Three Little Words (20 page)

We shared a large cinnamon pretzel and had lemonade, but the sugar caught in my throat and the drink was too sour.

For the next visit the Courters were permitted to take me to their home without a staff member supervising, but I could not stay overnight. I half expected they would change their minds, yet Phil was right on time to pick me up. We went out on their boat and swam in their pool. I especially liked the way Phil made grilled cheese sandwiches.

I checked out the pictures of the family on the walls. Several featured Phil piloting a small plane. Maybe I would go flying with him someday.

When Gay drove me home that evening, she prattled on about some girls my age in the neighborhood. “You’ll like them; they’re really nice.”

Yeah, nice
, I thought.
This person does not have a clue about me.
“When I was in foster care, some of the people weren’t very nice,” I began tentatively.

She nodded. “Did you know that I’m a Guardian ad Litem like Mary Miller? I’ve visited some pretty ghastly foster homes.”

“Not as bad as this one.”

“Tell me about it.”

Instead of freaking when I described the most gruesome of the Mosses’ punishments, she spoke calmly. “That sounds like it would have made you angry.”

“It did!” I began telling her about the hot sauce, and by the time we reached the cottage, I had revealed more to her in two hours than I had to Mary Fernandez in two years.

After several daytime visits I was allowed to stay with the Courters overnight. Ms. Sandnes, who was now doing her master’s internship at the home’s therapy department, dropped me off. When we pulled into the circular driveway, I asked, “Couldn’t I just stay a little while and then go back with you?”

“Ashley, you’ll be fine,” Ms. Sandnes insisted. “Here.” She reached behind her and pulled her college sweatshirt from the backseat. “You can borrow this.”

I put it on inside out and wore it the whole time I was there. Twenty-four hours later I was eager to return to the campus, although after fifteen minutes of the usual cottage commotion, I wanted to be back with the Courters.

For Gay’s birthday I wore a black velvet dress with white stripes down the sides that Ms. Sandnes had picked out. Gay also had chosen a black-and-white outfit, so we matched. At the restaurant at the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center, the mingling smells of buffet food made me queasy. I only took a few bites of a dinner roll.

“Would you like butter on that?” Gay asked. I wrinkled my nose.

“How about dessert?” Phil pointed out an array of cakes and pies.

“I don’t like many sweets.”

We climbed the steps to the performing arts center. I glanced from my left to my right. Were this balding man and this intimidating woman really going to be my parents?

Ever since Ms. Sandnes left, I found everything about The Children’s Home irritating. I saw no reason to do well in my new middle school. My first sixth-grade report card was the worst I had ever received.

“When can I move already?” I asked Beth Lord.

“Everyone has to follow the visitation schedule.” Her eyes crinkled as she gave a secretive smile. “But I have good news. The judge signed the order giving you permission to go to New England with the Courters next week.”

Though I wanted to meet my new brothers, I was worried about being alone with the Courters for so long—and getting enough regular food to eat.

When we arrived at the airport, I was surprised to be at a gate for a large airplane. “I thought you guys had your own plane.”

“We don’t have one anymore.” Phil sighed.

“It’s a long story,” Gay said slowly.

“Did you crash it or something?”

“Actually, we did,” Phil said. “And you should be glad.”

It seemed to me that I never knew what the Courters were going to say next, and that made me feel uncomfortable—like I would never belong.

Gay fumbled in her purse and came up with a stack of pictures. She shuffled through recent ones of her sons and lots of me. On the bottom were several photos showing a plane with a broken wing and a smashed propeller in a field.

“The three of us were on our way to Blake’s graduation from Princeton,” Gay began. “Josh had just completed his first year at Hampshire College and was going to begin his internship with a commercial film-editing house in New York the following week, so we packed the plane with all his stuff and flew north from here. It was a gorgeous day—not a cloud in the sky—and we were so happy and proud.”

Her voice faltered and Phil took over. “We had just crossed the Chesapeake Bay and I did not want to have to deal with Philadelphia’s busy air traffic controllers, so I descended to stay out of their jurisdiction and headed for Trenton.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. “There was a loud bang.” Gay was staring out at a jet that was coming in for a landing with a constricted expression on her face.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Total engine failure.” Phil paused. “We used our instruments to find the nearest airport.”

“And I picked up the microphone and told the Trenton tower about the emergency,” Gay added.

“There should have been a small airport five miles away,” Phil said. “Josh noticed a break between some trees that might have been a grass strip, but we couldn’t line up for it without any engine.”

“Then Josh spied an L-shaped field, which was the only open space in miles of forest, and told Phil, ‘Dad, I think that’s the best we’re going to do,’” Gay continued.

“Yeah,” Phil muttered.

“I looked out my side window and saw the field rushing up. We had landed on grass strips before, but this one was dotted with mounds that looked like waves undulating toward us.” Gay made a dipping motion with her hand. “There was a stand of pine trees at the far end of the field. I prayed that we would not smash full force into the woods. To our right was a small red barn. Phil steered away from it, but it was connected to a fence directly in our path.”

Gay’s eyes locked with Phil’s. “I kept talking to the tower. ‘We’re touching down … it’s bumpy … we’re going through a fence …’”

“A fence post made from a railroad tie had hit the center of the right wing violently enough to spin the plane sideways,” Phil explained. “Brown dust engulfed the plane as we slid down the field that angled out to the right. Both the swift turn and the thick soil slowed the plane, and we came to a jerky stop.”

“Were you hurt?” I asked, looking at them differently. They no longer seemed like cardboard parents, but flesh-and-blood people who had almost died before I had even met them.

“No, we were fine.” Gay’s voice quaked as she relived her shock. “Phil and I rushed out the front door. The rear door had already flown open when the plane made the sharp turn. Josh was almost thrown out, but the seat belt held him inside. We dashed as far away from the plane as possible. ‘Back farther!’ Phil ordered when he saw fuel dripping from the broken right wing.”

“Did it explode?”

Gay pointed to the picture. “No, this is how it ended up. The sandy earth absorbed the volatile fluid.”

“We checked each other and we were all okay, except Josh had an abrasion from the seat belt,” Phil added.

Gay glanced from me to Phil and back to me. “Then something magical happened.” She gave me the most relaxed smile I had seen on her face so far. “Phil hugged me and said, ‘I think we survived because we’re meant to do something else.’”

Phil nudged me with his elbow. “And that, my dear, would be you.”

On the plane Gay asked if I wanted a snack. She had cheese slices and peanut butter crackers in her purse. “I also packed ramen noodles, mac-and-cheese, and a travel hot pot.”

I nodded and stared straight ahead as if the phone in the back of the seat in front of me were the most fascinating object I had ever seen. “Do I have to call you ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’?”

“Of course not,” Phil replied.

“Ever?” I directed my words to Gay.

“It’s entirely your decision,” she said.

From her bottomless carry-on, Gay pulled out magnetic checkers, a mini Yahtzee set, and Go Fish and Old Maid cards, which we played until we landed in Hartford.

As soon as we were on the highway, I gasped at the foliage. It was every color I could remember from a Crayola box and more—orange-red, green-yellow, mahogany, gold.

We passed a pick-it-yourself orchard. “Apples! May I pick one?”

Phil stopped, and I ran up to the first tree, plucked an apple, and took a huge bite. Sticky juice ran down my chin, but I did not care. It was the most scrumptious apple I had ever tasted.

After filling a bag with me, Gay checked her watch. “Josh is probably waiting for us.”

We were attending parents’ weekend at Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts. This campus had little in common with Andrews University, where the Merritts’ daughters had gone. Both had dramatic vistas over rolling lawns and tall trees, but the students here were almost a different species. Hampshire hairstyles ranged from dreadlocks to electric blue Mohawks to shaved heads. Men and women flaunted wicked tattoos and piercings in crazy places, and most wore comfortable rather than trendy clothing.

“You must be Josh’s folks,” a girl in a long, homespun skirt said as we entered a courtyard. “He’ll be back in a few.”

The back door to his dorm—called a “mod”—banged open. “Hey, buddy!” Phil exclaimed. He and Josh hugged and patted each other’s backs.

Josh walked over to me. His wavy hair was longer than mine and pulled back in a ponytail. “So, this is my little sister!” he said with a wide grin.

The next day Blake drove in from Boston to join us. He shook my hand like a business client, yet he sounded like a cowboy when he said, “Howdy.” The gap between his front teeth made him look friendly.

We crowded into Josh’s car, which had more room than our rental, and headed to New Hampshire to have lunch with Phil’s mother and his brother’s family.

The Courters were so busy catching up and joking with one another that they did not pay much attention to me. I noticed that Blake looked like Phil but seemed to have more of Gay’s abrupt personality, whereas Josh resembled Gay yet had Phil’s mellow mood. I could not figure out where I would fit into this tight-knit group.

Phil’s brother, Dan, was a pastor. He and his wife, Linda, reminded me of the Merritts. As I held their newborn granddaughter, I thought,
They would never consider getting rid of her, but I could be sent back at any time.

“How about a family reunion shot?” Grandma Courter suggested. I did not think that I would be included, but Gay made sure I was in the front row.

Dan said, “Will you look at this great bunch of Courters—and Ashley fits right in.” Linda agreed that I looked like their youngest daughter, who also had red hair.

Instead of finding her observation comforting, I was offended. My hair color had nothing to do with whether these people accepted me or not. I felt as if Phil and Gay were showing off their “good deed” and nobody realized I was overwhelmed and frightened.

The next morning we said good-bye to Josh and headed to Boston with Blake. “Ash, why don’t you ride with me?” he suggested when his parents pulled up in the rental car. The inside of his van looked like a living room. There were no seats in the back, just an Oriental carpet and a stereo the size of a home entertainment center.

“Want to hear my new CD?” I asked. “Play track three.”

As the music to “Barbie Girl” started, Blake winced at the high-pitched voices mimicking Ken and Barbie. “Play it again,” he said. Soon he was singing the male parts while I did the female. We kept it up for the rest of the trip.

We were going to stay with Gay’s cousins, Bob and Shirley Zimmerman, who lived on the top two floors of a Back Bay town house. They greeted us with outstretched arms. I disliked being hugged and had been relieved that the Courters in New Hampshire hadn’t been touchy-feely, but when Shirley reached out, I didn’t want to seem impolite.

“Hey, Blake,” Bob said, “Your hairline is getting to look like your old man’s. If you keep it up, it will look like mine.” Without warning, Bob whipped off his toupee. I lurched so hard, I almost fell back into their china cabinet.

“Ashley,” Blake said, “welcome to our crazy family.”

I despised most of the meals Gay cooked.

“I know you’re a fussy eater,” she said, “but I’m not a mind reader.” She asked me to write out a list of the foods Hiked.

On my next visit Phil started to grill hamburgers. “I only eat junior bacon cheeseburgers.” I announced. “Can we go and buy one?”

“We’re also having mashed potatoes, fruit salad, coleslaw, and carrot and celery sticks. I am sure you’ll find something to eat,” Gay replied.

“I don’t think so.” I gave Phil my cutest pout.

“If you’re still hungry when I drive you back to Tampa, we’ll stop for something,” he said.

I picked at some of the mashed potatoes—which were more delicious than I let on—but as soon as we were in the car, I begged Phil to stop at Wendy’s.

“Can’t send you back hungry,” he said.

“Are you going to tell Gay?” I asked.

“Gay and I stick together on everything.”

“But
she
didn’t want me to have extra food.”

“Ashley, both of us want to make you happy. Give Gay a chance, okay?”

I knew Gay was trying to please me, but for some reason, I resisted every attempt she made. She made chicken nuggets in the oven so they’d have a KFC flavor but not as much fat. They were quite good, although I was annoyed by the way she preached to me about eating healthy foods. One of the few veggies I would eat was cauliflower, and Gay smiled whenever I gobbled it down with either buttered bread crumbs or a cheddar cheese sauce. The Courters preferred fancy salads, but Gay would make me a separate one with chunks of plain iceberg. I could not tolerate anything with a sauce or any foods combined, so Gay would separate the meat and vegetables for me.

Gay wanted me to taste the food she’d make before asking for an alternative dinner. Sometimes she would prod me to try a few more bites. Mostly, she would shrug, and then I could leave the table and make ramen noodles, canned soup, SpaghettiOs, macaroni-and-cheese, or grilled cheese.