Finding Faith

  The black and white photo revealed the most pathetic-looking child Marie had ever seen. Sad, vacant eyes stared out from a pinched little face with a turned-down mouth. Short black hair cut as stylishly as a worn-out old broom. She was dressed in a mismatched assortment of oversize flowery shorts, gray t-shirt that doubled as a bib for the past several meals, argyle knee socks, and no shoes. Her limbs were boney. Every detail of the child's appearance screamed "orphan," including the collection of rusty tricycles in the background.
  Marie put the photo aside and scanned the letter again: Warangkana, age 3. Happy, healthy girl. Rangsit Babies Home. There was some outdated information on a Thai growth chart and a few vague sentences about 'likes to play ball' and 'good appetite,' but it wasn't much to go on.
  "All that time I spent doing paperwork," Marie sighed, "all the money I still have to pay my blood-sucking adoption agency. And for what? A sickly looking child I know nothing about." She picked up the phone and made the call.
  "I'll take her! How soon can I leave?"
  Two weeks later Marie stepped off a plane in sweltering Bangkok, numb and exhausted from spending the past 25 hours in coach and layover. It was time to meet the love of her life, Faith Elizabeth, and she wouldn't have done it any other way.

 

Dust--An Ode to Spring

  Luke liked to throw the windows wide open on the first warm day of Spring. As soon as he would leave for work, Bonnie would go through the house and close them. She would get out her cleaning supplies and try to rid the house of the pollen. The yellow grit covered every surface.
  Bonnie would mutter unkind things about Luke under her breath as she wiped down the windowsills. She knew both the griping and the wiping were futile because Luke would open the windows again as soon as he got home, and they would argue about the dust.
  The Spring day when Bonnie realized she was pregnant, Luke didn't open the windows. "You can run the air if you like," he said, kissing her goodbye as she rested her forehead on the toilet seat. Bonnie was touched--for all of ten seconds. She figured his thoughtfulness wouldn't last much longer than pollen season.
  It seemed stupid to argue about something as small and fleeting as dust. Bonnie thought about the baby, who was probably no bigger than a grain of dust, who was causing her all this misery. She thought about Luke who seemed to float from job to job like the drifting pollen. She thought about the dust in her father's urn at the VA cemetery. Bonnie hoped the baby was a boy so she could name him after her father, but she knew Luke wanted a girl.
  It seemed like minutiae in the larger scheme of things. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
  Bonnie's thoughts drifted like dust as she managed to get to her feet. She washed her face at the sink and decided she felt too horrible to wage war on yellow dust that day.

Persistence is Key

  "I want a cat," Phoebe insisted.
  She was starting to sound like a recording. Normally I could tune her out, but after a solid hour of this mantra, I was starting to develop a migraine.
  "No, Phoebe."
  "Please, I want a cat."
  "No." I began my own mantra, complete with visualization and "ohm."
  "Please, Grandma."
  I tried reasoning with her. "You know Cujo will eat any cat we bring home." Cujo was my Chihuahua.
  "No he won't. Please I want a cat."
  "What about the nasty litter box?"
  "It'll go outside, like Cujo does, Grandma."
  Never try reasoning with a seven year-old with her mother's my-way-or-the-highway personality. I switched back to my "no" mantra.
  Once Phoebe got an idea in her head, she would persist for days. Anytime I was in the same room with her, it was, "I want a cat. Please can I have a cat."
  We went to the SPCA on Saturday and looked at cats.
  "I want this one." Phoebe held up a kitten with fur the color of smoke.
  "It's going to cost us $150, Phoebe."
  "You can afford it, Grandma, you're loaded."

The Last Orphan free on Kindle, March 13-14

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Roads

  The road is lovely, shrouded in autumn leaves. My favorite colors, my favorite season. Glorious scenery flies by as I shift into 6th in my favorite car--the convertible Beemer I got as part of the divorce settlement. Poor Dave never knew what hit him. He doesn't believe in lawyers so I picked his carcass like a Thanksgiving turkey. My favorite holiday, but this year I'll spend it all alone. Dave never wanted children. I went along with his plans, thinking he'd change his mind someday.

  The road was impassable after the earthquake. I traded the Beemer in for a Range Rover. After one winter alone, I was looking forward to spring. I decided one winter was one too many and tried dating again. It was rocky and full of potholes, just like the road home. I called the DOT to fix the road and stopped going to bars. That's when I met Sherman in December. He was my UPS delivery man. (Did I mention I also gave up going to malls to shop?)

  After our first date, Sherman confessed that he had a daughter, Danika. She was six. We went to see her Christmas pageant. She was one of the angels. She turned out to have an angel's personality, too. I found myself falling into the long-elusive role of mommy and loving it, despite Dave's dire predictions. Now it's autumn again and I drive a minivan, with a car seat in the back, over the repaired road to my house.