in the Uncle Buck movie. But having traveled all the way to Denver, Melanie decided that she might as well play out what was rapidly turning into a farce to the end, no matter how rude and bossy the woman was.

  Practically biting her tongue, Melanie said politely, “Of course not, Mrs... .” Maybe before she left, she’d at least know the woman’s name.

  “Olga Krause,” the woman said.

  Surprised at her name, Melanie almost fell out of the sagging chair. She hoped this wasn’t some kind of joke, some new adoption-based reality television show. Because if it was, she wasn’t laughing. This was too unreal to be real. This was starting to sound crazy.

  “Mrs. Krause,” Melanie said as maturely as she could, “I am more than ready to start whatever proceedings are required by this agency. You asked me to bring those documents.” She nodded toward the manila folder in Mrs. Krause’s hand. “And I did. If there is anything more I need to bring, I assume you will inform me. I’ve never attempted to adopt a child before. I’m not practiced in this procedure, but will be once we get through this initial screening.”

  Melanie waited while Mrs. Krause went through the paperwork. She glanced around the small room, looking for a picture, a knickknack, anything that would show some personality, but she observed nothing that would indicate the room was someone’s personal space. She decided that the faded blue chairs were as personal as it was going to get. She waited for another few minutes.

  “I’m going to need to make copies of your documents. I will be right back,” Mrs. Krause inched away from her desk.

  “Those are your copies. I have the originals here if you need to see them,” Melanie added, thinking anything to speed up the procedure.

  She’d yet to hear one sound that would indicate there were children present.

  “Well, that was very thoughtful of you, I must say.” Mrs. Krause slid her chair closer to the desk. She stacked the papers until the edges were perfectly aligned.

  Shocked at
the positive words, Melanie remained silent, fearful that if she said anything, it would disrupt Mrs. Krause’s train of thought.

  After several uncomfortable minutes, the woman spoke up. “Your paperwork appears to be in order. Before we can proceed, we must first run a criminal background check. Once those results are in, and if they are in order, we will proceed to step two.”

  Melanie wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained. Images of needy children kept flashing in front of her. However, she didn’t want to stay in the room any longer than necessary, so she spoke up. “And may I ask what step two consists of?”

  “I can tell by your question you did not fully read through the information provided on our Web site.”

  And here we go again, Melanie thought, as she waited for Mrs. Olga Krause to enlighten her.

  “Each agency has certain criteria that must be met as you know since you read all of the fine print.” Mrs. Krause paused, her wicked brown eyes staring at Melanie as though she’d committed a crime. “Since this agency receives state funds, we require a private meeting with your husband before we can schedule an interview with both of you together as a couple.”

  Melanie felt like she’d just been slammed with the old proverbial ton of bricks.

  A husband.

  Olga Krause was absolutely correct. She had missed that part of the fine print.

  Chapter 7

  Melanie inserted her key in the front door and hurried to unlock it. Odie was reclining against the door. Melanie slowly pushed the door inward, letting the dog know it was safe to move.

  She let the boxer jump up and lick her face. Clovis rubbed against her leg. The best part of owning pets, Melanie thought. Returning home. They were always glad to see you no matter what kind of mood you were in. And she was in a very, very rotten mood. She’d stewed on the drive back to the airport, stewed on the short flight to Placerville, and continued stewing on the drive home.