Reclaiming Lily (43 page)

Gloria’s knees began to wobble, as they had so long ago, when she’d first met Kai. Unlike that first time, when she’d flat-out fainted, she straightened, whispered a prayer to God, and let Andrew and the exhilarating news sweep her away.

“Kai?”

She groaned. Pain stabbed her body.

“Kai!”

Try as she might, she could not open her eyes.

“I can only stay a sec. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be here.”

A warm hand touched her cheek and caressed skin aching for his touch. She smiled . . . then winced at the pain. She was so thirsty. So tired.

“All morning, I’ve been with the chaplain. The strangest light came through those stained-glass windows. It was almost like . . . God was in there with me.”

“Doctor, what on earth are you doing in here?”

“Uh-oh.” His chuckle rippled pleasure through Kai. It felt so good to be free. She had told no one about her freedom . . . except God. Right now, that was enough.

“Do you want me to write you up?” Mock anger swelled the nurse’s voice.

The doctor stood to leave. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Will you catch me?
Kai smiled and drifted to sleep.

30

C
HINA, FIVE YEARS LATER

Hurry up and wait. My life story.

For five years, China had wooed Gloria with new policies, new procedures to ensure adoption was legitimate, well-documented; the antithesis of that first trip. Despite all of its shortcomings, how could she criticize that first trip? It had given them the Joy of their lives . . . given Gloria the career of her dreams . . . as a liaison with an adoption agency.

“God’s in control, Mom.” Joy, intuitive as ever, drummed an offbeat cadence on Gloria’s back as they were led into a room on the second floor of the Civil Affairs Bureau. “Stop it!” Gloria hissed, but she wasn’t really angry. Just annoyed that Joy had more patience than she did.

The seven of them, five adoptive family members and two social workers, had been shoe-horned around a table designed for four. Dust-clouded windows framed an open-door suite. Chipped plaster, file cabinets, and a teacher’s desk pulled Gloria back to memories of school rooms. Yet a waist-high wall of cardboard files—adoption folders?—outlined the room’s perimeter. The smell of sweat and garlic, dust motes the size of mosquitoes, nervous titters, and Chinese rat-a-tat between social workers Apple and Fanny, reminded Gloria she was a long way from Fort Worth. Again.

Humidity partnered with a 100-plus-degree temperature to bathe Gloria in her own sweat.
Forget first appearances. There’s nothing dry to wipe off with.
While Gloria dug her fingernails into her palm, she cast a look at Joy, in another world with her iPod.
Wish I could orbit . . . until they give me our baby.

The other adoptive couple held hands and sweet-talked. Gloria patted the file folder that contained copies of a sheriff’s report, FBI fingerprints, DCFS license, family pictures, birth and marriage certificates, medical physicals, I-171H, passports, their invitation to travel, letter seeking confirmation; copies of every scrap of paper certified by both the state and the Chinese consulate that comprised their dossier.

Good thing she dealt with mountains of paper work in her new job.

Andrew held a diaper bag filled with the wrapped trinkets they’d been “requested” to bring the officials. The stuffed bag also held baby clothes, diapers, a Tupperware container of Cheerios, a water bottle. These items insured against last-minute problems. Didn’t they?

She tugged on Andrew’s shirt, unable to stuff her anxious thoughts in that bag. “It’s been over an hour. What’s going on?”

Andrew shrugged. “Paper work’s snarled. The babies blew out their diapers.” He leaned close to her ear. “They’re delaying things just to irritate you.”

“It’s not funny, Andrew!”

The social workers darted glances at Gloria. Consternation widened their eyes. “Is everything okay?” Gloria finally asked Apple.

Apple jumped to her feet. “I will check, Glor-i-a, though I assure you, everything is a-okay.”

Up to this point, Apple . . . and the adoption process . . . had been efficient, organized, reliable . . . a polar opposite of their experience adopting Joy. Yet an hour’s wait in a stuffy room made her hands ache to hold Jing-Wui, their fourteen-month-old daughter. Jing-Wui purportedly loved fish and meat puree, steamed eggs, and rib soup. Jing-Wui purportedly was active, lively, and smart, loved smiling, could at six months rock “forth and back,” and at age twelve months clapped her hands excitedly when experiencing new things. It was all in the document entitled
The Growth and Development of Jing-Wui
.

That document told her everything . . . and nothing.

Gloria dug into her hands, her bad habit encoring during this trip. Had her daughter randomly been assigned the name meaning “Little Bird,” or was that truly the name chosen by her birth mother before she set Jing-Wui in a cardboard box near the entrance to a crowded train station, as the written history had explained? Gloria longed to know.

The sound of footsteps seeped around the sturdy wooden door frame.

Gloria’s hands trembled. Surely they would have news
. God, let it be soon!
She wrapped her arms about her dossier as if it were a shield.

Apple entered the room. “The bus was delayed leaving the orphanage, that is all. They will be here any minute.”

Gloria bit back a harrumph.
And I’m the Queen of Sheba
.

“I will prepare for their arrival.” With a slight bow, Apple left.

Andrew leaned close. “How do you want to handle things?”

They’d gone over this ad nauseum. But chatter might keep her sane.

“You shake the officials’ hands. Mine are too sweaty.”

Andrew treated her with a slippery grip. “And mine aren’t?”

Gloria cast her eyes about the room, and images invaded her mind of the orphanage that once held Joy, over a decade ago. “It’s so different.”

“Yet the same old waiting.”

They shared nervous laughs.

Something thudded. Gloria gripped her file. Was that a cry?

Fanny straightened. The other couple gasped. Joy horseshoed her neck with her earphones, dug in her backpack, and found her camera. Calm and collected as a medical school student should be.

Their room door opened. Apple stood at the threshold. “The babies have arrived.” Her smile and a beam of light mesmerized the dust motes. “They will be here any minute.” Apple moved toward the opening into the suite, as did Fanny.

Sounds swelled into baby screams and warbles and set off a clattering in Gloria’s heart. Andrew collared her with his arm, and it was a good thing, for Gloria debated leaping from her seat and sprinting down the hall to find the baby with the pixie ears, the bowl-cut hair, the curious eyes, the wispy brows . . . or should she, like at least one of the babies, just scream at the top of her lungs?

Andrew tapped her shoulder. “So I’ll do the greetings? The gifts?”

“I’ll get the baby.” Gloria’s words hissed like steam. She was on fire to touch their new daughter!

Two officials wearing blue suits stepped into their room from the adjoining suite. One—Gloria assumed the notary public—made his way to the teacher’s desk, pen and files in hand. Apple and Fanny pattered forward and shook hands with the men. The four bowed, spoke Chinese, every word stretching Gloria’s nerves to the breaking point.

Two women, dressed in clean but faded dresses, entered the suite.

Gloria’s hands writhed. Two nannies. Two babies. She locked eyes with the smaller one, with wispy brows, pixie ears.

“That’s our Gracie.” Andrew had repeated the words pounding in Gloria’s skull, brimming her eyes with tears.
Our Gracie
.

Grace twisted her perfect body, clothed in a pink jumper, to bury her face in her nanny’s chest. Gloria hugged herself.
Oh, God,
she whispered,
Gracie’s world has been shattered. Please open her heart to our love. Let her sense that she is safe.

“This is Grace Ann.” Apple, speaking nearly flawless English, moved to that perfect pink bundle. “Will the Powells please pick her up?”

The room tilted, brightened. Everything took on a pink cast. With Andrew guiding her forward, Gloria took Grace from the nanny.

Little Gracie screamed as if she’d been dropped.

“Jing-Wui,” Gloria whispered. “Jing-Wui. Mommy.”

As Gloria gently bounced her baby, snippets and sounds streamed. Lights flashed.

It was Joy, taking pictures. Their older daughter, preserving their first moments with . . . their younger daughter. Gloria’s lip quivered. Again she was the happiest mother in the world!

The other couple’s baby trumped introductions and pleasantries with hollers that surely would deafen them all.

Andrew took her arm. Guided her and Grace to the notary’s table.

Fanny joined them. The official stood and spoke foreign words.

“Mr. and Mrs. Powell?” Fanny translated.

Gloria nodded till her head ached. She’d been well schooled on Gotcha Day’s last step.

“Here is your baby,” Fanny intoned, after the official’s words. “Take her back to your hotel and see if you like her.”

Gloria wanted to scream, “Are you crazy? I love her!” She bit her lip.
Don’t ask questions. Don’t say more than necessary. Everything you need to know has been given to you
. Thank God for Apple’s and Fanny’s careful instruction.

“Give her something to eat, to drink. Spend time with her,” Fanny continued. “Come back tomorrow and tell us if you want to keep her.”

As if Andrew understood her feelings, he tightened his grip. Gloria combated a desire to sing to the heavens by kissing Grace’s spiky black hair, by comparing Grace’s appearance with Joy’s. Rounder eyes, more pointed ears. The same gorgeous skin . . .

Gloria breathed in the smell of soy sauce and fresh-scrubbed baby. “You are my Grace,” she whispered into that perfect pixie ear.

“Are you sure about that name?” Andrew teased. Gifts from the orphanage director filled his hands.

“I’ve never been this sure of anything since I married you.”

Joy, who’d heard it a zillion times, rolled her eyes . . . which were filled with tears.

Gloria fought a sniffle. Joy hadn’t cried during Kai’s surgery. Kai’s baptism. Kai’s wedding.
Oh well. A med student has to lose it sometime.

They were both doctors, used to tragedy. Exhilaration. It did not help. As wails throttled her ears, Kai longed to hide in his arms, but her upbringing would not allow it.

He patted her. Shivers raced through her veins. Four years of marriage, and he anticipated her every need. Another miracle. How many miracles could a village woman with a transplanted kidney expect?

At least one more, this miracle held in the arms of a smiling nanny. Though she exercised her lungs with vigor, the girl dressed in a yellow sun suit, hat, and dainty white shoes was their Faith. Kai marched forward to present the gifts, as they had decided, since she spoke Chinese. A cement tongue made it doubtful Kai could say a word.

He took hold of her arm. “Kai, I’ll do the paper work. You get our baby.”

Words were spoken by the notary and the social worker, but Kai let her husband deal with them. She held out her arms and received . . . the most beautiful baby in the world. She had dimples in her chin, on her cheeks, on her arms. Why, the way she was screaming, she had dimples—and wrinkles—everywhere!

“She has your chin.” Delight shrilled his voice. “Praise God! Just look at her!”

He is
absolutely, unequivocally serious.
Kai giggled but did not look at him. That would mean tearing her gaze from Faith.
Faith
. Something she and this man had learned, hand in hand. Were learning . . .

He bowed to the officials. Pulled her forward. She nodded and even managed to sign papers without releasing her hold on Faith. Just let anyone try to take her now!

When they were done, the three of them embraced. Faith shivered but did not pull away . . . and quit screaming to fix them with curious eyes as they prayed for her.