Chill Out, Josey! by Susan May Warren

Author:Susan May Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2007-11-22T16:00:00+00:00

“She probably didn’t have enough money to take care of the baby.” Daphne is sitting beside me as Igor drives us home. The snow is heavier on the windshield and for once, I’m grateful not to have to take public transportation.

“So she leaves him in an orphanage?”

“Mothers have up to two years to claim their child. After that, the state can sever rights, if they so choose.”

“So Sveta could lose her baby if she can’t provide for him?” I’m suddenly wondering if her size six is from not eating. Well, I know it’s from not eating, but I mean starving. I feel ill for consuming all that caviar in front of her.

Daphne nods.

I sit back, my hand on Junior. I couldn’t imagine leaving him behind in an orphanage, seeing him only when I can take two hours out of my day, knowing that I might lose him forever.

“What if someone wants to adopt him?”

“He won’t be adopted out unless her rights are severed.”

“Which means he could sit in limbo for two years, growing up in the orphanage while Sveta tries to make a life.”

“Or struggles with letting him go. By that time, he’s two or three or even five, and his chances of adoption decrease each year.”

But to lose your child because you can’t feed him? I remember stories of the Great Depression, of parents selling their children into servitude. In fact, I know it happens today in Cambodia, or India or even Burma. But to see it up close, well, I suddenly have a mission.

Sveta will get her child back. I have enough Lara Croft in me to guarantee that.

Daphne and I swing by the grocery story and since Igor is driving, I pick up potatoes, carrots and a hunk of what looks like pork.

Tonight, Chase and I will have a nice dinner. And I will tell him what I discovered at the orphanage. And we will make up. And then Chase and I will solve this problem.

Oh, and I’ll tell him the truth. Because even though tomorrow is Christmas Eve, it’s time he finds out about Junior. Really.

Igor drops off Daphne, and then helps me upstairs with the food. As he’s leaving my flat, which is clean, with a pile of fresh blini in the fridge—what, did Sveta run back here?—I hand him the package of gloves.

I’m expecting him to nod or something and simply walk out the door. I mean, it’s not like we’re deep friends or anything. But he stares at the package. Then looks up at me, and in crisp, clear English says, “Zank You.”

Huh. “You’re welcome,” I say.

Can it be that Thug understands English? He smiles and opens the door to leave.

Methinks I need to watch what I say in the car.

I wash the pork, peel the potatoes, the carrots and stick them in the pan, light the oven and set it cooking.

You have to admit, I’ve got this cooking thing down.

I pull out the table, set it, adding candles. Then I wrap the cute little shoes I found at the apteka which I’ve been saving just for this event.

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