The older man nodded. His right hand fluttered for a moment and automatically made its way to his front pocket, where he typically kept his pack of cigarettes, but then he remembered. He had quit smoking three months ago, a promise to Delores on their wedding anniversary.
Delores. It seemed wrong that she was not beside him now. She’d had a terrible migraine the previous day, but still, he’d been shocked when she’d begged off this morning. Becoming foster parents in their mid-forties hadn’t particularly been her idea, but he was here today in large part in an attempt to wipe out the sadness that had taken root in her eyes for the last five years—ever since, . . .
Ever since The Calamity. He’d be embarrassed to say those words out loud, but that was how David thought about it, what had happened to them that night five summers ago. He knew that bringing another child into their home could never change what had occurred, that in the pristine, close-knit community where they lived, they would always be the Colemans, the cursed couple who had suffered the unthinkable. But still. Even if all he could do was turn the sorrow that had taken root in Delores’s eyes into a smudge, something faint, rather than a live, burning thing, it would be worth it.
And could there be a more deserving case than the boy he was scheduled to meet, the boy who was running late? Neglected, abandoned, the son of a junkie, a woman whose case was being heard by his colleague, Superior Court Judge Robert Campbell. Quite a coincidence, really, that this was the boy they were offering him. Not that he’d needed to hear about the boy’s situation from Bob. It had been in the newspapers, how the poor kid had fended for himself for seven miserable days until he finally broke out. That was a month and a half ago, around the time David and Delores had completed their training to become foster parents. In fact, one of their workshops had been on how to take care of a black child. David had felt mildly uncomfortable as the speaker gave them pointers on how to groom black hair and how to understand black English. And really, what would’ve been the odds of them landing a black foster kid, given the racial makeup of their county? But they’d sat through it, and now David was thankful, although he hoped Delores remembered the section on black hair better than he did.
The social worker was talking, and David forced himself to listen. The young man—his name was Ernest, and David thought he’d never met a man so perfectly suited to his name—was asking whether David had any last-minute questions about Anton.
“I don’t think so,” David replied. “I think we’re okay.”
“Yes, well. It’s just that . . . I don’t want you to think . . .” Ernest looked at David for a minute and continued, “He’s a really good kid. You’ll see. I mean, it’s too bad it didn’t work out with his current foster parents. It’s not his fault, really. We never should’ve placed him with a family with five kids. After what he’s been through, he needs extra attention. And the Brents just couldn’t . . .”
David smiled. “Are you this strong an advocate for all your clients?”
Ernest looked pained. “Well. Yes. I mean, I try.” His face brightened. “But Anton is special. You’ll see.” There was a short silence and then Ernest said, “They should’ve been here by now. Mr. Brent was to have dropped him off half an hour ago. I’ll go see what’s taking so long.”
“Okay.” David smiled again. “But they’re not really that late, you know. I don’t mind waiting.”
He watched as Ernest walked to the door, reached for the knob, and then looked back. “Judge Coleman?” the younger man said. “I . . . I just want to say . . . I’m a huge fan. I think you’ve done a fine job on the bench. And I’m awfully glad you’re taking in Anton.” Inexplicably, Ernest blushed. “That is, I think you’ll hit it off. I mean, it’s a good match. So many of these kids . . .”
“Thank you.” But inwardly, David felt weary. Just once, especially on an occasion as fraught as this one, he would like to be anonymous, just Joe Schmo the electrician, say, looking to foster a kid. Anyone but Judge David Coleman, whose father had been a U.S. senator for almost twenty-five years, whose grandfather had been a much decorated admiral in the U.S. Navy. Anyone but the man whose son’s death had made the papers all over this small northeastern state. He shook his head, a gesture so slight as to escape the younger man. David had spent his entire life in the public eye. It was wishful thinking to believe that things would be different now. “Thank you,” he said again. “Appreciate it,” and he nodded in a gesture that was at once humble and dismissive.
Ernest straightened. “Be right back,” he mumbled.
Alone in the blue room, David felt a tightening in his chest that he recognized as nervousness. He should’ve insisted that Delores come with him. In an attempt to tamp his restlessness, he rose to his feet and paced the room. Was something wrong? Could the boy’s current foster family have changed their minds and decided to keep him? From what he had read in the boy’s file, that didn’t seem likely. Or could some relative have come out of the woodwork to claim him? As far as he knew, before Children’s Services had placed Anton with the Brent family, they had contacted his only available kin, a grandmother in Georgia. But the woman, legally blind and of little means, had been unable to take him in. What would that feel like, David wondered, being rejected by your only blood relative after spending seven harrowing days in a dangerously hot apartment while your mother was cavorting with her junkie friends? He stopped his pacing as another thought struck him: What if this abuse was only the tip of the iceberg? What else had this poor child endured? Would the damage be too severe, too lasting, for him and Delores to handle?
And then there was the race thing. The boy had grown up in the Roosevelt projects, and shuddering, David remembered touring them with Pappy, then still a senator. What would Anton think when he saw his new home in Arborville? His new school? David and Delores had been so surprised when they’d offered the boy to them. Yes, there was a dearth of black foster parents, but still. The only dark faces in the tree-lined, affluent town belonged to janitors and the street-cleaning crew. Though wait, there were now two black cops on the Arborville police force, weren’t there?