"Then that's probably why it doesn't feel right."
"But Sara says she practically raised her brothers, and I believe her. That would give her credit in the experience column. And if Danny consistently responds to her the way he did this afternoon…"
"Then he wouldn't be exactly hyperactive anymore, although quite frankly I can't see anyone slowing that boy down for long."
"You had to be there."
Bill called Danny over and sat him on his lap.
"What did you think of that lady you met here today?"
Danny smiled. "She was nüüce."
"How did you feel when you were holding her hand?"
The smile'broadened as Danny's eyes got a dreamy, faraway look.
"Nüüce."
"Can you tell me anything more?"
"Nope!"
And then he was off and running again.
"I gather she was a nüüce lady," Nick said with a grin.
Bill shrugged. "Danny's new word. But I think I'm going to put those two together once more."
"To see if it happens again? Good move. Reproducibility is an indispensable factor in the scientific method."
"This is not an experiment, Nick."
Sometimes, though, Bill wished there were a scientific method for this adoption business. There were protocols and procedures, checks and evaluations and waiting periods, all sorts of safety measures and protections for both the child and the adoptive parents. Yet there had been plenty of times over the years when Bill had found himself operating on instinct, flying by the seat of his pants.
Some instinct within him warned against this match, but he suspected the feeling might be fueled by an emotional attachment to this particular child. Finding a good home for Danny, that was what really mattered. And if this woman had some special rapport with Danny, then he had no right to turn her away.
"I just want to see them together again. Maybe it was some kind of freak accident. But if it wasn't, if he responds to her that way again…"
"Then maybe you've found him a home. But if that comes about, I see another problem."
"I can let go. I've had to do it before." He'd let Nick go when the Quinns adopted him sixteen years ago. "I'll do it again."
"I had no doubts about that," Nick said, staring at Danny. "But you're going to have to find a way to get him to leave you."
Bill nodded. He'd already foreseen that problem. He figured he'd solve it when the time came.
Bill invited both the Loms back but Sara came alone—Herb was tied up at his office. She arrived the following Tuesday between school dismissal and the dinner hour.
"Have you reconsidered?" she asked brightly when she had seated herself in his office.
She was wearing a white and yellow flower-print sundress that deepened her already dark complexion. Bill wondered if there might be a little Mexican blood mixing with the Texan flowing in her veins.
"I'm in the process of doing so," Bill said, "but I'd like to get into specifics with you about your experience in raising your younger brothers."
They talked for about half an hour. Bill was impressed with Sara's easy familiarity with the ins and outs of child-rearing. But what came through more strongly than ever was her desire for a child, her need for one.
And then the inevitable occurred: Danny arrived.
He skidded to a halt when he saw her. A big smile, tiny white teeth—
"Hiya, Sara."
She seemed to glow at the mention of her name.
"You remembered!"
"'Course I did. I'm smart."
"I'll bet you are! What did you learn in school today?"
Once again Bill watched in amazement as Danny stood calmly before her with his hands clasped behind his back. No hand holding this time; no contact at all. Yet he stood still and answered all her questions, even going so far as to elaborate on his friends and some of the games he liked to play.
And Sara…
Bill saw the light in her eyes, the warmth in her expression as she focused on Danny and made him the center of her world for those moments. He sensed the deep yearning within her and allowed himself the possibility that he had made a match—a miraculous one.
Danny turned to him.
"I like her. She's nüüce."
"Yes, Danny. Sara is very nice."
"Can I live with her?"
The question took Bill by surprise. The title of an old song flashed through his brain: "Am I That Easy to Forget?" But he ignored the hurt and concentrated on Danny. He had to be very careful here.
"I don't know, Danny. We'll have to look into that."
"Can I pleeease?"
"I don't know yet, Danny. I'm not saying no and I'm not saying yes. There's lots of things to be done before we come to that."
"Can I visit, maybe?"
"We'll look into that too. But Sara and her husband and I have many things to discuss first. So why don't you get washed up for dinner and let us get to work."
"Okay." Hope shone like a beacon behind his eyes as he turned back to her. "See ya, Sara."
She gave him a hug, then held him out to arm's length.
"See ya, Danny."
He trotted off down the hall.
"I think you've got a friend," Bill told Sara.
"I think so too," she said, smiling warmly. Then she gave Bill a level look. "But will that friend be allowed to become my son, Father Ryan?"
"If I've learned one thing in this job, Sara, it's never to make a promise I'm not absolutely sure I can keep—not to the adult applicants, and certainly never to the boys. But we're off to a good start. Let's see where we can go from here."
Her eyes widened, her voice was suddenly small and husky. "You mean you've reconsidered?"
When he nodded she lowered her face into her hands and began to sob. The sight of her tears moved Bill and confirmed his growing conviction that he was doing the best thing for Danny. Only a tiny squeamish part of him remained unconvinced.
SEVENTEEN
The reference checks went smoothly. Both Herb and Sara had excellent academic records at U. of Texas, he in accounting, she in early education. Their credit record was excellent. The home inspection was perfect—a two-story center-hall colonial in a quiet residential neighborhood in Astoria where the Loms were active in the local parish. Bill went so far as to call Sara's old pastor in Houston. Father Geary knew Sara Bainbridge—her maiden name—and remembered her as a sweet, wonderful young woman; Herb came from a wealthy family and wasn't quite the churchgoer Sara was, but the parish priest considered him a good man.
The whole process went swimmingly. The weekend visits came off without incident, and Danny's stays were stretched to a week at a time. He loved it. And he loved Sara. He seemed totally taken by her, completely infatuated. He'd still visit Bill's office on a daily basis, still sit on his lap, still disrupt the Saturday night chess games. But-all he talked about was Sara, Sara, Sara. Bill thought she was a fine woman, exceptional even, but God he was getting sick of hearing about her.
By late fall Danny was no longer the same Danny who'd torn around St. F.'s all summer. It wasn't apparent at first, but slowly, in fits and spurts, Bill could see a definite change taking place. Over the course of the investigative and processing procedures Bill had noticed a gradual deceleration in Danny. Not a slamming on of the brakes; more like a racing truck whose driver was slowly, systematically downshifting as he progressed from the freeway toward a school traffic zone. The motor was still revving high, but the speed was falling off. The nuns who taught him in second grade said he was much less of a discipline problem these days, and that his lengthened attention span was resulting in improved schoolwork.
It was almost miraculous. Almost too good to be true.
And that bothered Bill a little. In his two decades with St. F.'s he'd rarely seen an adoption go so smoothly. And so when he lay in bed at night, alone with the dark, the lack of glitches would wake that nagging little voice and spur it to whisper its nebulous doubts in his ear.