False Hope

Mostly they just talked—scratch that—mostly Ellen talked and Mary listened.

My wife had expected to be a mentor; she hadn’t counted on becoming a pal or a confidant. Foster care is full of surprises. I even got used to seeing Ellen, the birth mother, around the house. She added a certain symmetry to things in a way that I can’t put into words.

But not all was sweetness and light. Ellen’s boyfriend, Tomas, drove a bus for the city, and like Ellen, had custody problems of his own.

Mary meanwhile wrote a letter to the judge who presided over Augusta’s case. She told him how Ellen was trying to work her program, and praised her for her efforts, etc. And as far as Mary knew, she was doing great

 I came home from work one afternoon, Mary was holding Augusta, Ellen was sitting on the couch, and she was crying. She dried it up real quick when I walked in the room.

“What’s…”I almost said: What’s wrong, but the sentence was a stillborn.

By now Augusta had seen me, and her little hands were squirming in the air, reaching for me. I took her in my arms and began bouncing her up and down, over and over. She smiled, oblivious to the world of frowns that surrounded her. At least somebody in the world was happy.

But why was Ellen, usually the Rock-of-Hidden-Emotions-Gibraltar, now crying and drying her tears? I have a hard time waiting. I want it all, and I want it now! I kept quiet and held back the urge. I clearly deserved a controlled hyperactivity medal.

“How is Tomas?” I blurted, thinking I was steering the conversation into safe ground.

I don’t know if Mary heard it, but Ellen muffled a YOLP, a strong bellow/shout/complaint, emanating from her chest and throat. She sucked in the emotions with a deep breath. That was when I had my first brilliant notion of the day:

“I’m taking Augusta for a walk,” I said.

I fumbled into the pouch-harness and saddled Augusta up in the warm safety of the manpapoose. We walked out the front door.

I heard the garage door open. Mary and Ellen were in the car. “I’m driving Ellen home,”

Mary called out the window. I held up Augusta’s arm and moved her tiny hand to wave goodbye.

An hour later we were back home, and Augusta was down to the last few bites of her meal, when I heard the gears and motors of the garage door opener. Mary walked in and sat down at the table, propping her chin on her fist.

“Well?” I said. “Ellen’s upset because Tomas wants her to do a three-way with him.”

Now remember, I am a guy who thinks, or likes to think, he’s been around, but I’m still pretty innocent.

“A three-way?”

“What do you call it… Two girls and one guy…”

“Oh! A threesome.”

I thought about it for a minute and said, “Really?” in my best dumb hick voice.

I never had any experience with a threesome. I dated a lady named Monica, only a couple of times. I was over at her place when a short squat woman, four feet, eleven and two-hundred pounds, knocked on the door and was greeted warmly by my date as she came inside. I was introduced:

“This is my girlfriend. By the way, I’m bisexual. We could do a threesome… No?” Then she pulled out a crack pipe. A CRACK PIPE!?!? A FLIPPIN’ CRACK PIPE! “Did you want some… No? Do you mind if we do? You do… Well, we’ll just go in the bedroom and take care of…” I was advised to think about the threesome. So she went to the bedroom with her crack pipe and her lesbian lover. I jumped up, made serious tracks toward the door and I was gone, never to return! Some things are best left as fantasies.

No—after that, a threesome wasn’t exactly my ultimate goal in life.

We were planning a trip to Tennessee. It was a pretty good deal. Mary got to see her relatives, and I got to see mine. We would get to see my parents, my sisters, Mary’s daughter and son in law and their kids: Cameron, the oldest—a second grader who already knew how to dance and groove to the beat of his own idiosyncratic drum section (he was, of course, the one I identified with the most), Casey—the kindergartner who could always summon up a smile and Maggie—the two-year old charmer of their family. We had already booked the flight, bought the tickets, etc. The die was cast; we were going to Tennessee for Christmas vacation. I felt a dark cloud following us.

We bought a ticket just for Augusta; although she could have been traded back and forth between our laps. We even brought along the special car seat—the one that tilted back so she could sleep. We had the stroller as the carry on item, and let me tell you—on the trek through the airport terminal we looked like a troop of merry fools. Augusta was in the pouch, our suitcase had wheels, I had two strapped minisuitcases around my neck. The stroller could carry the car seat and—you get the picture. The trip wasn’t as bad as the last. Augusta slept most of the time in the stroller, and we tag-teamed her, reading books and having a fairly mellow time. This is highly unusual when transporting a baby on a plane. The extra seat on the plane and the car seat with the special tilt were worth it.

Before the trip Mary brought Augusta in at my work to see me at lunchtime. I suppose I was giddy and goofy about showing her off like I was in Tennessee. Denise Keeler, one of the more experienced teachers, spoke to me. She would have been a priestess in another culture, and I had a tendency to actually listen to her when she spoke.

Denise used a quiet, serious voice, and quiet and serious wasn’t exactly her style. She said, referring to Augusta, “You should adopt her.”

“Augusta?” I thought. She wasn’t available. The VOR—Voice of Reason, inside my head told me this wasn’t possible.

“Really!?” I said. “How come?”

“She really brightens up when she sees you.”

I was holding Augusta when she said this. The little blondie stared at me wide-eyed, trusting—beyond trusting, really, like it was just assumed I would always be there for her. I thought in vague terms about what Ms. Keeler said about Augusta brightening up when I was around. I didn’t know I did that for anybody. Babies were an innocent miracle of human personality.

Speaking of human personality and the unpredictable side of human nature, we didn’t get ANY calls from Ellen while we were gone on our trip. NONE. Mary called her repeatedly until she answered. Briefly, tersely, she told Mary that Tomas had kicked her out for not doing his ménage a trois fantasy. Did she want to talk to Augusta? No.

Augusta charmed all my relatives. She had the ability to change the weather and summon a nice, warm breeze on a chilly day. She was showing off her new teddy bear substitute, a toy lion. She couldn’t say lion yet so it came out: Li-Li. It was Li-Li this and Li-Li that and whimper-screaming for Li-Li at bedtime. She loved her Li-Li and offered it to the rest of us as a cure-all if were looked sad, stubbed our toes or dropped something and broke it.

We make it back to southern California and 70° Christmastime weather. Augusta had another good plane trip.

Ellen wouldn’t come see Augusta. She was living with a new boyfriend and experimenting with heroin.

Ellen lost custody of the baby and died of a drug overdose.