Three Little Words (30 page)

“I want to make certain that no other child has to endure one more day with those sadistic people. I now have a lawyer who is helping put together a class-action lawsuit on behalf of all the children who suffered in that home. Maybe you can figure out that I saw the movie
Erin Brockovich
recently! My mother says it is okay for me to have a lawsuit, but I can’t wear the sort of suits Julia Roberts did!”

The unanimous laughter broke the tension. My confidence soared. These people were actually listening to a teenage girl, and they believed me! Hopefully, it also would help them pay attention to the kids they served.

“I never realized what it would take to be found, but I’m certainly glad Mary Miller did,” I said in my conclusion. “Volunteers like you make a huge difference, and I want to thank you on behalf of the thousands of children that court-appointed advocates serve every year.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Even though she isn’t here, I’d like to thank Mary Miller. And thank all of you. Please don’t stop until each of your children has a permanent family forever!” The audience rose as one long wave and clapped.

Afterward I received dozens of requests to speak all over the country. When I delivered a similar speech to the Florida Guardian ad Litem Program, Mary Miller
was
present. At the end I handed her a bouquet. Both of us cried as we hugged each other, each realizing how much we had overcome together.

Back when I was still living at The Children’s Home, Mary Miller had asked me, “If you could do anything you wanted, what would that be?”

I did not mind this question as much as her probing about my feelings. I blurted out, “I want to travel all over the world.” I remember looking around the confines of the campus, thinking I would be lucky to ever get out of Tampa again. During my first few years with the Courters we had been all over the country and on a cruise. After Josh graduated from Hampshire College, he and his girlfriend, Safron, joined us in Cambridge, England, where the Courters had arranged to exchange homes with a British family the summer before I started high school.

Safron bought me the British edition of the latest Harry Potter book the day it was released. On a whim I asked Gay, “Do you know J. K. Rowling?”

“I don’t know everyone!” she said with a laugh.

“I bet you could arrange for us to meet her while we’re here,” I persisted.

“I don’t think so, sweetie.”

From England, we went to France. On our last evening in Paris, we took a
bateau-mouche
to watch the millennium lights on the Eiffel Tower. I went over to the bench where Phil and Gay sat holding hands and I snuggled between them. “Do you realize that three summers ago the most exciting moment of my life was welcoming guests to The Children’s Home?” I grabbed Gay’s left hand and Phil’s right and held them in my lap. “My parents!” I sighed theatrically. “In Paris!”

One day soon after the trip, Gay came across a contest announcement in
USA Today.
“You’ve got to see this.” She waved the paper at me. “Look! It’s an essay contest about how the Harry Potter books changed your life. Check out the prize.”

Even though I was intrigued, I pretended not to be. “What is it?” I said without looking in her direction.

“Breakfast in New York with J. K. Rowling!”

“Remember I once told you how similar Hogwarts is to The Children’s Home?” I began. “They have cottages and a house cup, like the one we had for the Murphey Awards. And he’s also an orphan who was abused by relatives.” My excitement mounted. “I’ll write about that.”

The next day I read Gay my first draft. “Hey, kiddo,” Gay said enthusiastically, “you can write!”

“You think so?”

I knew that was the sort of encouragement any parent would give, so when the day to announce the Harry Potter contest prizes passed, I did not mention it to anyone. I had never thought I would win anyway. The next day the publisher called to tell me I was one of the ten winners!

A limo met us at the airport. It was so long, it could barely maneuver in the congested streets of Manhattan. As Gay chattered about the events we would attend, I shut her out and concentrated on absorbing every minute. I expected Ms. Rowling would just shake my hand, but she was down-to-earth and whispered some encouraging words about my life and future, and then she hugged me. “It’s been a privilege to meet you.” I smiled so hard, my cheeks ached for hours. Once again, I experienced that surreal feeling of having a dream come true.

After reading my winning essay, the public relations people for Casey Family Services asked me to be a presenter at their postadoption services conference and also to address a Senate reception.

Hundreds of guests stood around the packed rotunda in the Russell Building on Capitol Hill. While the presenters made the introductory remarks, the room reverberated with chattering and clinking glasses. I figured that nobody would pay attention to me; yet, the minute I began, there was a hush. Since many of the guests had legislative power to make reforms, I suggested that they find a foster child who needed a permanent home and help make it happen in less than six months. Then I concluded with a quote from MoliÈre: “It is not only what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable.”

The silence made me think I had said something offensive until the echoing applause encouraged me to believe that some of the dignitaries might remember my story and work to protect children from a failing foster care system.

The Harry Potter contest and the Senate reception had made big ripples in my ninth-grade fall. The rest of the time I was busy balancing the workload from several honors classes, drama rehearsals, and varsity basketball practice. I had been thrilled to make the team as a freshman, but the coach demanded rigorous sessions; and after weeks of running several miles a day, doing sprints, and jumping exercises, I had to add physical therapy for my knees to my schedule. Most of all, I liked hanging out with Tess and some new friends from the team. There wasn’t much to do in our small town, but we were content going to the mall, getting our nails done, going to football games, and gossiping about guys.

One day in early December, I came home from basketball practice and Gay said, “Check the answering machine.”

On it was a message from a member of Hillary Rodham Clinton’s staff inviting me to attend a Christmas party at the White House! The day after my essay appeared in
USA Today
, the First Lady, who has a special interest in foster care and adoption, mentioned my essay on Rosie O’Donnell’s talk show. I had sent her a note, never expecting an acknowledgment—and certainly not an invitation.

Gay and Phil were busy on the day of the party; however, Gay’s sister, Robin Madden, a pediatrician in Maryland, was delighted to be my guest. Grampy bought me the airline ticket for my Hanukkah gift. I was going back to the White House, and this time the president of the United States greeted me—and I have the pictures to prove it!

When I celebrated my fourth Christmas with the Courters, I enjoyed hanging the familiar decorations. My friends and I had many activities planned, and I could not wait for Josh and Blake to come home for the holidays. For the first time, I felt that I fit right in.

The Courters had warned me that lawsuits could drag on for years. They had also told me not to expect victory or financial compensation. I was more concerned about what was happening in the Mosses’ criminal case. When we heard nothing, I asked Gay to contact the assistant state attorney.

“Mr. Sinacore said that he can’t use your testimony—or Luke’s—because the statute of limitations had passed,” she reported.

I was furious. “I spoke out about these people so many times, but they said I was lying! Shouldn’t they be counting from way back when I started to tell?”

Gay sighed. “He did say you and Luke had given the best interviews.”

“They’ll try to discredit the other kids,” I said between gritted teeth. “They’ll claim they had behavior problems or collided to make it up.”

“Colluded.” Gay grinned. “It means to plot or conspire.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I was not in the mood for a vocabulary lesson.

Almost a year after the Mosses were first arrested, a new reporter from the
St. Petersburg Times
informed me that Mrs. Moss pled guilty to one count of child neglect and gave up parental rights to her adopted children. Her sentence? Probation for only five years! Mr. Moss also relinquished rights to his adopted children but received no further punishment.

I was dumbfounded. “Is that all?”

“The assistant state attorney believed that the children had been mistreated, but he thought that it was going to be tough to prove,” the reporter explained. “Would you like to comment?” he asked.

“The Mosses need a nice, long time-out in jail to think about what they did,” I responded.

I was even more irate when I read the article, which quoted the Mosses’ attorney as saying he thought it was a very fair agreement and that the charges were “pretty outlandish.” He also added that several witnesses had “credibility problems.”

“Credibility problems!” I snorted. “I told you they would say that! That’s why I wanted to testify!” I growled in frustration.

Phil continued reading aloud, “The article goes on to say that the Mosses’ attorney said, ‘Marjorie Moss always got the worst of the worst … We felt that Mrs. Moss probably did the best she could.’” Phil hugged me. “Oh yeah, that really describes my daughter—top student, athlete, White House guest.”

Mrs. Merritt stuck up for us by saying, “That’s all? That’s all she gets? Five years’ probation? That is an insult to those kids.”