Rebecca soothed her for a couple more minutes, then said, “I was also meaning to call you to let you know that Gary and I are talking about getting married while we’re there over Christmas. Maybe the first week in January?”
Pure delight overcame Suzanne’s panic. “Really? Oh, Rebecca! That would be wonderful. Where? Have you made plans?”
The doorbell rang again as a group of four women entered. She smiled at them, then said into the phone, “I’d better call you this evening. Business is picking up.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear how your meeting with Melissa went.”
“Oh, what a darling sweater!” one of the women cried, as Suzanne hung up the phone. They’d all stopped in front of a mannequin that wore a cropped, electric-blue and hot-pink off-the-shoulder angora sweater that Suzanne had designed as part of her planned book of styles meant to appeal to women in their twenties.
“Hi,” she said, coming out from behind the counter. “Are you knitters?”
Two were, two weren’t, but one of those decided on the spot to sign up for the next session of the class for beginners. All helped one of the experienced knitters choose yarn for an afghan, and they left declaring, “You have an amazing selection. I’ll tell everyone I know who knits or crochets.”
Feeling gratified, Suzanne squeezed in a quick call to one of her customers who was happy to fill in for a day or a few hours now and again. An older woman, she liked earning a little extra income.
“I’ll be there by 2:45,” Rose promised. “No need for you to hurry back.”
Suzanne’s afternoon class, now in its fourth week, was her largest yet, with a number of the women determined to knit a Christmas present for someone in their family. They’d started out making scarves, then had moved on to projects of their choice. One was doing baby booties and a hat for her soon-to-be-born grandson, another a simple afghan, several others sweaters. One seemed to be a natural; the sweater she was knitting for a ten-year-old was nearly done, arms and body proportional. Another was struggling with constant dropped stitches. She made jokes about the name of Suzanne’s store.
“It’s all your fault,” she declared, laughing ruefully.
Suzanne helped her unravel and get started again, one eye surreptitiously on the clock. Rose came in quietly before the end of the class, and at 2:50 on the dot Suzanne stood up.
“Don’t feel you have to hurry out. I have an appointment, but Rose is here to help you with your projects or purchases.”
She thanked Rose, an older woman who was fast becoming a friend as well as an occasional employee, took her purse from the drawer and hurried out. She’d been able to park less than a block away that morning, and she took a back route up the hill to Lynnwood.
Melissa Stuart came out to the reception area the moment Suzanne’s arrival was announced. Perhaps in her early fifties, she was a plump, attractive woman who was comfortable letting gray creep into her dark, bobbed hair. She had a nice smile that immediately set Suzanne at ease.
“How nice to meet you.” Melissa extended her hand. “Have you talked to Rebecca? How is she?”
They shook hands.
“Really good,” Suzanne said. “She just told me she and Gary are planning a wedding right after the holidays.”
“Not exactly a shock. They didn’t waste any time, did they?” She turned. “Let’s go on back to my office.”
Following her, Suzanne agreed, “They were in love within days of meeting.”
Her office was simple, decorated with children’s artwork on white walls. Only one manila file folder lay atop her desk.
Sitting, Suzanne couldn’t take her gaze from the folder.
Seating herself behind the desk, the caseworker said, “Let me tell you about Sophia and Jack.”
The names alone made them more real. Suzanne leaned forward.
“As I told you on the phone, Jack is seven and Sophia ten. Nearly eleven. She’s in fifth grade, he’s in second. Sophia is very bright and did quite well in school until this past year, when she’s done some acting out. Jack is good at math but is having trouble with reading. His most recent teacher isn’t sure whether he has a reading disability or whether, once again, this past year has been so difficult that he can’t concentrate.”
“This past year?”
“Their mother died. She had MS and received poor or no health care because she didn’t have insurance. She’d been raising the kids on her own, and once she could no longer work they moved between shelters and motel rooms at the kind of place that rents by the week. The past couple of years were disruptive for the children. As a result, they’re very mature in some ways. After all, they had to care for her. I gather that Sophia even did the grocery shopping toward the end. In other ways, they’re lost in a normal school or home situation. They’ve not been able to have friends the way other kids do. They had no home to invite other children to play at, no parent to pick them up at anyone else’s home. They changed schools five times in the last two years.”
“Oh, dear,” seemed inadequate, but it was the only thing she could think of to say.
“Indeed,” Ms. Stuart agreed. “Sophia had to call for an ambulance when she got home from school and found her mother dying.”
“How long ago was that?”
“In early September. Unfortunately, that meant yet another change in schools when they went to a foster home. In late October, we had to move them to a second foster home.”
“Their father?”
“Hasn’t seen them since Jack was a baby. He’s been moving regularly to avoid having to pay child support. I understand that, when told his ex-wife had died, he said, ‘You don’t expect me to take the kids, do you?’”
Rage for children she had yet to meet tightened Suzanne’s throat. “How horrible.”
“He gladly relinquished his parental rights. At least the children were quickly freed for adoption. So often they’re stuck in the foster-care system for years.”
Suzanne’s brother had lived in a succession of foster homes for nearly two years before he’d been adopted. She nodded.
“Their foster mother says Sophia is fiercely protective of her little brother but also displaying some generalized anger. He’s reverted to some behaviors typical of much younger children, including bed-wetting.”
No, these children wouldn’t be easy. Suzanne let go once and for all of her vision of that perfect little girl who leaned so trustingly against her and who giggled with uncomplicated joy.
“Naturally,” the caseworker continued, “it’s important that they stay together.”
“Of course!”
At least Suzanne’s sister and brother had been young, able to forget each other and her. Only she had carried the memory of them through the years.
“I
