7. Alana
ALANA
K ids jostle past me as I wait at the school gate for Kyra. She must be the last one out of her class, because finally I see her, dragging her feet. Her oversized backpack makes her five-year-old frame look even smaller.
I can tell by her pursed lips that something bad has happened today. My heart goes out to the little girl, but I put a smile on for her.
"Hey, chicken, good to see you. You want me to take your bag?"
She hands it over without saying a word.
I put the bag in the trunk of the car and open the back car door for her. She climbs into her booster seat, still not talking. I slide into the front seat and only once I slam the door shut does she speak.
"Can I call you Mummy yet?"
Her small, squeaky voice tugs at my heartstrings, and I turn to face my foster daughter.
"Has something happened?"
Her bottom lip trembles, and she looks out of the window.
It's been two years since Kyra came to live with me. She needed an emergency foster placement, and I offered to take her. The emergency placement became permanent, and as she settled into her new routine, I learned to love the little girl.
I'm going through the process of adopting her. But until the papers are signed, I don't want to get our hopes up. The last thing Kyra needs is to be let down again by promises I'm not sure I can keep.
I let the silence sit in the car, still watching Kyra, waiting to see if she'll open up. Eventually, she turns to me, eyes wet.
"We're going to the museum on a field trip," she tells me.
"Okay," I say, waiting for the rest.
"You need to get your mom or dad's permission. And when the teacher said that--" she looks away, "--Madison said in front of the whole class that I won't be able to go because I don't have a mom or a dad."
Her lip trembles, but no tears fall. Kyra learned too early that tears don't get you anywhere.
My heart breaks for the little girl I already consider my daughter. I silently curse the meanness of kids.
"Well, that's not true," I tell her. "The teacher should've said you need permission from the adult who's caring for you. And I may not be your mummy yet, officially, but I am the adult who cares for you, very much. And in my heart, you'll always be my daughter."
Kyra sniffs, and I see the pain slip off her face. I make a mental note to remind the school about the language they use. I'm sure it was just a slip-up by the teacher, but there are so many kids who come from unconventional families. They don't realize how hurtful language can be.
"Should we go home and make cookies?"
She smiles and nods.
"Get your seatbelt on, chicken. Let's get home."
Half an hour later, there's a batch of chocolate cookies in the oven, and Kyra is sitting at the table with a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other and chocolate batter all around her face. The troubles of earlier are forgotten. She's smiling as she chomps on the leftover cookie dough.
I open my laptop to see if there's any news from the adoption agency. I've put the application in, and I've had a first round of interviews, and now I'm waiting for a date to go before the adoption board.
It should be a no-brainer. I've been working with foster kids for the last five years. Kyra isn't the only child I've taken in for emergency care, but she's the only one who stole my heart.
The problem is, it's not straightforward for a single parent on a single parent income. Until I have the papers that say Kyra is legally mine, I have to be on my best behavior.
My cellphone rings, and it's a number I don't recognize. I pick it up, and a deep gravelly voice comes down the phone line.
"Alana, it's Amos."
My name on his lips sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
"How did you get my number?"
"I have my ways," he says cryptically. "Also, you should fire your receptionist."
I sit back in my chair, not sure if I'm annoyed or excited that he's calling.
I pick up a pen from the desk and twirl it in my fingers, the movement matching the fluttering of my stomach. "What can I help you with, Amos?"
"Did you manage to buy us some time with Sam? Is he somewhere safe?"
I swallow hard and still the pen. Of course he's calling to talk about Sam Why would it be anything else?
"He's been placed in a temporary foster home with a lovely couple who will take care of him."
He lets out a long sigh. "That's great. I need time to get the house ready, but can I meet him?"
"That's not an unreasonable request. I'll see what I can arrange."
I wait for him to say something more, but he's silent. "Did you let your family know?"
He huffs out a breath. "They were skeptical. Everyone thinks I can't raise a child. But how hard can it be?" He sounds unsure, like he's convincing himself.
I look down the hallway. In my line of sight is the table where Kyra sits, licking the spoon. She's got chocolate all over her face and hands, and it's lucky I can't afford good furniture.
"I'll speak to the Deacons to arrange a meeting with Sam. Even if it doesn't work out with you, I believe you'll want to be in his life. Correct?"
"Correct," says Amos. "But it will work out."
I hold my tongue. He's so sure of himself. But raising a kid is different from being in the military.
"When can we meet up?" His voice softens.
"Once I speak to Sam, we'll arrange a neutral space. I'll come with him. You can bring your family."
"No," he says, and then chuckles softly. "I mean you and I, Alana. When can I take you out for dinner?"
I sit up straight in my chair. It's been a long time since a man asked me on a date. Even longer since it was a man I'm attracted to.
"Excuse me?"
"I'd like to get to know you better. Is that against the rules?"
This man has no grasp on reality. "Are you asking me out?" I hiss so Kyra doesn't hear. "Because if you are, then yes. It's against the rules."
He chuckles again. "You ever break the rules?"
I look over to Kyra. She's got her finger in the bowl, scooping up the last bit of cookie dough.
When's the last time I went on a date with a man just for the hell of it?
But I can't do that. It could go against the adoption board's assessment. They'll be asking me about my dating history, especially as a single mom. They want to make sure there won't be strange men in and out of the house.
Whatever needs I have, they have to come second to my daughter.
"Sorry, Amos. I don't date. It's not going to happen."
"It's not going to happen yet ."
His arrogance is infuriating yet also intriguing.
"Do you want me to put on your file that not only are you pushy and arrogant, but you're also a player?"
He chuckles, a deep throaty rumble.
"I'm not a player, Alana. I'm a man of action. When I see a good thing, I go for it. But I get it. You don't know me. You have to think of the boy. But just know, whenever you're ready, I'm taking you out for dinner."
He signs off and I'm left gripping the phone, my heart thumping and my stomach fluttering as I think about the sacrifices you make for your kids.