“Thanks, Mom.” His voice broke. “That means everything.”
He craned his neck to see the large screen that flashed images of Mr. Croyden’s life to the mourners—his marriage to Kevin’s mother, holding Kevin as a baby, coaching the soccer team, hoisting Kevin on his wide shoulders, giving a toast at a formal dinner, on water skis, helping Kevin build a Lego spaceship. There was even a shot of Francis clowning around with Mr. C at mini-putt golf. The images went on and on. His mother reached over and took his hand again. He didn’t pull away.
Slowly, the Hudson school choir filed in, followed by the black-robed, somber minister, who placed the urn holding Mr. Croyden’s ashes on the altar. Thank God there’s no coffin. Kevin, his face wooden, entered the church from the front, holding his mother’s arm. She moved slowly, her hollow eyes dark with grief. The rest of the extended family filed in behind them and sat down in the pews reserved for relatives. They were all dressed in black, and they all wore a sprig of purple lavender to acknowledge Mr. Croyden’s love of his herb garden. The service opened with the choir singing one of Bach’s Chorales. The hymns had been carefully chosen to celebrate, rather than to mourn, Mr. Croyden’s life. Kevin’s Uncle James read the eulogy.
Then it was Kevin’s turn to speak. When he made his way to the altar, everyone sat forward in the pews. In a steady voice, he recited the poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye he’d chosen:
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there—I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints in snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush
I am the swift-up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there—I did not die.
Finally, the minister intoned the closing prayer. Everyone filed out of the church to gather in small groups before setting off to the reception at a hotel downtown. Francis searched the crowd for Jack and Sawyer. He spotted them standing apart from everyone, deep in conversation. He broke away from his parents and pushed through the throngs of people. “Hey, Jack, Sawyer,” he called. They turned toward him, Jack’s eyes fiery and challenging. “So you’ve decided it’s okay to be seen with us?”
“I’m sorry,” Francis said simply. “I’d like it if you came to the reception with my family.”
Jack laughed. “Not happening.”
Sawyer poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be so hard on him. He can’t help himself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Sawyer explained patiently, “let’s hope some of the traits of your dad and Kevin’s dad rub off on you one day.”
“Point taken,” Francis conceded. “I’m not an idiot, you know, even if I seem like one. I’m not feeling especially proud of my behavior the last little while.”
Jack offered him his hand. “No problem. Live and learn.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re my friend.”
“Okay, enough,” Sawyer interjected. “We all agree that Francis can be an ass, but he’s improving. New topic. Can you come over tomorrow? My mom is meeting the staff from Phoenix—the adoption agency—this afternoon. They’re giving us access to a website listing would-be parents for private adoption. That means we can start the parent search soon.”
“Okay.”
“And another thing,” continued Sawyer, “Kevin had the kind of dad I want for my baby. Ask him if he’d help us. All those things they said about his father—he must have been a great guy—a kind man. Maybe Kevin, of all of us, is the best qualified to pick the most loving parents for London.”
“London? Is that her name?” Francis liked it. It was different.
Sawyer beamed. “Isn’t it perfect? I guess the new parents might give her another name, but I’m going to ask them to keep it as her middle name.”
“I love it.” Francis wrapped his arms around her. “My dad says he thinks you are very brave. When we have to say good-bye to London, we’re going to know she’s in the best hands.”
“Oh my god, Jack! Do you remember what that old woman said to me?” Sawyer didn’t wait for him to reply. “Saying good-bye to London won’t be easy, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“And she was right. It is the right thing to do,” Jack assured her.
As usual, Francis didn’t have a clue as to what they were talking about.
• • •
At the reception, Francis waited until Kevin was alone to approach him with Sawyer’s request. “I want you there too,” he told him. “After all, if it weren’t for you, I’d never have gone to that dance and I would never have met Sawyer.”
Kevin looked confused. “Wouldn’t that have been better?”
“I would have said the same thing not too long ago, but the truth is, I think this has changed me for the better.”
“Was this your idea, or Sawyer’s?” Kevin asked suspiciously. “Because I don’t need pity from you.”
“Sawyer’s,” Francis replied. “She thinks that you’ll recognize a good dad when you see one, because you had a good dad. She’s right.”
Kevin smiled. “Okay. I’m in. My house is full of a thousand relatives, most of them I don’t even know. It stinks of rotting flowers, and Mom walks around like a zombie most of the time.”
“Okay. I’ll let Sawyer know.” Francis pulled out his phone.
“No,” Kevin protested. “I’ll text her myself.”
Francis couldn’t hide his surprise. “Really.”
“Yeah, really, Francis. While you were busy hating Jack, Sawyer and I became friends. Don’t worry. It’s platonic, but I like her.”
“Okay.” Francis held up his hands in surrender. “My mom and dad are ready to go home. We have to save the poor babysitter, but meet me at the bus at Broadway and 27th at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Why so damn early?”
“It’s Saturday. Soccer practice is at two.”
“Right. I forgot. I’ll be at practice,” Kevin promised. “I know my dad would want me to be there.”
“Kevin, I got to say good-bye to your dad. You were the most important thing to him. He told me that, and he told me to remind you every so often, so get used to it.”
Kevin looked down at the floor. “I appreciate it. You’re a good friend. Now, can we go back to normal for a while?”
Francis looked around the crowded room. He rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing normal about my life right now. Or yours.”
Chapter Fourteen
Like a little fish in the sea, your baby is now “breathing in” amniotic fluid—exercising her lungs for her first breath of air. You might feel her hiccup and she is learning to swallow.
Excerpt: From Conception to Birth
The next morning found Sawyer, Jack, Kevin, and Francis bunched up on the couch in Sawyer’s small living room, listening to her mother explain how the process would work. “Phoenix Adoption has granted us access to their website, where you’ll find profiles of clients who are hoping to become parents. We’ll be working with a woman named Ms. Yeung. Sawyer is just over six months pregnant, so although we are in no hurry, the sooner we pick London’s parents, the easier it will be for Sawyer to focus on other things, like her health and schoolwork.” She gave her daughter a knowing look.
“So, Ms. Yeung suggests we pick three or four possible couples to begin with and then we’ll narrow it down to one. Take your time. There are so many people looking for children. Francis and Sawyer, with my help, will interview the candidates and then we’ll share the information with Kevin and Jack and vote. Sawyer feels strongly that each one of us has an equal vote. Any questions?”
Kevin
and Francis noddd, but Jack had something to say. “Why can’t we all be in on the interviews?”
“We considered that,” explained Ms. Martin, “but Ms. Yeung felt that might be a bit overwhelming for her clients. I agreed, and so did Sawyer. Most people are intimidated by teenagers, and besides, these people are under a lot of stress. We want to make it as easy for them as possible, okay?” Mrs. Martin smiled, doing her best to make this tough situation easier. “Over to you, Sawyer.”
“Thanks, Mom. Before we begin,” Sawyer spoke formally, “I have a couple of things to say. We all have something to bring to the table. Me, well, that’s kind of obvious. Francis, besides being the dad, has two adopted brothers.” She turned her big eyes to Kevin. “Kevin, from everything I know, your dad had all of the qualities of a five-star father. I’m so sorry he’s gone.” She paused. “And Jack? Jack’s my best friend, and his dad, unlike yours”—she glanced ar Kevin—“is everything a father shouldn’t be. I’m counting on all of you to use your intuition and experience to pick the right parents for London, and in the end, like my mom said, we’ll vote. I’ve asked Jack to give you some background on this whole process. Jack, go ahead.”
He flicked his hair out of his eyes and drew in his breath as he looked down at his notes. “Okay, so basically I’ve written down the key points—uh, that is, the things we need to know about private adoptions, ’cause that’s what ours is.” He cleared his throat and Kevin gave him an encouraging nod. “So, you guys”—he jutted his chin toward Sawyer and Francis—“need a medical and social history taken, so the baby’s parents will know about your health—any medical information could be important for the baby in the future—background, education, and, most importantly, I think, why you chose to go this route instead of keeping the baby, or, you know…terminating the pregnancy. As far as the prospective parents go, they’ve already done a ton of work, so keep in mind that this hasn’t been easy for them. By the time we get their files, they’ve already done the following: met five to six times over several months with a Phoenix social worker, had criminal-record checks, had a Ministry of Children and Family Development prior contact check, gathered their personal references, undergone medical check-ups, submitted financial statements, submitted copies of birth, marriage, and, if applicable, divorce certificates. They’ve also attended a parenting course and weekend education seminars.” Jack looked up at his friends and grinned. “In other words, by the time they get to this point in the adoption process, they’ve been screened and they really want a baby. They are totally committed.”
“There’s one thing,” Sawyer said. “Can I stay in contact with London if I want to?”
If anyone besides Francis noticed her mother’s disapproving look, they didn’t let on.
“Good question,” Jack said. “You can choose to stay in contact with the baby, or not, and if you want, you can allow the baby to contact you when she is eighteen. That has nothing to do with the adoptive parents. That’s your decision.
“The other thing is, once you choose the parents, you still can’t sign the adoption papers until the baby is seven days old and—this is important—you can change your mind about the adoption within twenty-one days of her birth.”
“Wow!” Francis interjected. “As if it isn’t hard enough already. Anything else?”
“Yeah. You’ll both have to talk to a lawyer to finalize everything because you’re underage. Ms. Yeung will arrange that.” He put down his notes. “That’s about it.”
Sawyer’s mom spoke up. “Thank you, Jack. Now, I’ve printed out a whole set of questions from the agency that we can discuss to help us find the right parents. What if we start there?”
They all agreed, and Mrs. Martin continued. “My question is: What makes great parents?”
Jack’s hand shot up. “They don’t beat the shit out of you.”
“They don’t abandon their family,” Sawyer called out.
“They make you feel that you are the most important person in their world,” Francis offered. “They support you.”
Kevin’s foot connected hard with the leg of the coffee table. “They don’t die on you.”
“Okay,” said Jack. “This isn’t going to be easy for any of us. I wouldn’t mind a quick smoke, if we could take a break.”
Mrs. Martin stood up. “I’ll put on the kettle, but as far as I’m concerned, a good parent loves his or her child unconditionally and has the backbone to guide it through life by example.”
“Well put, Mom.”
While Jack darted outside for a cigarette, Mrs. Martin made a pot of tea. When Jack returned, Francis thought he looked calmer, happy almost. He likes this Francis thought. We’re like family to him.
“So, moving on,” Mrs. Martin said, “do we want to have an open, semi-open, or closed adoption with the adoptive family?”
“Definitions, please,” said Francis.
“Closed is when there is no contact between the birth parents and the adoptive parents, and there is no identifying information from either of you, and no communication after the adoption.”
Sawyer drew her hand across her throat. “Nix that one.”
“Open,” Mrs. Martin continued, “is the opposite. The parents and the birth parents have ongoing communication, and all of the information on both sides is shared. You decide how much contact you want and the adoptive parents can be there for the birth.”
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I do know that I want them there for the birth. I mean, I’m certainly not going to count on Francis being there.”
“Shit,” cried Francis. “I hadn’t even thought about that yet.”
Kevin patted him on his back. “You’re kind of pale,” he teased.
“A semi-open adoption is somewhere between the two,” Mrs. Martin continued, ignoring the exchange. “The biggest difference is that direct communication is limited and always carried out by a third party; in your case, that would be Phoenix. No sharing of names and addresses, but you agree on the frequency of communication. Phew, that’s it.”
“We haven’t even gone beyond the first two questions,” pointed out Jack, “and I’m starving.”
“Me too,” said Kevin.
“Ditto,” chimed in Francis.
“Mom said this would happen.” Sawyer laughed.
Mrs. Martin disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a platter laden with croissants, jam, giant cinnamon buns, and cut-up melons and oranges. “I don’t know how your families can afford to feed you,” she joked.
While they ate, they talked about the three options. Francis came out strongly in favor of a closed adoption. “I think it would be weird if we knew Nate and Devon’s parents.”
“Why don’t you?” Jack wanted to know.
“They disappeared during the civil war in the Ivory Coast. So many people disappeared…” He sighed. “At first we asked for only one child, but Mom says we were doubly blessed, and I agree with her.”
Sawyer preferred the semi-open adoption, and in the end, they agreed (since she had a stronger vote) to open records. But the sharing of letters and photos on the baby’s birthdays proved to be a bigger problem.
Mrs. Martin, who was usually so agreeable, thought the idea to be, in her words, “damaging and absolutely untenable.” She set her lips in a tight, thin line. “I just can’t condone it.”
But her daughter was equally stubborn. “I’d be pretty happy to hear from my dad once a year.”
“But, sweetheart,” Mrs. Martin shook her head sadly, “you had a relationship with your dad. This baby doesn’t belong to you. I think your letters will confuse her and cause problems. We have to put her welfare first. You say it all the time.”
To everyone’s surprise, Sawyer burst into tears. It was Kevin who saved the day. “I know, why don’t we agree on the yearly letters and photos, but give the parents the ch
oice to show them to London either when they arrive or on her eighteenth birthday?”
“I could agree to that,” said Mrs. Martin. She rubbed her daughter’s back gently. “Sawyer?”
“I suppose.” Sawyer sniffled. “It’s just so hard when you put it like that…”
“Well, you know me. I’ve never been one to mince words.”
“Good,” said Kevin, eager to move on. “Now we can tackle the next question on this long list. Do we care about the age of the adoptive couple?”
“No old farts,” said Jack. “Like, not older than thirty-five.”
“That’s not old,” said Francis. “That’s middle-aged.”
“What about thirty-eight?” suggested Sawyer. “Mature—it takes longer to get an education and to get a career established these days.”
“Ahem.” Sawyer’s mother rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to tell you how old I am, but thirty-five is certainly not middle-aged! I think you need to keep an open mind. If we find the perfect couple at forty, we shouldn’t write them off.”
“Got it,” said Kevin, writing down the answer. “Next question: Does it matter if the adoptive family lives in the same city as you do?”
A heated debate followed. Sawyer, Francis, and her mother were dead set against it. Kevin and Jack were indifferent. “As long as she lives in a city,” said Jack.
“Too restrictive,” argued Mrs. Martin. In the end, they all agreed with her.
“Okay, what about income? Rich, poor, doesn’t matter?”
“Not poor,” put in Jack. “Poor is a whole set of problems on its own.”
“They don’t have to be uber-rich either.” Sawyer gave Francis a sideways glance. “Super-rich people can be snobs.”
“Look, I already apologized for that,” Francis said. “Can we agree on comfortable and educated?”
Kevin wrote it down. “Next, what about religion?”
That was an easy one for all of them. “No fanatics. No extremes.”
Saying Good-bye to London Page 14