by Amy Piers
“He’s in a bit of a mood today,” she admits. “Some days are harder than others.”
“Meltdowns?” I ask.
“No, nothing like he did with you,” she assures. “I shouldn’t complain. You bore the worst of it.”
“He’s never going to be “normal,” Alicia,” I say, using my fingers for quotations. I hate the word, but it holds the most weight.
“I know,” she admits, defeated. “Sometimes I just hope.”
Ezra looks uncomfortable. This is a world of which he’s been locked out; this is my domain, my comfort zone, not his. Alicia and I understand each other in a way that Ezra will never even scratch the surface. We’re trench buddies, connected by the war zone. He exhales, uncomfortably realizing that he’s disconnected, and there’s nothing he can do about it. We end the video call, not knowing whether it’s a good idea for Ezra to come to Wyoming, or if his presence will send Dallas’s progress packing. I wish I could understand this kid—one minute he’s asking for Ezra, the next he’s pushing him away. It’s hardly a surprise, since his early attachments were ambivalent at best. I feel Alicia’s pain; that hopeful wish he will grow out of all of this and find himself a nice ‘forever’ home.
I tell Ezra not to worry, though I can see he still cares. He’s never had to deal with deeply wounded kids before, and I explain that following through with the visit is the best thing for Dallas. He’s not so sure, and heads back to his house early.
We don’t talk for the rest of the day.
#
I stay up late, wondering if Dallas will ever be adopted by another family. I wonder if he could live a valuable life in the foster system. I wonder what happens if he gets to 18 without a family to call his own. I know he expects me to be his mom if nobody else steps up to the plate, but I can’t be manipulated like that. I’ll love this child to my dying day, but I won’t raise him as my own. I’m not old enough, established enough, brave enough, or patient enough. I want him to have one of those strict, no-bullshit, badass Moms—someone who can give him all the time in the world. Someone who isn’t me.
Sometimes love is a bitter pill to swallow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Seven
[I see red.]
I open my eyes and see Matthew still sleeping. Jumping on his bed, I rip the covers off and yell, “It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!” I wish I had a streamer to throw at him: because that’s for special occasions, and this is definitely a special occasion.
I’m seven!
[I see you.]
Ezra didn’t say much on the flight to Cody, and now that we’re waiting in line for a rental car, things are starting to get awkward. Once we jump through all the hoops, pile into the car, and set the GPS, I decide I need to ask what’s wrong.
“I’m worried…” he chokes. “I'm afraid in some way, some time in the future, you’ll choose Dallas over me.”
I’m flabbergasted—this couldn’t be further from the truth.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” I say, quickly deflecting the statement.
“You say that now,” he warns, “But I know how much you love that kid. You won’t admit it, but you’d do anything for him. What happens when he’s eight and needs to leave Starlight? Who’s going to take him in?”
“Not me,” I maintain.
“So, you’ll let him go into the foster system? You’ll be totally fine with him living with a random family who may or may not be a good fit?” he snaps.
“I just don’t think we can plan that far ahead,” I shrug. I can see that he’s been struggling with this since we made the video call to Dallas. The air between us has been thick with tension since that day, waiting for this conversation to happen. Mere minutes away from Starlight, the emotional volcano erupts.
“One day when they ask you to adopt Dallas, and you know they will, you’re going to have a really hard time saying no. If you take him on, I don’t know where that leaves us,” Ezra blurts, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. I extend my arm, placing it on his shoulder, not sure what to say.
“Are you saying that he’s a deal breaker?” I ask.
“Yeah… kind of. I mean, I’m not an expert like you, but I know that I don’t have the bandwidth to raise a kid like Dallas,” he says.
“I never said I wanted to adopt him,” I reiterate. “I’ve actually said the opposite, repeatedly.”
“Zoe, it’s not that I would leave you if you adopted him. It’s just that I think he has the potential to drive us apart. He’s not interested in a relationship with me, he’s just scoping out his competition,” he admits.
I sit with his words for a moment, then say, “I think he genuinely wants to meet you. And, you know I love you, Ezra.”
“I love you, too. You have no idea how long I have loved you—and now that I have you, I don’t want to lose you.”
“Nobody ever really knows how long they will have someone in their life,” I reply. “Let’s not see the end before we’ve even begun. I can’t promise you I’ll never adopt Dallas, but I can promise you that right now, that’s not my plan.”
We sit in silence for the remainder of the drive to Lovell, deep in thought, as I wonder whether it was wise to bring Ezra here. I wonder if he’s mad at me for trying. I’m under no impression that we’re playing happy families.
Besides, I never said I wanted Dallas long-term.
[I see red.]
I see a silver car driving down the long, long, long driveway, and I hope like crazy that it’s Zoe. Then an old lady gets out, and I know I’m wrong because it’s Lynda bringing Cinnamon for a visit, which is still a really good thing. Waiting for Zoe takes forever! Alicia comes to the room with Cinnamon, and also presents and streamers, and we have a little dance party with Matthew.
“Would you two like to have a picnic breakfast at the stables?” she asks, and we jump up and down on the bed saying, “Yes! YES! YESSSSSS!”
[I see you.]
We stop at a bakery in Lovell, to pick up a birthday cake I ordered for Dallas. The baker opens the box to reveal the most incredible dog cake, looking exactly like our sweet little Cinnamon. I smile big, and so does Ezra, breaking the ice that’s formed between us in snowy Wyoming. He carries the cake to the car, placing it on my lap in the passenger seat. I balance it precariously for the next fifteen minutes as we roll up to Starlight.
Ezra reacts to the ranch like I did two months prior. The look on his face appreciates the beauty, while simultaneously takes stock of the sadness. On my second visit, I can recognize the full worth of rehabilitation, instead of being struck by the weight of why these kids need the ranch. It’s even more beautiful at the end of winter; still, ice capped, but with hints of the green to come.
In the distance we see two little boys running and stopping, over and over again, trailed by a lady with a leashed dog calling out commands. As we get closer, I see that it’s Dallas and Alicia, with who I assume to be Matthew. The top of Dallas’s head is now the height of Alicia’s shoulders, and Matthew almost looks her in the eye. Like watching a handler interact with growing tiger cubs, I wonder what will become of their relationship when the babies tower over their master, knowing it won’t be long before they grow into their gargantuan paws.
“There he is,” I tell Ezra. “He’s the smaller one.”
Ezra looks overwhelmed, yet glad to finally lay eyes on the child who has indelibly changed me. He smiles, “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”
[I see red.]
A green car drives in the driveway, and as soon as I see it, I stop dead in my tracks. It’s her this time! And him! I start running, but Alicia says to stop, and I listen. It’s hard to stop when you really want to keep running.
“It’s Zoe!” I yell. Alicia asks me to wait until the car stops moving, and when we hear the car turn itself off, I run with all my speed, and nobody tells me to stop.
[I see you.]
Hurdling towards us, Dallas throws himself on the par
ked car. I roll the window down, and he practically crawls inside. He stops halfway, realizing there’s something on my lap. Cinnamon recognizes Ezra and subsequently goes into full barking mode.
“What’s in the box?” he yells. Alicia pries him from the open window as Ezra opens the car door, allowing me to reveal the cake. Dallas’s eyes grow wide.
[I see red.]
Alicia—I mean, Zoe—has a big cake that looks like our dog, Cinnamon!
“Happy seventh birthday, Buddy!” she says, as her beardy boyfriend gets the cake off her lap so she can get out of the car. Cinnamon seems to like him, so I guess he’s OK. I jump up, hugging Zoe with my legs around her waist, and arms around her neck. She’s the best human, and she’s here with me now. I feel her heart beating on my heart, like twins.
“Matthew!” I yell. “Look it! A dog cake!”
“WOW,” he says. “Can we eat it?”
“We were just heading to the stables for a special birthday picnic,” Alicia explains to Zoe and the beard guy. “Would you like to come?”
[I see you.]
“Sure!” I agree. “By the way, Dallas, this is Ezra.”
He looks down and says, “Hi,” with his foot tracing lines in the snow.
Alicia prompts, “Eye contact, strong voice.”
Dallas looks up and extends a hand to Ezra, “Hi, I’m Dallas. Nice to meet you.” Ezra shakes his little hand, as I just about die from how cute their meeting has turned out to be, and replies, “Nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Alicia doesn’t skip a beat, introducing Matthew to all of us, since he was away with family when I visited last. Matthew’s face holds a familiar depth: eyes that have seen too much, a mouth reluctant to smile, and the fast, jerky movements of a kid living from the fight-or-flight mode of his reptilian brain. I don't know how he got this way; I want to pity him, but I know he has a family who wants him rehabilitated. In that respect, he’s lightyears ahead of Dallas. While the window of Matthew’s formative years has recently closed, Dallas’s is wide open, with the curtain dancing in the wind.
Hope lives in the breeze of change.
[I see red.]
“Let’s play the stop/go game,” I tell Zoe. We run, she yells stop, and we stop.
“You’re getting really good at this,” she says. “Let’s add Ezra to the game.”
We run, and Beardy says stop. For a millisecond I think I’ll keep running, but I don’t, because Zoe would be mad, and I don’t want her to stop liking me. Also, seven is my year to be green. I stop, and he says, “Go.”
Arrow and Lester are neighing in the stables, so I climb a little on the fence to pet them. Alicia doesn’t stop me because she knows I can be trusted now that I am seven. Ezra stands next to me, while Zoe sets the cake on the wooden outside table.
“Who’s this?” he asks.
“Arrow,” I say, softly. “He’s my favorite.”
“How should I get to know Arrow?” Ezra says. “He’s never met me before, and I don’t want to scare him.”
I think, with my finger on my chin. I whisper, “Just be his friend slowly. He won’t bite you, but if he does something mean, it’s probably because he’s just a little bit scared.”
Ezra talks to Arrow for a bit, then I let him know it’s OK to try to pet him. He touches Arrow’s nose, and the horse breathes out quickly, which scares Ezra, so he pulls his hand away. I whisper to Arrow, “Easy, boy. Ezra is nice. Ezra is safe.”
I grab Ezra’s hand, and let him touch Arrow again. This time they both stay calm.
[I see you.]
While I’m setting seven candles on the cake, I look up to see Dallas and Ezra petting the horse. They’re both smiling—genuinely smiling—which makes me think they’ll get on just fine. I leave the table, with matches and a knife, and walk over towards them. Matthew makes a beeline for the table, and Alicia tackles him before he gets there. I’ve been out of the game for so long I’ve forgotten about the small details of keeping young, vulnerable humans safe. I apologize profusely, keeping the contraband safe by my side. Alicia is tuned in beyond belief, intuitive and ready.
[I see red.]
We get around the table, all of us, like a family. There’s Ezra on one side of me, and Zoe on the other—then there’s Matthew and Alicia facing us. The candles are warm when Zoe puts the flames on the top, and Alicia hugs Matthew’s arms tight, tight, tight so he doesn’t get burned. As the fire goes on the candles, I think about how I was nervous to meet Ezra and I was sure I wouldn’t like him. I remember how I used to not like Zoe, and then she showed me she was on my team. I haven’t known Ezra long, but I think he’s on our team, too.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” I check, giving Zoe a thumbs up for good work. “Seven candles.”
I know I’ll be here for eight candles (maybe nine), and I don’t even mind anymore. For some weird reason, Starlight is now just as much my home as the place where my mom was. Matthew is like my new brother, so I don’t need to talk to Grey so much anymore. I didn’t forget him, I can just let him be gone now. Grey’s Good Garden helps me remember.
[I see you.]
“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Dallas, happy birthday to you!” we sing, before Dallas extinguishes the candles with one enormous breath. I hug him, and kiss his head. We cut the cake into generous chunks, laughing at the ridiculous sugar rush before 10 am. The boys run the excess energy off by the stables before Dallas takes my hand and leads us to Grey’s Garden.
It’s a raised patch, teeming with vibrant orange and blue flowers which are uncharacteristically healthy for this time of year. Hand painted clay fish are perched atop sticks, and there’s a plaque that says, in Dallas’s precious handwriting, “Grey’s Good Garden.” A small sprout has emerged from the garden bed, and Dallas shows me, treating it like a precious gem.
“It’s my acorn, Zoe,” he beams. “From little things, big things grow.”
“Something from nothing,” I smile, holding him tight. “That’s what we do.”
[I see green.]
I am Dallas.
I am seven.
I see green.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book has been written with deep gratitude to the following people:
Amelia Bennett: Your generosity and pursuit of this project has blessed me more than you know. If anyone reading this is also an author, I highly recommend Amelia’s editing services. She will work with you throughout your entire project, not just the tail end - find her at bookwife.com
VK: You gave me a second chance in the USA, and a job that taught me more about forgiveness than anything else I’ve ever experienced.
My beta readers: Nichy Nott, Kelly Six, Megan Warren, Courtney Quinn-McCabe, Neil Abellanosa, Ella Henry, Abby Stanford, and Jordan Dodson. Thank you for catching continuity errors and weak plot points, thank you for encouraging my efforts, and most of all, thank you for taking the time to read and respond to my work.
Baby Piers: You better get ready for a thousand kisses – your dad and I can’t wait to smooch your face.
Jesus: the way, the truth, the life. I live to worship you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Piers grew up in the placid hills of rural Lockyer Valley, and the calm shoreline of bayside Victoria Point in Queensland, Australia. A prolific writer from the time she could hold a pencil, some of her favorite childhood memories involve sitting at a desk for hours, scribbling stories into notebooks. Her earliest ambition was to become Jennie Garth, or a waitress, but later relented to the idea that she was born to write. Her first published piece was a story about her family’s cow, featured in the Toowoomba Chronicle in 1992, which won her a Happy Meal at McDonalds. She later moved onto blogging, ghost-writing for a Silicon Valley catering company, and screenwriting feature-length films.
Amy lives in San Francisco with her husband Daniel, as they eagerly await the arrival of their first baby in early 2017. Amy enj
oys 90s music, dogs in costumes, cringeworthy reality TV, storytelling podcasts, and almond lattes. For more of Amy’s writing, visit her blog at amypiers.com