Forever, or a Long, Long Time Read online

  “Oh!” he says. “Hi, Flora. It’s so nice to hear your voice!”

  I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything.

  After a moment, Dad says, “How are you guys? How is the beach? What did you do today?”

  “We didn’t go to the beach. We saw Margie and Vanessa.”

  “Tell me about them,” Dad says.

  I’m filled up with wanting to tell him. All the bits—the Lifebook, the remembering, the divorce—bubble around my lung filters.

  But I know there’s something else I have to do. Something I’m scared to do. So I skip to the important words, but in a good way this time.

  When I don’t say anything he keeps talking, but I don’t hear his words.

  I think about the ones I want to say. I make myself speak them. “Dad . . . can I talk to Elena?”

  He stops talking suddenly like I startled him.

  “I . . . I’ll go get her,” he says.

  While I’m waiting for her to come to the phone, I watch Person and Julian eating their food. They’re talking and pointing at things in Julian’s Lifebook.

  Family, I think. Person and Julian, family. Dad, family. Elena, family. Margie and Vanessa, family.

  I watch Person rub her belly.

  And the baby, family.

  I can do this.

  “Flora?” Elena says after a minute. She sounds quiet and small.

  “Hi, Elena,” I say.

  Silence.

  Say it, Flora. Say it.

  “Did you call to tell me something?” Elena says. It’s not exactly mean the way she says it. More like desperate.

  “No,” I say.

  “No?” she says.

  “I . . . I want to ask you something.”

  Elena sighs so loudly into the phone it sounds like a wave from the ocean. “You’re supposed to say you’re sorry,” she says. “You punched me.”

  I know I’m supposed to say sorry. I thought I had the word ready. But now it’s sinking back into my stomach and rotting there.

  I know I won’t be able to say everything, so I say the part I think will matter. “Some of our old parents are divorced, too . . .”

  “Oh,” Elena says.

  “I . . . it’s stupid . . . I mean, I’m not even living with them . . . anymore . . . but they used to be . . . well, I just . . . it stinks,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Elena says. “It does.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Divorce stinks.”

  “Remember . . . it’s not your fault,” Elena says.

  “OK.” I wonder if Elena thinks that Dad and Meredith’s divorce is her fault sometimes the way I sometimes think it’s my fault that we had to move so much.

  “Do you and Dad want to come to the beach tomorrow?” I blurt. “I mean, for the next few days? We’re supposed to be on a family vacation and . . . you . . . you’re not . . . here.”

  It’s quiet for a minute. I wonder if she’s still too mad at me. I wonder if anyone ever says yes to going on a vacation when the person asking punched her in the face.

  “Let me go ask Dad if we can come,” Elena says finally.

  While she’s gone I make a list of all the stuff I wasn’t able to say. The words that were too heavy to come to my tongue:

  You are my family. My sister. I get it now.

  It turns out you aren’t so lucky.

  It actually stinks worse for you because in all this listing of family we haven’t mentioned your mom once.

  I’m sorry for punching you.

  When Dad comes back to the phone, he turns on speaker so I can talk to both of them. He sounds happier than anyone has ever sounded and I have to interrupt him to say, “Did I make you sound like that?”

  “Like what?” Dad says.

  “Happy,” I say.

  He laughs. “Yes, Flora. You made me very happy.”

  “So we can go?” Elena says, in the background, also sounding happy. “You’re going to ask my mom?”

  “I don’t have to ask her,” Dad says. “She might not like it but this is my time with you so it’s my decision and I say we’re going.”

  “Hooray,” Elena says. I smile.

  “Listen,” he says. “Let’s make this a surprise for your mother, yeah?”

  “OK,” I say. He sounds so happy and excited that I push how difficult that conversation with Elena was out of my head.

  “You guys have a brunch tomorrow with someone. We’ll be at your hotel when you get back,” he says. “Tell Julian if you want, but let’s surprise Mom. She deserves it!”

  When we hang up, I feel as happy as he sounded.

  That night, while Julian is in the shower with the water running, and I’m bent over our suitcase looking for pajamas, Person says, “What a day, huh, Florey?”

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  “So much has happened . . . and we found out you passed the fourth grade!”

  I look up at her, but she’s pulling the blankets down on her bed so she can climb in and get comfy. She’s not searching my eyes too deeply. It’s like she doesn’t realize how important this conversation is.

  “I’m really proud of you,” Person says. “You worked so hard to get to the fifth grade. We’re going to have a proper celebration for you as soon as we see Dad again.”

  I shrug, but she doesn’t see. Then, Person looks up.

  “Flora, are you OK?”

  I shrug again.

  Person rushes to my side. She kneels on the hotel floor beside me.

  “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

  Express yourself, express yourself. That’s what Person asked me to do. Express myself. Don’t worry. Be born.

  There’s only one of those three I can do at the moment.

  “I guess . . . Ms. K. I . . . I wanted her to be family too.”

  “Oh!” Person’s face breaks open. She wraps her arms around me. “You’re going to miss Ms. K, I know. She was such a good teacher.”

  Now I’m crying but Person is good enough to ignore it. I fit myself over her belly and give in to the hug.

  “She’s the best teacher I ever had,” I say.

  “I know,” Person says. “I’ll miss her too.”

  I pull back from the hug so I can see her face. “You will?” I say.

  Person nods. “She was so good to us,” she says. “I can see why you’d want her in your life a little longer. And it’s OK to miss her, it is.”

  “Ms. K loved me,” I say.

  “She did,” Person says.

  “I loved her too,” I say. Then, since I can tell she’s a little bothered about all the love at Margie and Vanessa’s, I add, “I’m sorry if that bothers you.”

  “Bothers me?” Person says, surprised. “Of course it doesn’t. I love Ms. K too, for everything she did for you.”

  “You do?” I say.

  “Of course,” Person says. “But you know what? You’ll be OK. Missing people is a part of life for everyone.”

  “Not just foster kids, you mean?” I say.

  “Flora,” Person says, “everyone misses people. It hurts and then it gets better. I promise.”

  Person tucks me into a hug again and then she whispers, “But I’m here forever, right? Any time you’re missing a teacher or an old foster mom, you come to me and we’ll remember her together.”

  Believe in Forever.

  It’s the other thing Person asked me to do. And if I can just do it, if I can just believe in Person-Forever, it’ll make it easier to love all of the non-forever people who come into my life but who I know I’ll have to miss one day.

  Twenty-Two

  FAMILIES ARE FULL OF SURPRISES

  THE NEXT MORNING, JULIAN PULLS A bathing suit out of our shared suitcase and I realize I haven’t told him about our surprise of the day. Person is in the bathroom so now is my chance.

  “We’re not going to the beach,” I say. “We’re going to brunch.”

  “Brunch?” Julian says. He turns to look at me. I’m looking at him s
o I can’t see the bathroom door but I listen for the click of it opening behind my head while I whisper. “Yeah, brunch.”

  “How do you know that?” Julian says.

  “Yeah, Flora, how do you know that?” Person calls from the bathroom.

  I turn around quickly, my cheeks burning. The door to the bathroom is wide open. Person is leaning across the sink putting mascara on her eyelashes.

  I start breathing too quickly. I almost ruined the whole thing.

  “How do you know about brunch?” Person says.

  “Um,” I say. “Dad told me.” I don’t know how to lie. Person’s right about that.

  She comes out of the bathroom and sits on the bottom of our bed. She’s wearing shorts but she’s still in her silky button-down pajama top. Julian is still holding on to his bathing suit.

  Person has the sad look again. “Do you guys want to go to the beach?” she asks. “I could cancel the brunch, if you want.”

  “Brunch?” Julian asks. “Like breakfast and lunch at the same time?” He smiles. “I’ve never been to brunch.”

  “Ah,” Person says. “But we can always go to brunch. We can only go to the beach when we’re here.”

  “Nah, that’s OK,” Julian says. He tosses his bathing suit back into our suitcase and starts rummaging through it for shorts or something. I tilt my head at him. I watch Person watch him with that sad look on her face.

  I know what’s happening here. I’m so surprised that I’m the one who knows, but I know. It’s not about food or the beach.

  “Who are we going to brunch with?” I ask Person.

  She turns the sad look from Julian to me. “I’m not sure if you’ll remember her, but her name is Kelly.”

  Julian looks up so quickly. “Kelly?” he says. The smile on his face is real.

  “We remember Kelly,” I say.

  I have cloudy memories of being in a car with her as she talked in a soothing voice and I got the impression that what she was saying was really important but I couldn’t make myself focus on the words. I remember her coming to visit me at my house, but I don’t know where she was visiting me. I remember thinking she was sort of my friend when I didn’t have enough words to make any friends.

  “And you want to see her?” Person says.

  Julian and I nod. I don’t want to nod. I want to tell Person we can skip it and go to the beach. But Dr. Fredrick says it’s OK to want things, to ask for things. I have to remember that.

  At the restaurant we order weird combinations of breakfast and lunch. I get a turkey sandwich but on a bagel. Julian gets spaghetti with a side of bacon which Person says is just fine but not very typical. Kelly is shorter and rounder than I remember her but her smile is just as bright as she orders her yogurt and granola with a side salad.

  “I don’t get it,” Person says to Kelly as soon as the food comes. “I don’t get how all of this happened to my children.”

  Julian looks as happy to see Kelly as I am, but Person is not. Person is angry at her.

  “I know,” Kelly says. “It’s . . . enraging. It’s so frustrating. And I—”

  But Person cuts her off. “Explain it,” she says. “You were their caseworker. You were in charge of placing them. Explain how they ended up with a woman who wanted to separate them. Explain how their files were lost, making it so I was informed that they had no significant attachments when clearly they did. Explain—”

  “Emily,” Kelly says quietly. “I was trying my best.”

  I’ve only ever seen Person like this once. The time with Meredith and Elena. But that was different because I was angry also. And I was in trouble.

  This time we’re just finding out. We’re talking about things that already happened. And I don’t want Person to be angry that we aren’t with Margie and Vanessa. I want her to be happy that we’re with her.

  I want them all to love me. Easily.

  I wonder for a second if that’s how Elena felt when Meredith and Person were fighting.

  “Mom,” I squeak.

  “I’m sorry, Flora,” Person says. She takes a deep breath like she’s trying to calm herself. “The last thing I want to do is upset you. But I don’t understand it, and one day you’re going to have these questions for Kelly too. I’d like to get you the answers sooner than later.”

  Answers. We’re here for the answers. I don’t even know the questions but I know I want the answers.

  “OK,” I say.

  Person asks Kelly, “Why were my children taken away from a couple who truly loved them and put in a home in which they weren’t fully accepted? Where they were almost separated?”

  Oh yeah, that. I do want that answer. But I don’t want Person to want the answer. I want Person to be happy she has us now.

  “I understand,” Kelly says. “You should do whatever you can to learn everything about their life before you. And you should share everything you know with your children. You, as a parent, need to embrace their past. You can’t run away from it or be threatened by it. Even if it wasn’t perfect.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Person says. “Does it look like I’m running away?”

  “Postcards,” I say, before I can think to keep the word in my brain.

  I look at Julian to explain for me, but he’s smiling so I know he’ll lie. “It’s OK about the postcards now,” he says. “We found Gloria anyway.”

  It’s not OK, though. If Person had let us see the first postcard, we maybe could have known all of this a while ago. We maybe could have found Margie and Vanessa in time for them to come to my birthday party.

  “Megan B.,” I say, because we still haven’t found her. “The white house.”

  “We’re here looking for these things, Flora. That’s why we’re here. I’m here, embracing your past,” Person says.

  I think about how she didn’t even want to come to brunch today but I manage not to say it out loud.

  The restaurant around us is busy. Waiters are constantly clunking things onto the red-and-white checked tables. They call out to each other over the heads of the customers. The other diners are loud with their voices and their clinking utensils. And Kelly speaks quietly which makes us all look at her and listen when she opens her mouth. “I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong. I’m so glad to see you guys in a family who loves you and is willing to do this for you. I’m just saying that—”

  “I know,” Person says. “I know we should have done this more slowly. More gradually.” She rubs her stomach. “I was . . . I should have started earlier but now . . . we’re running out of time.”

  “I was wondering,” Kelly says. “Congratulations.”

  Person nods and we’re all quiet for a minute. I wonder if this was Kelly’s job with us. She came and made the moms less mad. It was something like that. Something that made her seem like a savior, with limits.

  “We need a baby picture,” Person says.

  I shake my head. I wait for Julian to say something. We don’t need that because there isn’t one. And even if there were, we’d need more. We need all of the days in between.

  “We saw our Lifebooks yesterday,” Julian says. “And there weren’t any baby pictures.”

  Say it, I think. Tell Person we need more than just to be born. We need to know what happened to us.

  But he doesn’t say anything.

  Kelly looks at Person. “You didn’t show them their Lifebooks until yesterday?”

  “We didn’t even have them until yesterday,” I say.

  At that Kelly looks at me so quickly, I almost jump. “What do you mean didn’t have them?” She looks at Person. “Where were they?”

  “Margie and Vanessa had them,” Julian says.

  “No,” Kelly says. “No. I know for sure I gave them to your adoptive placement coordinator. Before I separated from the agency. Before they stopped telling me anything. I passed those Lifebooks on.”

  “You did,” Person says. “Marta said she lost track of them when Julian and Flora lef
t. They got lost in the shuffle with the rest of their things.”

  “You’re kidding me!” Kelly says. “They’re supposed to follow you guys. So is everything else, by the way. She should have given you everything she had of yours. But those Lifebooks—they’re important.”

  Person is biting her lip.

  Kelly says, “They were the one thing I thought I could do for you guys. They were the one way I told myself I really helped.”

  “You helped,” Julian lies. Maybe it’s not a lie that Kelly helped. Just being nice to us as little kids probably did help. But the happy way he says it is a lie.

  Person says, “The Lifebooks only went back as far as when they were three or four years old.”

  Kelly nods. “I know,” she says. “Vanessa and Margie did the Lifebooks. I only met Julian and Flora right before they were moved in with Vanessa and Margie so I don’t have any baby pictures.”

  “Why did they have to leave Margie and Vanessa?” Person asks.

  I’m shrinking. Every time she asks this, I shrink. Why does it matter when we’re with Person now?

  I remember how she hugged me last night. I was so close to really believing in Forever. And now it’s like she wished she never met us.

  Across the table from me, Julian shrinks too. He’s not even faking happy anymore. It’s like Person doesn’t notice.

  “I don’t know,” Kelly says. “They were excellent foster parents. The best we had.”

  “They were?” Person asks, even though we saw how great they were yesterday.

  “All I can tell you is that when Julian and Flora became free for adoption, the judge determined that their house was not appropriate for these two in a permanent capacity. We were stunned. We were all so upset.”

  “Some judge who didn’t know them? That’s why they were removed from a loving home?”

  I’m getting angry. Or sad. It’s hard to tell the difference.

  Across from me, Julian’s face is turning red behind his smile. Mine must look the same.

  I wish Person would stop asking this question.

  “Some judge who barely knew Margie and Vanessa and didn’t know Julian and Flora at all,” Kelly says.

  “But it’s your job to advocate for them,” Person says. “Why didn’t you?”

  Why won’t she stop talking like this?