Sisters in the Wind(87)
“You hold your baby for as long as you want,” she said with glistening eyes. Missus huffed and turned away.
After two more rounds of interviews, I selected a single woman named Isabella Rivera for the direct-placement adoption. She lived in St. Joseph, Michigan, and was a high school English teacher and track coach. She’d been raised Catholic but admitted that she went to church maybe six times a year. An online search revealed mentions of her as a teacher and coach in newspaper articles pertaining to the school. She also participated in Race for the Cure events for the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation.
When I met her for the interview, I said I would not accept any payments for living expenses or any other costs. My medical expenses were already provided by the state. By telling her directly, I hoped to keep her from paying exorbitant attorney fees under the guise of it going toward my expenses.
I told her I did not want to receive updates, including photos, from her. My medical history was shared, including that the baby’s maternal grandfather died of colorectal cancer at age thirty-three. I told her I didn’t have any information about the baby’s biological father.
Luke was eight weeks old when I placed him in Isabella Rivera’s arms. I signed the adoption paperwork. It would be six months before the adoption was finalized officially. Luke would have a different legal name then. He might not even be named Luke anymore.
Isabella Rivera sobbed. Missus sobbed. I did not.
Tonya was dead by the time Baby Allen’s adoption was final.
Christina had gone missing by the time her baby’s adoption was final.
Clearly, I had a ticking time bomb over my head.
* * *
Like Tonya, I wasn’t expected to do any chores after I returned from the hospital. Missus had reassigned cleaning the apartment to Lexi, which meant I didn’t have access to Diego’s file. I decided to wait for Lexi’s birthday at the end of May. I’d gift her a week off from apartment cleaning.
In the meanwhile, I read Christina’s file one picture at a time. She was reported as a missing person/runaway two weeks after giving birth to a baby girl who was given up for adoption. Boyd said she was given a new car. Nothing else was entered into Christina’s file after the missing-person report.
Since I now had a phone with internet access, I was able to search for any update on Christina Turner. It didn’t take long.
She was still missing.
* * *
One Sunday afternoon in early May, Devery and I watched Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows, the sequel to my favorite movie. I folded my laundry while Devery trimmed her toenails with a nail clipper.
“You better make sure your hoof shavings don’t flick over here,” I said, only half joking.
“Bruce said my toenails were scratching him in bed.” She paused to look at the screen. “Sorry the movie sucks. I thought the sequel was gonna be Mary Clancy as a nun in training at the convent dealing with hellions worse than she’d been.”
“It was a nice gesture,” I said, folding a flannel shirt. “Buying the video for me out of the blue.”
“All right. I’m done with my hooves.” She sat up. “Toss me some panties and I’ll fold ’em like I do for Bruce’s tighty-whities.”
“Whoa. You’re being so nice. Come get ’em. They’re in a pile.”
She made a kangaroo-type pouch with the oversized sweatshirt of Bruce’s that she wore. After filling it with my underwear, she plopped herself on the rug in front of me.
“Hey. You age out in two months. But any idea where you’ll go after that? Back to Beaver Island? You liked it there.”
I shrugged. “No. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
She beamed. “Home to Harbor Springs?”
Another shrug.
Devery stacked the folded underwear into short, color-coded piles. She wasn’t normally so … meticulous. It made me smile.
“What about Charlevoix? Where your grandpa friend lives?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I want something new. No history. A clean slate.”
“Still in Michigan, though.” She frowned. “You’re not going to ditch the mitten, right?”
“Weren’t you the one who always said to keep part of an escape plan a secret from yourself?”
She scoffed. “I never said that.”
“You absolutely did!” I threw a bra.
We giggled together as she lobbed it back at me.
“What about tracking down Bridget?”
“You always bring her up. I don’t care to see her ever again,” I said testily.
Devery flicked her fingers in the air as if releasing fairy dust.
“Poof. Done!” She laughed. “Did you find out any information about your birth mother? You said she was Native American.”
“No. My dad was at CMU when I was born, so he probably met her there.”
“How do you find out which tribe?”
I responded with another shrug.
“So basically you don’t know where you’re going or what you’ll be doing. Sounds like a solid plan, Clancy.”
Devery hoped to make room in one of Bruce’s closets for some of her belongings. As she emptied the contents, she boxed up what could be donated after Missus looked through the items. A heavy box took up space in another closet.