Finding Noel (8 page)

“Maybe there's a reason,” I said.

“Like because I was only seven?”

“Or maybe being separated was so traumatic, you blocked it out. I did a paper on this in high school. It's called repression. The more traumatic the experience, the more likely it is to happen.”

She finished chewing. “You should be a psychiatrist.”

“I have too many issues.”

“All psychiatrists have issues. Why do you think they became psychiatrists?”

We finished eating, I paid the check and we went out to our cars. We had driven separately so we said goodbye in the parking lot.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“Thanks for everything you did for me tonight. That was a lot of fun. I don't know how to repay you.”

“I should make you give me a cut of your tips,” she said, smiling. “But I'll settle for a discount on guitar lessons.”

“For you it's free.”

“No, you have to charge me
something.”

“No, I don't.”

“I insist.”

“Then you can pay me in hot chocolate.”

“How about once a week I make you dinner and then we have a lesson?”

“That's fair.”

“Well, don't be too sure. You haven't tasted my cooking.”

“It's got to be better than mine.”

She smiled. “It's a deal then.”

“I'll call you tomorrow.”

“I'll be waiting. Good night.”

We hugged. As we parted, I said, “Tell me something.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you come back to check up on me?”

She thought about it. “I don't know. I just liked you. And you're pretty cute.” She smiled and climbed into her car. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

I waited until she'd driven off before starting my car. I'd known her for just four days and I was already falling in love.

When it comes to hurting children we cannot claim ignorance. Every adult I've ever met has once been a child. And some have become more so.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

NOVEMBER 30, 1975

Macy sat in the back seat of the car, pushed up against the door. She was dressed in a red and green plaid Christmas dress with puffy sleeves and a skirt that flared out like a bell. It was the first time she'd worn a dress since she had come to the Hummel home. It was also the first time Mrs. Hummel had taken an interest in how Macy looked. She had scrubbed her cheeks so hard they were still red.

The four children in the back seat of the Dodge Charger were all dressed up in what Irene Hummel called their “Sunday meeting clothes,” which was peculiar since they never went anywhere on Sunday, church meetings or otherwise. To Macy it felt like they were playacting and these were the costumes.

Macy's adoptive father, Dick, was driving. Dick Hummel was a baker at a midsized supermarket. He was a quiet man, low-key and unemotional, and the one person Macy got along with at home. Macy sensed that he felt sorry for her—or perhaps for both of them. In spite of their age difference, between them developed a peculiar camaraderie not dissimilar to that among victims of any disaster.

Unfortunately he was rarely home. Macy didn't blame him for being gone so much. She wouldn't be there either if she had a choice. She once asked Dick if she could go to work with him, but Mrs. Hummel vetoed it. “It's just her little scheme to get out of her chores,” she said. Mrs. Hummel always acted funny when Macy spent time with Dick.

Macy's thoughts were suddenly broken by an elbow to her ribs. “If the judge asks me, I'm going to tell him we don't want you,” Bart said.

“Me too,” said Sheryl.

Macy turned back to the window. “Fine with me,” she said.

When they walked into the courthouse, the social worker who had taken her from her father was there to greet her. Macy hadn't seen her in almost a year, not since she had sent her to the Hummels'. Now she acted as familiar as family.
More playacting.

“You look so nice,” she said to Macy, a smile plastered across her face. “What a special day. You are so
lucky.
”

There must be another meaning to the word that I don't know
, Macy thought. Then she had a hopeful thought. Perhaps the judge would ask her if she wanted to be adopted. She would tell him that everyone was mean to her. That Mrs. Hummel yelled at her all the time and sometimes slapped her and made her do more work than the other kids. Maybe then they'd let her go back to her father.

“We have a surprise for you,” the caseworker announced
with a broad smile. “Your sister is going to be adopted with you.”

Macy's heart leapt. Finally something good had happened in her life. “You mean we get to live together?”

The woman's smile disappeared. “No. I meant she's just being adopted at the same time. We thought you would like that.”

Ten minutes later Macy's little sister came into the room. She was immaculately dressed in a navy velvet dress, her hair perfectly groomed and pulled back with a silk ribbon. She was flanked by two well-mannered little boys dressed in matching navy suits and clip-on neckties. They looked like small replicas of their father, a handsome, well-dressed man in a navy pinstriped suit with a crisp white shirt and silk necktie.

Noel screamed when she saw her sister. “Macy,” she cried. “Macy, Macy!” They ran to each other, colliding in the center of the room. The Hummels and Noel's parents, the Thorups, kept their distance, sitting on opposite ends of the vestibule. Noel had had trouble dealing with Macy's absence and a child psychologist suggested to the Thorups that they allow the two girls to spend some time together. Mrs. Thorup contacted Mrs. Hummel to discuss the situation, and what started as a simple request escalated into a shouting match between the two women. Mrs. Hummel would not allow Macy to see her sister. The dislike the two families felt toward each other was palpable.

“Don't go 'way,” Noel said. Macy held her tightly, both of them oblivious to the adults who watched from both sides of the room.

“I won't, Sissy.”

The two little girls sat together on the tile floor, and for that time, all was well with the world; Macy made faces and Noel laughed.

Twenty minutes later the caseworker came into the room. She said to Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, “The judge is ready to see you.”

Mrs. Hummel impatiently bounded from her chair and walked to Macy, putting her hands on her shoulders. “C'mon,” she said.

Macy looked at her sister and began to cry. “I don't want to go.”

“No, no, no!” Noel screamed at Mrs. Hummel. “She's my Macy. You can't have her!”

Mr. Thorup walked up to take her. “Come on, honey. Macy needs to go now.”

Noel erupted in a piercing scream. “No! Don't go!” She grabbed tightly onto Macy's waist. “Don't go! Don't go!”

Irene Hummel looked at the man as if the situation was his fault. “We need to go,” she said. “Control your daughter.”

The man glared back at her. “Give her a break, lady. They're sisters.” He gently lifted Noel by the waist. “Come on, hon.”

“Macy! Macy! Don't go!”

Macy began crying. “I don't want to go.”

As Mr. Thorup pulled, Noel clutched all the more desperately
to the skirt of Macy's dress. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, holding the little girl horizontally as she screamed loud enough to be heard anywhere on the floor, and city employees looked out of their offices to see the commotion.

“Muzzle that brat,” Irene shouted.

“Someone should muzzle you,” the man said under his breath.

Mrs. Thorup walked over, glared at Mrs. Hummel, then gently pried Noel's fingers loose from Macy's dress. Noel screamed even louder and grabbed frantically for her sister. The instant Macy was free of Noel's grasp, Irene pulled her away and pushed her toward the judge's chambers as the little girl, restrained by her father, screamed and swung her arms wildly. “Let me go! Let me go! I want Macy! I want Macy!”

Macy was still whimpering when they got to the door. Irene Hummel dug her fingernails into Macy's shoulder. “Stop crying.”

As Macy entered the mahogany-paneled room, her sadness quickly turned to fear. The hearing wasn't held in a courtroom, but in the more private judge's chambers. The judge didn't wear a robe, just a crisp white shirt with a bright blue necktie with yellow and red sailboats. He looked like a kind man, with pictures of his own children and grandchildren strategically placed around his office. He smiled pleasantly at Macy and she could tell he liked kids. He'll understand, she thought.
If she got a chance to tell her story.

Mrs. Hummel sat close behind her, her knees touching the back of Macy's chair.

The judge looked over his desk at her, softly tapping his brass pen on the leather desk pad, “Hello, Macy.”

“Hi,” she said timidly. Her fear escalated. She wanted to hide. She wanted her sister back.

The judge leaned forward, his gaze fixed only on her. “Do you know why you're here?”

Under the pressure of his dark eyes she just nodded.