The One I Trust (11 page)

After we’d finished moving everything, Hale and Anneka said good-bye and left to get Molly, who had spent the afternoon at a friend’s house. Emily and I ordered a pizza and sat down on the floor of her new living room to eat since the kitchen table and the coffee table both had stuff stacked all over them.

“Have you thought any more about exactly what you’re going to do when you get to Chicago?” Emily asked, pulling two paper towels off a roll and handing one to me.

“No.” I picked up a banana pepper that had fallen onto my jeans and popped it into my mouth. “I guess I’ll just find them and see how it goes.”

“Do you know where they work?” she asked.

“I know where she works,” I said. “She’s a bigwig in some big architectural firm.”

“She’s a partner,” Emily corrected me.

I looked at her in surprise.

“How did you know that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You’re not the only one who can dig around.”

I stared at her.

“Did you ever find out what your dad does?” she asked.

I shook my head no.

“I think he’s a speech pathologist,” she said, pulling out her phone. She showed me a picture of what appeared to be the same man I’d seen with Charlotte at the charity function. He was wearing a tie and a jacket, and the caption read,
Jordan Clemmons, M.Ed., CCC-SLP, Assistant Director of Darrow Speech and Language Clinics.
I stared at it for a moment and then handed it back to her.

“He’s not out there anywhere near as much as she is,” Emily admitted. “It was a lot harder to find him.”

I nodded, unsure what to say.

“So I came up with a plan.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” She seemed surprised that I had expected any less of her. “Charlotte does a lot of volunteer work to help Christian families that are trying to adopt.”

“Right,” I said dryly. “Because she’s such a huge fan of adoption.”

“Anyway,” Emily went on, ignoring me, “there’s this homeschooling convention next weekend. She’s working a booth from nine to eleven.”

“Next weekend?”

She nodded. “That’s what I saw somewhere.” I thought about this as she went on to say, “I know you don’t have any money, but I have my dad’s credit card.” She held up the pink leather wallet that also held her driver’s license and phone. “We could put the tickets on that and then—”

“Wait. What?” I interrupted.
“
Tickets?”

“Well, I’m going with you,” she said matter-of-factly, lowering her hand.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve always wanted to go to Chicago,” she replied. She picked up a paper towel and wiped her mouth with it.

I looked at her doubtfully.

“I don’t think you should go alone,” she said gently, reaching out and putting her hand on my knee.

“Think I’m going to need moral support if they reject me again?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I still don’t really even know why you’re going.”

“That makes two of us,” I said.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at eight in the morning, which meant that we had to be at the airport by six. Emily picked me up and we drove to the airport, hardly saying a word to one another for the entire ride.

Once we arrived and went through security, we found ourselves with well over an hour to kill. Emily wanted to know if I wanted any breakfast, but I adamantly shook my head.

“They’ve got those big cinnamon rolls,” she said, pointing down the concourse.

I shook my head again but said, “You go ahead. I’ll watch your bag.

She headed off toward the food vendors and returned a few minutes later with two cinnamon rolls and two coffees.

“Here,” she said. “I got you this just in case you changed your mind.”

By the time they started calling for people to board the plane I still hadn’t changed my mind, so I threw both the coffee and the roll away, apologizing to her more than once.

“It’s okay,” Emily insisted. “Don’t worry about it.”

Once on board, we found our seats and put our carry-on luggage into the overhead bins. Then we sat down and I fastened my seatbelt . . . tight.

Emily looked at me curiously.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded and focused on the seatback in front of me.

“You . . . you have flown before, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What does ‘Not exactly’ mean?”

“It means no, I’ve never flown before.”

Her eyes got wider.

“You’ve never flown before?”

“Why don’t you say that a little louder?” I suggested. “I don’t think the pilot heard you.”

“Well, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she assured me.

“Can we please not talk about this?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m just trying to concentrate on not throwing up right now,” I said.

“You’re
scared
?”

“I . . . I’m not scared exactly . . .” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to go on. I finished by explaining, “I just don’t like heights.”

“I hate to break it to you,” she said, “but this is kind of going to involve heights . . .”

“Thank you for pointing that out.”

She smiled and put her hand on top of mine. Then she leaned toward me and kissed me gently on the lips, squeezing my hand. “You’re going to be fine.”

I wasn’t so sure about that so I went back to concentrating on not throwing up. Emily kept her hand on my hand.

An attendant stood up in the front of the plane and began demonstrating what we should do in the event of cabin depressurization, fire, or a water landing.

I had only been worried about crashing, but apparently there were a whole bunch of other things to worry about. Just as I was seriously considering getting off, the plane started moving.

“We’re just getting in line to taxi down the runway,” Emily said.

The attendants walked up and down the aisle, making sure all of us were buckled in properly. Then they sat down and buckled themselves in—that’s when I really got nervous.

The pilot told us to prepare for takeoff and then he took off. I couldn’t believe how fast he got the plane barreling down the runway, or how quickly I could tell that we were no longer touching the ground.

I kept my eyes closed and Emily squeezed my hand again. After a few moments I heard her say, “You’re going to hear a sound pretty soon when they bring up the landing gear.”

“Okay,” I said, and when it happened I was really glad that she had told me ahead of time.

After another few minutes I got up the nerve to open my eyes. I found that the flight attendants were no longer strapped in but were instead busily preparing to serve drinks to everyone. I watched their faces as they worked. None of them seemed stressed or worried at all; I figured that surely if something was wrong they would know and I’d be able to tell. I began to relax a little.

“See?” Emily asked. “It’s not so bad. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Except death,” I muttered.

“You know,” she said. “Statistically you’re much more likely to die in a car accident on the way to or from the airport than you are on the flight itself.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “but at least that would be quick. At least I wouldn’t have two minutes of freefall time after the engines die while I’m waiting for the plane to hit the ground.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” Emily said with a mischievous grin. “Everyone knows that most crashes happen during takeoffs or landings.”

Things were pretty uneventful for most of the flight. We hit a few pockets of air and took bounces that reminded me we were a mile off the ground and could plummet to our deaths at any time, but other than that everything went fine. I gripped the armrests of my seat extra tight while we were touching down (because
now
I knew that most crashes happen during takeoffs and landings) but we made it without a hitch. The pilot was standing by the exit, smiling at everyone as we departed. I honestly wanted to smile at him and thank him for getting us to Chicago safely, but in the end, he had to settle for me simply not throwing up on him when I went by.

By the time we rented a car, found a place to grab a quick bite, and checked into a hotel, it was quite late. We said good night to each other before going to our own rooms, and then I fell into bed. Even though I was exhausted, sleep was a long time coming.

Emily and I met in the lobby in the morning and sat at a table to enjoy our “free continental breakfast,” which consisted of prepackaged blueberry muffins and granola bars. I couldn’t stomach any of it—not even the coffee, which Emily assured me was fresh. I just sat and watched her eat instead. Once she was finished, I reached into my pocket and pulled out three rings.

“Here.” I handed her my mother’s engagement and wedding rings that I’d found among her things after she’d died. “If we’re going to act like we’re interested in adopting then we need to look like we’re married.”

“What?”

“It’s a
Christian
adoption agency,” I reminded her. “I don’t think she’s going to talk to us too long if she doesn’t think we’re married.”

“I didn’t know we were going to act like we were interested in adopting,” Emily cried. “I thought we were just going to go up to her and introduce ourselves.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“Reid,” she said. “I don’t want to lie.”

“You think I’m just going to walk up to her and say, ‘Good day. I’m the son you put up for adoption thirty years ago. How have you been?’”

“I don’t know, Reid,” she said. “I’m still not even sure why we’re here. I’m not sure
you
even know why we’re here.”

“I just want to see her,” I said. “And . . . and I don’t want her to know who I am.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie,” Emily said, shaking her head and pushing the rings back across the table at me. “You’re going to have to be on your own with that.”

“Fine.” I picked them up and put them back in my pocket. The third ring—one I’d bought cheap at a department store—I put on my finger.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Emily,” I said as she frowned at me unhappily. “It’s just a little white lie.”

“I don’t like it.” She shook her head. “I don’t like lying.”

I thought about what Ethan and her best friend had done and I looked at her sympathetically.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked. She nodded at me rather reluctantly, but she let me hold her hand as we walked out of the restaurant and headed for our rental car.

I pulled the car into a spot in a parking deck near the convention center, put the car in park, and pulled the key out of the ignition. I looked at Emily.

“Ready?” I asked.

“I’m not going to go in,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Emily,” I protested, “it’s cold out here. At least come inside and wait in the lobby.”

She shook her head some more.

I held her gaze for a long while and then nodded.

“Okay,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “At least walk around and do a little bit of sightseeing or something. Here’s a key. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

“Good luck,” she called after me.

“Thanks,” I said, and I closed the door behind me.

According to something Emily had found online, Charlotte was supposed to be working in the adoption booth from nine until eleven. It was almost ten o’clock by the time I entered the convention center and I walked around the exhibit hall twice before I found her booth. I forced myself not to stare but to keep walking past when I spotted her—and then I walked past her three more times.

On three of my laps, she was talking with people, smiling and nodding and acting very interested in whatever it was that they had to say. On one of them, however, there was no one at her table and she kept her head bent down, looking at her phone.

She was looking at her phone at ten fifty too, when I closed my eyes, took a very deep breath, and stepped up to her table.

“Hello,” she said, looking up from her phone and giving me a big smile. I couldn’t immediately find anything to say so I settled for a friendly nod and allowed myself to look at her . . . at her eyes.

Noah.

“Are you interested in adopting?” she asked.

“Actually we are,” I said, finding my voice and fingering my fake wedding ring. “My wife and I are thinking about it.”

“How many children do you already have?”

“None.”

“Why are you at a homeschooling convention?” she wanted to know.

Great question . . .

“Oh,” I said casually. “It’s my break. I’m working a booth over there.” I pointed vaguely to the other side of the convention hall. If she was suspicious of the fact that I wasn’t wearing a vendor badge, she didn’t show it, so I went on. “Our programs target early intervention opportunities for individuals challenged by learning disabilities that are typically identifiable at birth—especially Down syndrome.”

She nodded politely and I hoped she didn’t ask me for any other examples or I was going to have to start telling her about Emily’s book and finger puppets.

“We have some great sensory integration materials,” I said, pointing back toward my fictitious booth. “I was just going to get something to eat, but I could run back and get you a brochure if you’re interested.”

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “My kids are older.”

“Oh,” I nodded, looking around her booth. “So anyway, like I said, I was just on my way to grab a bite, but I saw your booth and I thought I’d see what you were all about. We’ve really just started talking about adoption and we don’t really even know what we’re doing.”

“Are you interested in adopting an infant or an older child?

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “We just found out that my mother-in-law has this terrible disease and there’s like this fifty-fifty chance that my wife has it too and she hasn’t decided if she’s going to get tested yet or anything, but unless she does and we find out that she’s okay, then we’re not going to have kids of our own . . .”

Charlotte was staring at me with wide eyes.

“What disease?” she asked breathlessly.

“Have you ever heard of Huntington’s?”

She sucked in her breath and nodded.