Forever, or a Long, Long Time Read online

  “I don’t have too much but—”

  Person interrupts her again, and not so politely this time. “Apparently their files were lost with you and their Lifebooks were donated . . . can you tell us anything? We can’t let this be the end of the road.”

  Person sounds determined. It’s like she wants to know what we want to know. It’s like she’ll say our words for us even if she doesn’t want them said.

  Julian chugs half his lemonade. I follow his lead.

  “Hold on,” Marta says. She doesn’t look happy. Her face is pinched. I wonder if she ever smiled. I wonder if I used to try to make her smile like I do with Person. “The worker who placed them with me left the agency soon after, but I believe I may still have her personal phone number from all those years ago. Let me go see if I can find it.”

  Marta leaves the room and Julian and I look at Person. Now is usually a moment when Person would tell us something to make us feel good. It’s a moment when she would translate what’s happening. But instead she takes a deep breath and stares at her folded hands, not looking at us. Her lips move but the words don’t come out. I’ve never seen Person pray. I don’t even know if she believes in God. But it looks like she’s praying.

  Marta returns with a pitcher of lemonade and refills Julian’s glass. “I found it,” she says. She refills my glass, puts the pitcher down, and hands a slip of paper to Person.

  Person grabs at it. It’s like Marta is trying to act like whatever this paper is is no big deal, but to Person it’s as important as medicine.

  “Thank you,” she says. I watch her put it carefully in her wallet.

  “Of course,” Marta says. It’s mean how she’s acting like something is no big deal when it clearly matters to someone else. It’s like Marta is one of Elena’s recess friends. “I’ll certainly email you some pictures of the old house and of Julian and Flora during their time with me as well,” Marta says. “Will that be all?”

  All? I think No, that can’t be all.

  I don’t want to sit here and hear about the awful thing I did that meant Marta didn’t adopt us. I don’t want Person to endure any more of this sixth-grade mean-girl-ness. But we need to know what happened. We need our story.

  And it started bad but then it got so good with Gloria.

  Maybe it can get better here too.

  “I want to know it,” I say.

  Marta turns to me and says, “Know what, dear?”

  “She means why we left. Why we came. When we were here. All of it,” Julian says. I didn’t need him to be my voice this time, but he’s used to it.

  “Well, you arrived when you were six, Julian. Flora was seven.” Marta is looking at Julian, only, while she talks. Like she doesn’t realize I’m the one who asked the question. “And you were here for a little more than a year,” she says.

  “More than a year?” I say.

  Marta gives me that surprised look again.

  “I tried, Flora. I really did,” Marta says. “So yes, you were with me for a while. I can’t believe you don’t remember anything I did for—well, anyway, we did the proper slow transition that the experts recommend. So first you came for a weekend. Then a week.”

  “Where were they in the meantime?” Person asks.

  “With their foster mothers,” Marta says.

  “Mothers?” says Person.

  Julian smiles at me. I smile back. We sort of remember. Two moms. Two good moms.

  “And you don’t have their information?” Person asks. “Their address? Their emails?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t anymore,” Marta says. “You have to understand, this was all painful for me. Saying good-bye to Julian.”

  I wait for her to say my name. She doesn’t.

  Person opens her mouth to object. She’s getting angry. I’m not used to seeing her angry. But then she closes it because if she says anything we won’t hear whatever else Marta is going to say and now I sort of want to hear it even if I don’t want Person to hear it.

  “I took you guys to the museums,” Marta is saying. “We visited Kings Dominion and Hersheypark. We went shopping and got you outfitted for school. I got you toys galore. But . . . you never seemed . . . happy.”

  “Happy?” Julian asks.

  Happy is impossible. We’ve never been happy.

  “There were tantrums almost daily. Julian would put on this smile and then the next minute he’d be destroying one of my potted plants or throwing his toys out the window.”

  Marta looks at all of us, even Person, like we should be shocked. Like we should feel sorry for her. But this is the part we do remember. Being sad. Being bad. Being so scared we didn’t even know what we were doing.

  “And Flora . . . Flora wouldn’t . . . she couldn’t . . . She only watched television. She would for hours a day. I tried and tried to coach her on how to be more lovable.”

  “Lovable?” Person says. “All children are lovable. Flora is incredibly lovable.”

  “She—” Marta starts, but Person interrupts her. She leans across the table to grab my hand and looks in my eyes. “I love you, Flora,” she says.

  I’m startled by it almost. Not by the fact that Person loves me, but by how important it is that she loves me. How important it is to her.

  Julian grabs my other hand. “I love you too, Florey,” he mumbles.

  Person lets go and sits down. Julian holds tighter.

  “Well, anyway,” Marta says, “she didn’t . . . she couldn’t . . . Well, you see, I didn’t realize I would be adopting a disabled child. In fact, I specifically requested healthy children.”

  “Flora’s not disabled,” Julian says.

  “Requested healthy children?” Person says, too angry.

  “I’m afraid . . . ,” Marta says. “I mean, she didn’t speak . . . it was only the television . . . she made noises, but . . . I’m afraid . . .”

  “Flora is not disabled,” Julian says, loudly this time.

  “You did always claim she spoke to you,” Marta says. “But I wasn’t so sure . . .”

  Of course now I can’t speak. My words are stuck.

  Finally, Person takes a deep breath and speaks more calmly. “Marta, Flora is not disabled. She has some side effects of trauma, as all foster kids do, and some of hers are very pronounced. But she doesn’t have a disability. But that’s not actually important. I think the main point here is that when you become a parent you do not get to design your kids like you designed this house. We all have strengths and weaknesses. You cannot pick your child’s abilities and disabilities. You commit to—”

  “I was committed. I had committed to . . . healthy . . . children. I was . . . I did my best . . . they had everything—”

  Person cuts her off again.

  “Are you telling me that you pushed kids back into foster care because you thought one of them needed extra help? Is foster care where you thought they would get it?”

  “No, I . . . I tried . . . I . . .”

  “Stop,” Person says. “Later tonight you can sit in this big empty house and tell yourself how you did the best you could, but I won’t let you say it in front of my kids. They needed better than you gave them. They cannot be made to feel guilty in any way for what happened under your roof. I need to point out the ways you failed them. And giving up on an adoption without planning for the children’s future—”

  “I didn’t give up,” Marta says. “I wanted to adopt Julian but—”

  “And NOT FLORA?” Julian shouts.

  “I gave you everything,” Marta says to him. “I gave you everything you could want and you just never seemed . . . grateful.”

  I’m shaking. Julian’s face is red. I’m 100 percent positive that Marta’s potted plants are about to end up on the floor again.

  “Flora was such a . . . different child . . . and I’m afraid I couldn’t handle her. I thought Julian would be better off—”

  “ELEPHANT!” The word is huge and loud and it comes from Person.

 
; Julian and I both jump.

  “I’m sorry,” Person says. She’s fake-polite now, like Marta was before. “My children and I need to go see about an elephant.”

  “What?” Marta says. “What are you talking about?”

  But Person gets out of her seat and walks behind Marta to grab Julian and me by the wrists. She’s holding my wrist a little too hard but it still feels like love.

  “I didn’t mean to—” Marta is saying.

  “I told you,” Person says. “We need to go see an elephant. Thank you for emailing me the pictures. Please know that I’ll be back here if you don’t.”

  Marta says, “I don’t see—”

  “There’s an elephant,” Person says, and then we’re out the door.

  We collapse into the car, breathless. Person turns to look at us as we buckle ourselves into the backseat.

  “You guys OK?”

  “Yeah,” Julian says, but he’s smiling so I don’t know what to believe.

  I shrug. My words are gone. Marta stole them when she said she tried to steal Julian.

  We still have the presents in our hands. I push the paper together on mine. I try to make it explode with my brain.

  Person sees me looking at the pink paper.

  “I have an idea,” she says. She backs out of the driveway and a few minutes later pulls into a grocery store parking lot, but she stays at the back of it, away from the grocery store. She rolls down the car window. “There,” she says, pointing at the big blue garbage Dumpster. “That should be big enough, right?”

  “Yes!” Julian says. He’s not smiling anymore.

  We jump out of the car and throw the presents on the ground. We jump on them. We kick them. We pound and break and trample them. We throw them into the Dumpster.

  The next day Person says we get to spend the whole day on the beach, no visits, no tough stuff except what’s already inside our heads. That’s good. But my words are still gone, which is bad. I’m tired. Bone tired. The way I used to be when we first came to live with Person.

  I lie in the sand at the place where the ocean laps at my ankles and stare at the clouds.

  I listen behind me as Person texts and texts and texts. When her phone rings, she jumps up and runs a little bit away from us to answer it so we can’t hear her. But I know what’s happening. I know what she’s doing.

  Part of me wants to see where we lived before Marta. Part of me wants to know everything about what happened to us.

  And part of me is afraid that if every house keeps getting worse and worse like that, my words will leave for good and never come back. That version of Forever is too easy for me to believe in.

  Julian splashes in the water a few feet away from me. He’s upset that I’m not talking.

  But he’s smiling crazy.

  Nineteen

  FAMILIES PRETEND

  IT’S THE NEXT MORNING AND PERSON’S hand is stroking my head. Part-ear-neck.

  I’m awake. Her hand woke me up. But I don’t open my eyes right away so that she’ll think I’m still sleeping and keep stroking me and for as long as her hand is on my head so soft and I’m in that strange space between asleep and awake I can think that she’s still my person, my only person, all mine, forever.

  I can pretend that there was no way I was ever going to get left in Maryland far away from her and with someone who loved Julian but couldn’t handle me.

  I can pretend not to worry that she wishes we still lived there so that she could focus on this new, real, almost born-baby.

  She whispers, “Good morning, my sleepyhead.”

  I open my eyes. I open my mouth to say “good morning.” But nothing comes out.

  My words are still stuck.

  I haven’t even been able to remind Person that we got another point at Marta’s house. The television point. Maybe Julian and I came out of the television and the way I stared at it the whole time I was at Marta’s was me trying to climb back in.

  But I don’t care so much about points anymore.

  The past two days were hard. I want to tell her that they were the hardest days of my life. Except that I used to live with that woman, Marta. I used to call her Mom. So they couldn’t be the hardest days. Only the hardest days I remember.

  And I can’t tell Person that anyway because I have no words.

  “You’re so brave,” she says.

  I shrug. I think she’s mostly wishing I was brave, which is another thing I can’t do for her. How can I be brave if my words are too afraid to leave my lungs?

  “I wish we could do this differently,” Person says. “I wish we could go more slowly. I wish we could go home for a few days or months before we take this next step into your past.” Person pats her tummy. “But we’re up against a deadline here. And I found your foster mothers from before Marta. Do you want to keep going? Do you want to learn more? They sound incredibly nice, but we can stop anytime.”

  Person kisses me on the top of the head.

  I can’t answer any of her questions. I can tell she wants me to say stop. She wants me to ask her to take us home. But I can’t yet. I have to know more. I have to find the white house. So I sit up in bed and think about what I’ll wear for this one, for this other home, this next place.

  I hope it’s the white house even though both of our first memories are sad. Then we’ll find out where we come from, and then we’ll be all done.

  Julian comes out of the bathroom. Person pats my head one more time and goes in to shower.

  Julian comes to the foot of the bed and looks at me.

  “Person wants to stop,” I say. My words come unstuck, but only for Julian, I think.

  “Person?” he says.

  I feel my face get hot. “Mom wants us to stop.”

  “Because it’s hard,” he says. “I don’t want to stop, do you?” He looks worried. He looks worried about whatever answer I give.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  The cell phone rings and Julian pastes on that lying smile before answering.

  Person said to get ready but she also keeps saying we’re on vacation and we can have little luxuries, so I rest my head back on the pillow and listen to Julian’s half of the conversation.

  “Hi, Dad! . . . Yeah, the beach is so fun! . . . I wish you were too . . . I don’t know, some other house . . . no, I’m happy we found it! That was the end of the files. Mom is so happy . . . I want to see them all . . .”

  I glare at him. I don’t understand how he lies like that.

  “She’s not really talking today . . . OK . . . OK,” he says.

  Then he hits the phone so it’s on speaker and hands it to me.

  “Just wanted to say good morning and I love you,” Dad’s voice comes, tinny, through the phone. “I wish Elena and I could be with you today,” he says.

  I hand the phone back to Julian to say good-bye, feeling guilty. They could be here. The only reason they aren’t is because I punched her.

  Julian hangs up. I make a face at him.

  “I don’t know why you think pretending happy is so much worse than just not talking,” he says.

  I want to say, I can’t help it.

  I want to say, I can’t lie if I’m not talking.

  Julian doesn’t even wait for me to respond because he knows I won’t.

  Person comes out of the bathroom.

  Julian says, “Good morning, Mom! Guess what? Dad just called! Where are we going today?”

  And I hate him. I’m so mad at him.

  I’m sure I’ve never been this mad at him in the state of Maryland.

  Turns out Julian and I are coming apart anyway. Just like Marta wanted.

  The three of us are in the car on the way to the next ex-home when Person’s phone buzzes again.

  She presses something on the dashboard and calls out “Hey, honey! We’re all in the car together this morning.”

  Dad’s voice spills in between the seats. “Hi, everybody!” he says. “Hey, Flora?”

&nb
sp; My eyebrows jump.

  “She’s nodding,” Julian says. “She’s still not talking yet.”

  He’s said this a million times to a million people in the years and years we’ve been Onlys. This is the first time he sounded annoyed.

  “OK,” Dad says. “Well, hey, Flora. I have some good news. Maybe this will help. Guess what came in the mail?”

  Person pulls the car over. It’s sudden and jerky and my head whips back and forth before we’re stopped on the shoulder.

  “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh,” she’s saying over and over again.

  My heart is sinking. It can’t be true. If it is, I can’t hear it today.

  Dad singsongs, “Guess who’s going to the fifth grade?”

  Immediately there are tears in my eyes.

  Julian is squinting at me like he wants to smile but he’s too mad at me to be proud of me. Person is weeping in the front seat and also saying over and over again, “I’m so happy. I’m so proud of you, Florey. I’m so proud of you. I’m so happy.”

  I’m finally making her happy but it feels so weird. Why did I have to lose Ms. K in order to make my person happy?

  Dad is saying, “I so wish I could hug you, Flora. You worked so hard. You’ve come so far.”

  It’s like no one notices that my words are still stuck and actually I’m right back where I came from.

  I can’t lose Ms. K today. Today when I don’t even have Julian.

  Person turns around with the happy tears dancing in her eyes.

  “Still no words?” she says.

  I shrug.

  “Well,” she says. “I couldn’t be any prouder of you.”

  I don’t know what else to do. I have to make her happy. I have to.

  Julian nudges me.

  I smile.

  I smile even though I’m sad and confused.

  I’m as bad as Julian after all.

  THEORY #8

  We come from the gray spot, my brother and me. That part in your day when you aren’t quite you and you aren’t quite anyone. That part when you don’t know what worried you yesterday or who you love or where you live.

  The space between awake and asleep.

  We were only the air at the beginning and end of each day. Until someone heard voice, and then we were words. Until someone thought about hands, and then we were hands.