It was just as well neither Kerry nor I could think of anything more to say; silence was a few seconds of mercy. Emily was the one who finally ended it.
“Where will I go now?” she asked in a small voice.
“Nowhere, honey,” Kerry said. “You’ll stay right here with us.”
“I mean later. Will I have to live with Aunt Karen?”
“No way,” I said. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Not even if she comes back to her house?”
“No matter where she ends up.”
“What about Uncle Mike?”
“I promise you that won’t happen, either.”
“Then where will I live? There isn’t anyone else.”
Kerry and I exchanged glances. She said, “What will probably happen is that you’ll be made a ward of the court. Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“It means a judge will make the decision because you’re not old enough yet. He’ll work with a child welfare agency to find a foster family for you to live with.”
“Strangers,” Emily said.
“Yes, but a good family, with other kids your age—”
“I don’t think I’ll like that.”
“Why not? Once you get to know them—”
“I don’t make friends very well. I don’t feel comfortable with people I don’t know.”
Amen, I thought.
Kerry said, “You feel comfortable with us, don’t you?”
“You’re different — you’re older. I mean kids my age. Mom and Dad never wanted me to have friends and now I know why.”
No answer for that. Neither Kerry nor I spoke.
“I guess I couldn’t keep on staying here?”
“Oh, honey,” Kerry said. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I know. But I thought I’d ask anyway.”
“It’s not that we don’t want you...”
“I know,” Emily said again. “Is it all right if I go to my room now?”
“Of course it’s all right. Would you like to take Shameless with you?”
“No. I want to be alone.”
“Well, if there’s anything...”
She shook her head and got up and went away, small and stooped, very young and very old.
Kerry and I just sat there. After a while she said, “My God, that was awful. Awful. The look on her face... I wish there was something we could do for her.”
“She can’t keep on living here. You know that.”
“I know it, but still... something...”
“We already did the only thing we can do,” I said. “We told her the truth.”
Cybil paid us a semisurprise visit two nights later. She’d been asking about Emily and she wanted to meet her and she didn’t care to wait, she said, until we got around to issuing an invitation or bringing the kid to Larkspur. She didn’t drive much anymore, especially at night, which was a measure of how deeply her interest ran. Besides which, it was obvious she was still feeling her oats; the Nurse Dunn episode and the attendant publicity had elevated her confidence level and made her a touch more imperious.
There was an instant rapport between Cybil and Emily. The girl had been quiet and withdrawn, keeping mostly to herself, but Cybil’s arrival seemed to perk her up some. The two of them shut themselves up in Emily’s room for a private get-acquainted session which lasted more than half an hour. When Cybil came out, alone, she had a sharp little gleam in her eye. She perched on the sofa, looked at Kerry, looked at me, and said, “Well? Are the two of you going to do the right thing by that child?”
“What kind of question is that?” Kerry demanded. “We are trying to do what’s best for her—”
“Don’t be dense. You know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t know.”
“Adoption. A-d-o-p-t-i-o-n.”
I said, “What?”
Kerry said, “We couldn’t do that.”
“Of course you could. You’ve talked about it, surely?”
“No, we haven’t.”
“Well, you’ve each thought about it, and don’t try telling me different. It’s what the child wants, you know that.”
“Did Emily tell you it’s what she wants?”
“She didn’t have to put it into words. It’s in her eyes and the way she talks about the two of you. She needs a mother and a father. A grandmother, too, for that matter.” Cybil fixed Kerry with a steely eye. “I’ve been denied that privilege so far and I’d like to be one for a little while before I croak.”
“Mom, for heaven’s sake...”
“Hah. You haven’t called me Mom in years. I like hearing it. I’d like hearing Grandma even better.”
I said, “You might as well forget it, Cybil. It’s not going to happen.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“For a lot of reasons. I’m nearly sixty and that’s too old—”
“Nonsense.”
“—to be an adoptive father, even if the courts would allow it. I’m too set in my ways, that’s another thing. So is your daughter.”
“Nonsense, I say.”
“Plus, I have a sometimes dangerous profession, and Kerry and I both work odd hours and there are nights when neither of us gets home until late, if we get home at all.”
“Not an issue. There are private schools, nannies, sitters. And me, in a pinch.”
“We can’t afford private schools or people to come in—”
“Horse apples. Don’t you think I know what the two of you earn in a year, how much you have tucked away?”
“Cybil, listen to me—”
“I will not. You both care about the girl, any fool can see that, and she cares about you. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.”
“We are not going to become parents. We couldn’t if we wanted to. The child welfare people, the courts—”
“Damn all that,” Cybil said. “If you really want to adopt that little girl, you can find ways and means to do it. And I think deep down you do want to, both of you. You’d better give it some serious consideration. I mean that. Serious consideration.”
All right, so we gave it some serious consideration.
The answer was the same: No.
We talked to Emily about it, tentatively at first, then openly. Kerry’s idea. It was what the kid wanted, all right. No begging, no pleading, just the big soulful eyes and a small hopeful smile.
The answer was still no.
Tamara, naturally, thought it was a splendid idea.
No.
The social worker who came to talk to Emily and to Kerry and me didn’t rule it out.
No.
Cybil kept calling up and lobbying.
No.
Kerry went to see a family lawyer she knew. He thought it could probably be managed, given the unusual circumstances and despite our ages, if all parties were in accord and the judge in the case was the sympathetic type.
No.
Then one evening while I was dozing in my chair. Emily came and sat on the arm and looked at me and then snuggled down and laid her head on my shoulder.
Just say no and keep on saying it.
But dammit, I’m not made of stone...