Liar. ‘But, sure, you’re welcome to come. I do have some admin work to do there, but while I’m busy with that I’m sure the kids would love a visit from you. But personally I’d choose the day at the beach.’
She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose, considering his answer. ‘Great. I’ll just put on some sunscreen.’ She stood up.
He breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time since they’d met she was actually showing some sense and taking time off.
She fixed him with a steely look. ‘I’ll be ready to leave for the orphanage in five minutes.’ She walked out of the room.
Hell, she’d outplayed him again.
* * *
Nothing.
Tom pushed the slim folder away from him, trying to halt the familiar rush of sadness that threatened to overcome him.
Hopes raised. Hopes dashed.
Hin squeezed his shoulder. ‘Records were destroyed in 1975. Sorry.’
Tom took in a deep breath at the familiar story. ‘Yeah, thanks for trying.’
He thanked the orphanage administrator by presenting her with a gift, and then he left the office.
‘You have three more orphanages left on your list?’ Hin walked beside him.
‘I have. But right now I think I need a break from this.’
Hin nodded, understanding on his face. ‘Just let me know when, and I will come with you.’
‘Thanks, mate. I appreciate your support.’ Tom shook his interpreter’s hand.
‘Catch you later. Now I’m going surfing. You’ll find Bec with the babies.’ Hin grinned cheekily as he strolled out of the grounds.
Ever since the old woman had insisted that Bec was the woman for Tom, Hin had taken every opportunity to tease him about her.
Shaking his head at the need for humans to matchmake, he crossed the yard toward the baby room of the orphanage. On the way he promised a group of primary school age boys a game of soccer after their classes had finished.
He pushed open the nursery door to a sea of cots. His heart contracted in pain. Sixty cots lined up in rows with only enough space between them for the staff to walk sideways up the narrow aisles. Babies lay on their backs, staring at mobiles, their little legs kicking out from blue and white gingham nappies.
Bec stood in the middle of the room holding a baby against her chest, her cheek resting against the crown of the child’s head.
She raised her head and turned toward him, a trail of tears staining her face.
His heart lurched from one pain to another. Orphanages confronted every belief and value a person held, and offered up a brutal mix of reality and hope.
He flattened the urge to wrap her in his arms and protect her. Not that he could.
He made his way over to her, trying not to knock the cots. As he drew closer he realised the child she held was over a year old and his legs hung down against Bec, completely lacking in tone. His almond-shaped eyes, dark and blank, tore at him.
He plastered a smile on his face. ‘Who have we here?’
‘This is Minh. He’s got mild cerebral palsy and I think his hearing is impaired.’ Bec’s voice cracked. ‘I just had to pick him up. He looked so much like he needed a cuddle.’
‘Every kid here needs a cuddle.’ He ran his hand over the child’s head. ‘The staff do their best and we have some fabulous volunteers. They come for three months and run some great programmes in orphanages across the country.’
‘But this little guy needs physiotherapy and probably a hearing aid.’ Bec kissed the top of his head before laying him down in the cot, carefully placing a stuffed toy in his hands. ‘In Australia his disability would be categorised as mild to moderate and there would be so much assistance he could get to maximise his potential.’ She turned to him. ‘He needs a loving home. What about overseas adoption? That would be perfect for this little guy.’
‘No.’ The word cut through the air, cracking harshly like a stock whip.
Bec started and flattened herself against the cot.
Hell. Regret showered through him. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He extended his hands palms upward, a gesture of appeasement. ‘It’s just that every Westerner thinks overseas adoption is the solution.’
‘And you don’t agree.’ Her shoulders dropped, relaxing into their normal position. Her face studied him, keen with interest.
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. I think we improve things here so they can live in their country of origin.’ His chest tightened. He walked toward the door, suddenly needing to get out of the crowded room, needing to be in the open space of the garden.
‘And what if that isn’t in their best interest?’ Bec spoke the moment they were outside.
A muscle near his eye started to twitch. ‘How can leaving their country be in their best interest?’
‘Is institutionalised care in their best interest?’ Her voice tugged at him.
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘If they can be protected, well fed and schooled, yes.’
‘But not loved?’ Her words gently probed.
‘The staff here care greatly.’ Defiance clung to his words.
‘I don’t doubt that. But if their parents cannot care for them or have rejected them because of a disability, and no one else wants to welcome them into their family, surely that is a reason for overseas adoption?’
‘Overseas adoption is not nirvana for any child. It creates a unique set of problems. Problems that can be greater than the ones they face here.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ She raised her chin, her jaw jutting out in a streak of stubbornness.
‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Frustration screamed inside his chest, desperate for release.
Her brows shot to her hairline. ‘Oh, right, and you do? You’ve gone all political on me.’ Indignation laced her words. ‘There’s a little boy in there with vacant eyes because he has no stimulation. He’s cut off from participating in the world because he can’t hear. With no access to physio and splints he’ll have no opportunity to walk, either. But you’re telling me he’s better off here, deaf and crippled? Oh, please, give me a break.’
Exasperation spilled over. ‘He’ll know who he is and how he fits into the world. His life won’t be filled with unanswered questions.’ Blood pounded in his ears. He needed to stop this conversation. ‘It’s hot. I’ll shout you a sugar-cane juice.’
He started to walk toward the street vendor outside the orphanage gates. ‘Mia da.’ He held up two fingers and handed over the money.
