Three Little Words (13 page)

“Ashley, today will be your last day at school,” Mrs. Merritt warned me before dropping me off. I did not need any further explanation.

Ms. Holback had arranged a little farewell party and gave me a card saying,
It has been a joy to have you in my class. Although I will miss you, I’m so excited about you getting ready for adoption. We will keep you in our prayers. We love you.
Each of my classmates had added a smiley-face sticker and signed it.

When I arrived home, I found that Mrs. Merritt had packed everything I owned. “I don’t want to be adopted!” I snapped. “I want to go back to my mother.”

“That may not be God’s plan for you.”

“Is L-Luke coming too?”

“No. He’s making progress here.”

“I can make progress,” I choked.

Later that afternoon Mr. Merritt drove me to Violet Chavez’s home in Riverview, about thirty miles southeast of Tampa. After leaving the highway, we crossed the Alafia River, passed some strawberry fields, then turned into a shaded lane where a long driveway led to a yellow house surrounded by towering trees. Mr. Merritt carried in my trash bags and left them piled in the hallway. After a few awkward minutes he left.

“Welcome, my dear!” called Violet Chavez.

Ethnic masks lined the walls and artificial floral arrangements filled the shadows. My gaze fell on a pumpkin decoration. “Do you celebrate Halloween?” I asked.

“Of course,” Violet Chavez replied. “Do you have a costume?”

“No. The Merritts don’t believe in Halloween.”

Madeline, Mrs. Chavez’s teenage daughter, gestured with her hands. “Look at that red hair! Don’t you think she’d be the perfect Annie?”

“We’ll have the dress made,” Mrs. Chavez said. “And we’ll curl her hair.”

“Or get a wig,” Madeline suggested. “Would you like that?”

Annie! Wow!
I think I’m going to like it here
, I said to myself, and started dragging my plastic bags down the hallway to my new bedroom.

“Come, help me make dinner,” Mrs. Chavez called in a musical accent.

I sat on a stool and asked, “Where are you from?”

“Many places,” she replied. “Like you, I have had several families.”

She browned some onions, then rubbed a big nut on a grater. “What’s that?”

“Nutmeg. It grows on Grenada, the island where I was born.” The fragrant steam was more exotic than anything from the Merritts’ kitchen. “How old are you?” she asked as she added chicken pieces.

“Almost nine. My birthday’s next month.”

“When I was your age, my mother went to another island.”

“Did you miss her?”

“Yes, very much.” Mrs. Chavez poured some dry rice into a pot and added water.

When it was ready, she called the others to the table. Two of Mrs. Chavez’s children-Madeline, eighteen, and Mario, sixteen-were still at home. Her eldest daughter, Mercedes, was away at college. Everyone seemed to talk loudly and at once.

“Is everything okay?” Madeline asked when she saw me pushing my food around.

“Yes,” I said meekly. “I was just wondering what the rules are here.”

“We respect each other,” Mrs. Chavez said. “We don’t go outside without permission; we keep our room and belongings tidied up.”

“What about food?”

“Nobody goes hungry in my house.”

When Mrs. Chavez started to clear the table, I carried my plate into the kitchen.

“Thank you, Ashley,” she said. “I appreciate your help.”

“Oh, it will be great around here for the first few weeks. I’ll be very polite and sweet. After that, everything will go downhill and you will send me away.”

“Why is that?” Mrs. Chavez asked.

“Because that’s how it always happens.”

Violet Chavez tilted her head. “We’ll see.”

She enrolled me in third grade at Boyette Springs Elementary School. Because I was excellent at jump rope, the “in” sport at the time, I made friends quickly. My teacher, Mrs. Lovelace, sent me to take some tests in the guidance office. Eventually, a letter arrived saying that I had been accepted to a magnet school for gifted children.

When I found out that Mrs. Chavez had accidentally left the letter at the salon where she worked as a manicurist, I was livid. “You go find that letter right away!” I ordered.

“Don’t disrespect me!” Mrs. Chavez replied sternly.

“But I
have
to go to that school or my life will be
ruined!”

“That’s for your caseworker to decide.”

Violet Chavez went all out for my ninth birthday. She baked a Barbie cake with a skirt of pink and blue icing and wrote
Happy Birthday Ashley
in loopy script. This was the first birthday party I had ever had.

After the meal there were organized games. Madeline filled water balloons to toss and handed out raw eggs, which we kids were going to pass under our chins. One of the girls, a blonde named Amelia, was wearing a plaid dress. When it came time for the outside games, Amelia complained, “I can’t get my dress dirty.”

“You can borrow something of Ashley’s.” Mrs. Chavez loaned her the striped shirt that had had the buttons torn off at Lake Mag.

“You can’t wear that,” I snarled. “My mother gave it to me.”

“Don’t be a party pooper.” Madeline tossed me a water balloon.

I knew the Chavezes were trying to make me feel welcome, yet I also knew the day would come when their hospitality would end suddenly and I would find my stuff in garbage bags again.

I had been living at the Chavez home for only a few days when Mary Miller called to check on me. Mario answered the phone and told her that his mother was running errands.

“Hi, Ashley. How are you?” Mary asked when he put me on the phone.

“Good. I like it here.”

“When’s Mrs. Chavez coming back?” Her voice was tense.

“Oh, soon.” I answered her questions as quickly as I could because one of my favorite television shows,
Full House
, was on. Later I learned she complained that a teenage boy was supervising me, which was against regulations.

After school I attended day care at L’il Ranchers. I didn’t like it because I did not know anyone and there was no point in trying to make new friends when I moved so often.

I was sitting motionless on a swing when I looked up and saw Mary Miller coming my way with long, purposeful strides. She took the empty seat beside me. “How high can you go?” she asked.

I kept my eyes on the clouds as I pumped back and forth so I could avoid anything I did not want to see or hear. I gave one-word answers to her inquiries about school.

When she paused, I asked the only question that mattered: “When am I going to live with my mother again?”

“You aren’t going to.” Her voice was both tender and firm.

“Why?” The word felt like a pebble lodged in my throat.

“Because she can’t take care of you.”

“Ever?” came out in a frog’s croak.

“No, Ashley, not ever.”

I kicked the hollow of dirt under the swing without daring to look down. “Then, who will?”

“We will find a family who wants to care for you forever.”

I twisted in my seat. “What about Luke?”

“We will find a family who wants both of you.”

“When is that going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Mary replied. “But it
will
happen.” I pushed harder with my foot, kicking up dust. “What sort of family would you like?” Mary asked.

Until that moment, I had never allowed myself any dream other than going home with my mother. The breeze caught my hair as I pumped the swing higher. After a few long arcs, I braked hard with both feet. I thought for a moment, then swiveled my seat to face Mary. “I want a big house with two stories, lion statues to guard the front door, and a bedroom that I don’t have to share with anyone. I want a canopy bed and a hammock for lots of stuffed animals. I want all my dolls back and even more and lots of clothes for them and for me. And dogs, including a female who has puppies, so I can have one of my own.”

“What about Luke?”

“Oh, he can come too, but he has to live in the doghouse.”

“What sort of parents do you want?”

“I don’t care, as long as they are not like the Mosses.”

A worker took me to see Dr. Wolfe, a psychiatrist, who asked the same questions the other doctors had. Once again, the diploma seal over the doctor’s left shoulder made for a good visual target. I did not care if he knew I was not looking at him, because even if I said I knew the difference between truth and lies, he would not believe me. When he asked whether I had ever been abused, I said I had not, since I knew he wasn’t going to do anything even if I told him about the Mosses.

“What do you do when you feel sad?” he asked.

“I read my Bible.” I thought the Merritts would have liked that answer.

“When was your saddest time?” he asked.

“When they told me I couldn’t see my mother anymore.”

“What do you want to do now?” he queried.

“I want to wear high heels!” I said to change the subject.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A nurse, an artist, and a poet.”

“And if you had three wishes, what might they be?”

“To be with my mother, to live in a decent home, and to have plenty to eat.”

That seemed to satisfy him, because I never had to see him again.