Four Meaningful Words Page 8

  “Gladly,” he replied as he pushed forward and entered me.

  He filled me so completely, I couldn’t help but let out a gasp as I threw my head back and moaned.

  “You’re so fucking perfect. I have no words,” he said as he kissed his way down my cheek to my neck and sucked on the tender flesh. He knew just where to touch, just where to kiss to set my body ablaze.

  I couldn’t respond. I could only feel him inside of me with every thrust. I felt myself getting closer and closer to the brink the more he moved. The sound of his moans and the feeling of his dick inside me almost sent me over the edge. I was so close to the ecstasy only he could provide.

  “I love you, Austin,” I said moments later when he circled his hips and caused me to shatter around him, my release triggering his own.

  Chapter 16

  Elizabeth

  The past month had been chaotic. I’d stuck to my work schedule, but once three in the afternoon hit, I spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening getting our home ready for children.

  Austin gladly gave me free rein to go wild with the rooms, and I spent hours online ordering everything we’d need to transform the spaces.

  We donated the furniture in the guest rooms and cleaned out the closets. Once the rooms were empty, I painted the walls in one room pale yellow and the other light green. I wanted each of the spaces to feel cheerful and inviting.

  We’d ordered four twin beds, two for each room, with four matching dressers. I also ordered wall art that was inspirational and fun. Austin had a great idea to add chalkboards to each of the rooms to give them an artistic outlet.

  The house came together in no time at all. We spent all our free time working on getting everything ready. Each night we fell into bed exhausted, but every ounce of exhaustion would be worth it in the end when we were able to help the children who would be placed with us.

  Aside from getting the house ready, we each had doctors’ appointments for physicals that we were lucky to get due to cancellations, and we’d attended the two-hour orientation class that was required.

  Today was the home visit. We were both nervous about having a stranger come and inspect our home, but we were ready. Baby gates were installed on the off chance a toddler or infant were placed here. We’d even made sure that the outlets were covered and all the cabinets had child locks installed. We didn’t leave anything out. We spared no expense to get this house ready. We didn’t want to give the person inspecting our home any reason to deny us getting our license.

  Last week we submitted all our documents: birth certificates, proof of income, marriage license, fingerprints. We also had the Fire Marshall inspect the fire and sanitation within the home.

  Each weekend we attended the training for child placement to be considered for adoption. Eighteen hours were required total, four for adoption and fourteen hours for foster parent licensing. We had eight hours left for licensing, and then we could start working on the hours for adoption. When we talked about adoption before, I always thought we had to go through an agency so we could get a child. I hadn’t realized that there were thousands of children whose parents had had their rights terminated and were in the system waiting for a forever family. If I’d have known that, we’d have taken this route instead. Thinking of any child feeling like they weren’t wanted hit me straight in the heart.

  The doorbell rang, and I ran my hands down the front of my dress to calm my nerves. Austin met me in the foyer, and we answered the door together.

  “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Black. I’m Anita, and I’ll be handling your home study today,” she said with a smile.

  She was an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, with gray hair and a warm smile.

  “Good morning, Anita. Welcome to our home,” I greeted as I moved to the side so she could come inside.

  “Where would you like to sit so we can begin?” she asked as she held her bag in front of her.

  I thought of the one place I loved in our home. The porch. The weather was nice outside today and perfect for sitting outside and having a lengthy conversation.

  “We can go outside on the porch. It’s a lovely day outside,” I suggested.

  “Sounds perfect,” she beamed as she followed us through the kitchen to the door that led to the porch.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” I offered while we were in the kitchen.

  “Water will be fine,” she replied.

  “I’ll grab that for you. Austin, why don’t you take Anita outside while I get our drinks?”

  He led her outside, and I grabbed three bottles of water from the fridge.

  Taking a deep breath, I walked outside to join them.

  She sat in one of the oversized chairs, and Austin and I sat on the couch where we’d spent the last few nights enjoying a glass of wine to celebrate all our hard work.

  “Shall we begin?” she asked as she took out a notebook and a file with our names on it.

  “Sure,” Austin and I said in unison.

  We were both ready to get this over with and be one step closer.

  He reached for my hand and interlocked our fingers together as we waited for her first question.

  “How long have the two of you been married?”

  “Ten years,” Austin replied.

  “And you have no children based on your application?”

  “No, we weren’t able to carry a child to term,” I respond with a shaky voice.

  Damn, this was hard, and we were only on the second question.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said as she opened the file and flipped through some of our documents.

  “You’re a lawyer, and you’re a writer,” she stated as she pointed at Austin then myself.

  “I’m the District Attorney, and she’s an author,” Austin corrected.

  “Impressive. Your financial documents are in order, so that’s a plus. What’s your greatest fear?”

  I decided I’d go first.

  “Losing my husband. I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it.”

  “And you, Mr. Black?”

  “Losing my loved ones, especially my wife,” he replied, squeezing my hand.

  “What’s your happiest childhood memory?”

  “Going to the beach every summer with my parents and siblings,” Austin said.

  “How many siblings do you have, Mr. Black?”

  “A brother and a sister.”

  “Does your family support your decision to foster children?”

  “They do. They know our struggles to conceive. They also know that we want to provide a loving home for children in need.”

  Two weeks ago, after the rooms were emptied, we decided to call our parents and let them in on the news. I didn’t speak to mine as often as I’d like, but they traveled a lot and with time differences, it was hard to reach them.

  All four of them were elated at the news. They loved the idea and couldn’t wait to meet any of the children whom we’d welcome into our home. I’d kept the tidbit to myself about the little boy who was always at the forefront of my thoughts. I didn’t want my mother to fall in love with him based on his story alone, with the slim chance that he’d be placed with us. Austin and I agreed to let the cards fall where they may. We’d request the child, but understood we had no control over whether we’d be chosen.

  “And you, Mrs. Black? Favorite childhood memory?”

  “Traveling with my parents. I’m an only child, and my parents always took me to a new place each summer. They chose the locations based on historical significance and made sure each vacation had an educational value.”

  “That’s unique,” she said with a smile.

  It was. I loved history because of the travels experienced each summer with my parents. And even though I was an only child, they didn’t spoil me much and taught me the value of hard work starting at a young age.

  “It was a great way to learn about things in history class and say I’d seen certain places in
person.”

  She asked questions for a few more hours. About our family life, our belief in discipline and our approach, about our marriage, and about why we’d chosen foster parenting.

  Four hours later, she’d concluded that part of the home study and said she’d like to do the walkthrough.

  Room by room, she checked everything. From how cabinet doors locked, to the light sockets, to the bedding and decorations on the walls.

  We were upstairs and at the end of the hall, when she asked about the final room of the tour.

  A room I hadn’t spent much time in for two years. Aside from when I left Austin the note in the crib, I hadn’t gone in there.

  I took a deep breath, careful to not show my apprehension, and opened the door to show her inside.

  Behind the door still sat the perfect nursery in my eyes. Everything was clean and well-kept thanks to Loretta.

  She gasped as she took it all in. The hand-painted mural on the wall of the countryside. The beautiful white round crib that sat in the center. The rocking chair that was beside the window so I could take in the view of the backyard.

  “You both went all out for any possibility,” she said as she walked around the room. She made sure the curtains were properly secure and the crib was free of toys and blankets.

  I couldn’t tell her it was like a shrine to what would never be.

  I let her continue to believe that we’d decorated this on a whim to be better prepared.

  It was better than delving into the truth and letting her think I was crazy or not ready to let go.

  “I think I’ve seen everything. Thank you for taking this time with me today. I’ll get the report finished and start the interview with your references next week,” she said as we showed her out of the room and to the door.

  “Thank you for coming by on the weekend,” I said as she walked out the door.

  “It was my pleasure,” she replied before we waved goodbye and shut the door.

  “That was intense,” Austin admitted as he let out a breath he was obviously holding.

  “Yeah it was. I need a glass of wine,” I replied as I walked into the kitchen to pour a glass.

  Austin said he’d like a glass as well, and once they were poured I leaned against the counter and took a big gulp.

  “You were amazing today,” he said as he took a sip from his own glass.

  “No, we were amazing. I’m going to be biting my nails until we hear back from them,” I admitted.

  “We’ve got this, baby,” he assured me.

  I felt great about the home study. I felt like we went above and beyond to show we were ready for this new adventure in our lives.

  “You’re right. We do have this. How about we get on some pajamas and have a lazy Saturday watching mindless reality television. I need a distraction,” I suggested.

  “As long as there’s popcorn involved, I’m down,” he replied.

  Good, because I needed to be in his arms where all felt right in the world.

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth

  I woke the next morning before Austin. Looking over at the clock on the nightstand, the digits showed it was five in the morning.

  Damn my body for being used to this schedule. Unlike my husband, once my body was used to something, it didn’t sway too far from sticking to routine. He could sleep until noon if he didn’t set an alarm.

  I got out of bed so I didn’t wake him, and went downstairs to make a much-needed cup of java.

  After I started the coffee maker, I went to the front door to see what the weather was like this morning. I wanted to sit outside and enjoy the coffee while I did a crossword puzzle. I’d loved them as a child and did them quite often. I’d read somewhere that by completing them, you kept your mind sharp.

  I opened the door and was met with a chill, but nothing covering up with a blanket couldn’t fix.

  When I shut the door, Austin’s briefcase fell over and the clasp unlocked, causing the contents inside to spill out onto the hardwood floor.

  Kneeling, I made sure to keep everything as organized as I could. Only the file that spilled out showed a picture of a toddler no older than three. A little boy with mousy brown hair and sunken cheeks. I shouldn’t look. These documents were confidential. But when I picked up the page to look closer at the picture, the following document caught my attention more. It was a picture of some of the child’s injuries.

  There were bruises on his arms. Some purple. Some black. And others were yellow, signs that he’d experienced trauma that had begun to heal.

  This poor child. In what I assumed were his three short years of life, he’d gone through the unimaginable. I wanted to hug him and hold him tight, never letting him go. The instant I saw his sad little face, I felt the motherly instinct inside me come to the surface and immediately felt the sense of urgency to protect him. Seeing his picture solidified my need for us to have him. He belonged here with us. He was meant to be ours. I couldn’t describe it. I just knew the instant I saw him that there’d be an amazing connection between us if we got the chance to foster him.

  Forgoing the coffee that was now brewed, I took the photo and placed everything else inside Austin’s briefcase where it belonged and climbed the stairs to our bedroom.

  “Austin, wake up,” I whispered as I shook him after I tiptoed inside the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Huh,” he said groggily as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “I need you to wake up,” I repeated to make sure he heard me.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked as he stretched his arms above his head.

  I’d let him go back to sleep afterward, but this conversation couldn’t wait.

  “We have to get him, Austin,” I started.

  “Get who, Liz?”

  “The boy. We have to,” I said again. I knew I didn’t make much sense, but all the words were jumbled in my mind as I thought about how we could make that happen.

  “I told you we’d try, baby, but there’s no guarantee,” he replied as he took the first look at me.

  “We have to do more than try. Now don’t be mad at me because I didn’t snoop or anything. But I knocked your briefcase over when I opened the front door, and his picture fell out. Austin, look at him. He needs us,” I pleaded as I turned the picture around. It was dark inside our room. No lights were on, but I knew my husband, and the image of the little boy I didn’t even know the name of was ingrained in his memory.

  “I’ve felt the same way since I got this case. I can make some calls, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do. I can’t just go around and use my power as the District Attorney to get what I want, even though others before me have done the same.

  I want to be different.”

  “I know, baby, but this is for a good reason. This is for the chance for the child to get the best parents he could have.”

  “You’re biased there, Liz,” he joked as he yawned.

  “Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow,” he replied as he laid down on the bed, pulling the covers over top of him.

  “Thank you, Austin. This’ll mean the world to me,” I said as I leaned over and gave him a kiss.

  “Anything for you, Liz,” he said before he fell back asleep.

  I was too giddy to lay down beside him and get some more sleep.

  I felt it in my bones we were getting this child. Not just any child. This one.

  I didn’t care if he had emotional or physical trauma. I didn’t care about his background or prior home life. Well, that was a lie. I did care, but none of it mattered to me. He deserved to be shown love, not hate. He deserved to get hugs and kisses, not beaten or starved.

  I knew I was setting myself up for another potential heartache. The possibility was slim that we’d be chosen for his placement as new foster parents. But I wasn’t giving up hope. If he didn’t get placed with us, my hope was th
at he was at least removed from the group home he was in and placed in a family setting.

  I’d seen the statistics for foster children within this state, and it was disheartening. How could people not love their children enough to make sure they had the best life possible? Not everyone was as fortunate as Austin and I, but having a child should make you strive to be better so your child has better. Having a child should mean he or she is top priority over anything else in life.

  I didn’t know these children’s stories. I didn’t have to. Bad things had to have happened for them to be taken away from their parents, and hopefully they would be reunited if the parent could raise them. Rehoming the child with a parent was the goal, but for those children who didn’t have that option, I prayed they at least were able to have a home where they received better than they were already given.

  I made my cup of coffee and went outside on the porch with my phone and the picture in one hand and the cup of coffee in the other.

  I sat on the couch and covered with the blanket then took a sip of coffee.

  I couldn’t stop staring at his picture.

  My heart filled with love for this little boy.

  How could it not?

  It was now six in the morning, and I decided on a whim to call my mother. She’d likely already be up because I was an early riser just like her.

  She answered on the second ring.

  “Good morning, my dear Elizabeth,” she said, sounding as chipper as ever.

  “Good morning, Mom.”

  “What’s got you calling me so early?”

  Just like my mother to get right to it instead of having idle chit chat first.

  “There this little boy,” I started.

  “Yeah. I thought it would take months before you had the proper license.”

  “It will, but Austin tried this case, and a little boy was abused and neglected. He’s now in a group home, and he’s only three-years-old, or so I’m guessing based on his picture.”

  “How did you see a picture of him?”

  “It fell out of Austin’s briefcase.”