Untethered Page 21

  “Maybe not immediately,” Char said, “but I’m sure she’ll keep trying—”

  Sarah stopped pacing and looked at Char. “That’s what I said, but . . .” She pressed her lips together.

  “But what?” Char demanded.

  “But Dave said we couldn’t wait! We couldn’t risk it! We couldn’t sit back and wait to see how much more damage she caused! Our son may have lost the use of two fingers! A boy who already has enough challenges may now not be able to use two of his fingers!

  “And if we hadn’t found him in time, who knows what would have happened! Who knows how close we were to losing him! We couldn’t take the chance that this might happen again—this, or something worse! We’ve already given her so much time. And the counseling. All of the private sessions and the group ones, and the family therapy and the play therapy, and all of it. We’ve spent so much—”

  “This is about money?” Char spat.

  “Of course it’s not about money!” Sarah thrust her hands in the air and Char readied herself for another pacing rant. But after a moment, Sarah let her arms fall, walked back to her chair, and dropped into it, out of energy. “But I’ve told you how hard it’s been for my husband,” she said. “All the extra hours he’s been working. He’s exhausted all the time. And the stress. The bickering. All the time away from his family, from his son.

  “And then this happens? He can’t do it anymore. He can’t live like that anymore. Not when she’s getting worse instead of better. It was hard enough for him when all of Morgan’s issues started getting in the way of us giving Stevie the help he needs. He might not catch up in time for kindergarten now because we’ve been so fixated on her that we’ve been neglecting him. It was killing Dave to know that, and he was willing to stick with it anyway. To stick with her. But now, when she’s putting our son in danger? He can’t do it anymore. And I can’t do it without him.”

  “What does that mean?” Char asked. “Why would you have to—”

  “He said it was Morgan or him,” Sarah said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “And if I chose her, what kind of life would that be? For her or my son? I couldn’t give them both what they needed when I had a husband there to help me. You think I could do it as a single mother? You think that would be good for either of them, not having a father? At least this way, they both have a complete set of parents.”

  “No,” Char said. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t want to believe she was hearing it. “No. No, no, no.” She flopped back down in her chair and put her elbows on her knees, her head in her palms.

  Sarah leaned toward Char, her arms extended, pleading. “You have to know that we didn’t want to give up on her! She’s our daughter! We love her! We would have done anything to keep her! But Stevie. Our baby . . .” She choked.

  “We wanted to save her. Both of us wanted that, Dave as much as me. We wanted to help her. To give her a better life. But we couldn’t do that and keep our son safe at the same time. So Dave made a choice, and he chose our son. And I made a choice, too. I chose my marriage.”

  Char moved a hand from her forehead to her stomach. It was sickening, what she had just heard. The choice Dave Crew had forced his wife to make. The choice Sarah Crew had made.

  “And so you sent her . . .” Char began, wanting to hear every detail and at the very same time wanting desperately to hear nothing more. It was too much, all of it, and the thought occurred to her that if she didn’t let Sarah say another word, maybe it would all somehow undo itself and stop being true.

  “We found this wonderful couple in Ohio,” Sarah said. “On the Internet. There are these websites where you can go if you have an adopted child who’s not . . . working out with your family. A lot of people out there are willing to take in troubled kids. Maybe they were foster parents for a while and they miss it, or their own kids had issues and they’ve seen it all, and they’re willing to step in and help.

  “You can meet up with people like that on these websites. You post a picture of your child, and you post information about them—their age, their name, the things they like to do. The things they’re having difficulties with. The reason you’re having troubles with them. And then people can look at the picture and read what you wrote, and get a feeling for what the child is like, what kind of care they need.

  “If they’re interested, they contact you, by e-mail or phone or however you arrange it. You can ask questions about them and they can ask you about the child, and you can both figure out if it seems like a good match. If they’re the kind of people she could be happy with. If they seem like they’re equipped to deal with the issues long term, so she never has to be moved again. If they are, you write a letter—a power of attorney—giving them authority to look after her, to take her for medical treatment, enroll her in school. Everything a parent would do.”

  “You handed Morgan over with nothing more than a letter?” Char said. “What if someone finds out? What if—?”

  “It’s perfectly legal,” Sarah said. “People look after each other’s children all the time. They take in their nieces or nephews while the parents are in jail or can’t look after them anymore. It’s nothing new.

  “It’s exactly what you’ve been doing for Lindy since January. Looking after Allie for her. You might even keep her for the rest of high school. And no one questions that, right? Lindy just has to agree to it. Maybe you wouldn’t need a letter from her since Allie’s doctors know you already, and her school does, too. But if you did need a letter, she could give you one, and that would give you all the authority you need to raise Allie. It’s no different.”

  “It’s completely different!” Char said. “I know Allie!”

  “We didn’t know what else to do!” Sarah said. “We were desperate. And we found a website, and it seemed like the perfect solution. So we put up a photo, and we described Morgan. We said she was this . . .” She choked on her words, composed herself, and tried again. “We said she was this incredibly thoughtful, generous little girl. Loyal, devoted. A great weaver of stories.

  “We warned about the cutting, that it had gone from bruises and scratches to scissors to a razor blade. We said she needs way more attention than a family with a special-needs younger child can give. That she would be better off without any other children in the house to compete with for attention.

  “We had a dozen responses by the next evening,” she said, and Char saw a flash of pride in Sarah’s eyes. “People couldn’t resist the cute little . . .” She put a hand on her throat as though she had to coax the words out. “They couldn’t resist her. No one ever can.” She paused, and seemed to be waiting for Char to nod or speak her agreement about Morgan’s irresistible nature.

  Char, horrified into paralysis, was unable to do either.

  “We spent a few days reading the responses,” Sarah continued. “We went over and over the e-mails people sent us. We spent hours writing back to the ones we felt were the best potential matches, asking them questions, answering their questions about Morgan. We had them send us pictures of their homes, proof that they were employed. We asked about their experience with children who have a history of neglect, who self-harm.

  “We asked how much time they would spend with her every day, whether she would be the only child. We asked about their education level, whether they were churchgoers. Their discipline methods. We narrowed it down to two couples: one in Georgia and one in Ohio. Ohio’s closer, of course, and we had this thought that maybe one day we could see her again.

  “She could see Stevie. If she stopped cutting, she could even come back and spend a weekend, maybe. So we chose the people who were closer. We talked to them over the phone four times, for almost an hour each time, and they sounded so perfect. We could picture her being happy with them. Getting better. Having the life she deserves. So we . . .”

  Sarah closed her eyes. When she spoke again, she kept t
hem closed, and it was as if she were narrating a movie that was playing in her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper and she talked at twice her regular pace, like she was trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

  “I packed up her clothes, and her favorite toys. Some pictures of our family. Dave put it all in the trunk while she was sleeping, and in the morning, he told her we were going for a drive. But when it came time to leave, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear it. I knew that if I went, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. So I stayed home and I kept Stevie with me.

  “Dave drove her. He drove her down there, and he met the couple, and he went inside and checked out the house and made sure it was all how they had described it to us. And he told Morgan, ‘This is your new family. They’re going to love you like we do. They’re going to take care of you.’

  “And he told her we were sorry. We were so, so sorry, but this would be a better place for her. She would be happier there, get more attention. He tried to hug her but she stepped away, and that . . . well, it broke his heart. So he ran to his car and jumped in and he drove home as fast as he could. He cried the entire time.”

  Char stared at Sarah, her mouth open. Hearing the entire story hadn’t cleared up anything. There were a lot more facts in her head now, but she was no less confused by what the Crews had done. No less stunned. No less horrified. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t think.

  “I’m . . . I don’t . . . You’re telling me that you gave Morgan away? Over the Internet?”

  “I know you must—” Sarah started.

  Char sprang from her chair, sending her coffee cup flying. She heard it crash against the coffee table as she raced to the kitchen counter for her keys, purse, and phone. She spun to face Sarah and pointed to the front door. “I need you to leave, so I can lock up.”

  “Where are you going?” Sarah asked.

  “Where do you think? I’m going after the girls.”

  “I thought Dave was going to—”

  “You think I’m going to let him be the one to go? You think I trust him after all the lies he’s told me? After what he’s done? You think Morgan wants this whole episode to end with her getting picked up by the very man who dumped her with strangers two weeks ago?” She aimed her finger to the front of the house and Sarah scurried past.

  “What if they don’t pull over?” Sarah asked. “What if they keep driving, all the way to Florida?”

  “Then I will, too,” Char said.

  “It’s a huge state! What if you don’t find them?”

  “I don’t know!” Char said. “I don’t have it all worked out in my head! I just know that I can’t sit here while they’re getting further and further away! I need to do something! I need to be closer to them, and I need to be closer right now!” She gestured to the door leading from the hall to the garage. “Go out that way. I’ll lock the front from the inside and follow you out.”

  Sarah obeyed, and Char took a moment to lock the door and find a jacket in the foyer closet before jogging into the garage and hitting the button to lift the door. She raced to the driver’s side of her car, yanked it open, and made a move to toss her purse, phone, and jacket on the passenger seat.

  There sat Sarah, arms reaching, ready to take Char’s things.

  “What are you doing? Get out of my car!”

  “Please. It’s my fault they’re gone. I want to help.”

  “What makes you think Morgan will want to see you?” Char said.

  “I’m sure she won’t. But we have no idea what kind of head start they have. If you want to get closer, you’re going to need a second driver.”

  Char paused. Sarah was right. As unappealing as it was to spend another minute with the woman who had just admitted to giving away her own child, Char didn’t have a choice.

  Thirty-four

  They had been driving for an hour in silence, Sarah slumped in her seat, catatonic, staring out the passenger-side window, Char with her eyes on the road ahead, trying to make sense of everything she had just heard. A jumbled mess of thoughts flitted through her mind, but none stayed long enough for her to grasp. Half a dozen times, she turned to Sarah and opened her mouth to speak, only to close it a moment later and turn back to the road, her question having disappeared a split second after forming.

  Twice, she moved into the right lane, ready to take the next exit and force Sarah out of the car. Let the woman wait at a gas station for her husband to pick her up. She was clearly in no condition to share the driving like she had promised. And even if she was fit to drive, Char didn’t want to share the same space with the woman. Breathe the same air, look at the same scenery. Not after what Sarah had done to Morgan.

  Both times, Char switched back into the left lane. She couldn’t comprehend why the Crews had discarded their daughter the way they had. But she also couldn’t come up with a solution that would have allowed them to keep her without risking their son’s safety. Char adored the freckle-covered, raspy-voiced Morgan, but there was a little boy to think about, too. What if the Crews let Morgan stay and Stevie cut himself again? What if he struck an artery? What if they took too long to find him?

  The entire thing was so spectacularly complicated. Char wasn’t sure if the fragments of thoughts spinning in her brain would ever stand still long enough for her to grab on to them, piece them together, sort them out.

  Finally, Sarah spoke. “I wasn’t asking for your understanding,” she said. “Back there, at your house. I wasn’t trying to put all the blame on my husband, either. He made his choice, but I’m responsible for mine. In fact, I’m more to blame than he is, since he was at least convinced he was making the right decision.” She was silent for a moment, and then she said, “I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m not a terrible person.”

  “Good,” Char said.

  Sarah nodded as though it was the response she had expected, the one she knew she deserved. It made Char feel like a bully.

  “I’m sorry,” Char said. “That wasn’t called for. Look, you and I have spent a lot of time together. I’ve seen you with your kids. I know how much you love them. I’ve seen how hard you’ve tried with Morgan. So, I’m trying to understand. I am. If I weren’t, you wouldn’t still be in my car. I’ve been going over it in my mind since we left Mount Pleasant. I’m trying to make sense of it.”

  “You’re being nicer to me than you should,” Sarah said. “Nicer than I deserve.” She turned to face Char. “You’re not as judgmental as most people. I’ve noticed that about you. Dave even made a comment about it, after your husband’s funeral. The way you are about Allie’s mother. Other women in your position would . . . say more about it. About her. Be critical.”

  “It makes me a doormat, sometimes,” Char said. “Maybe most of the time.”

  “It makes you a better Christian than I am,” Sarah said. “‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’”

  “I’ll accept ‘not very judgmental,’” Char said. “Beyond that, let’s not push it. But like I said, I’m willing to try to understand. And we have miles of empty road ahead of us. So, try me.”

  Sarah nodded, but she turned back toward the windshield, stared out, and said nothing.

  Char waited, and when Sarah still didn’t speak, Char said, “Okay, I’ll start. I can appreciate how terrified you were to find Stevie that way, with a razor blade. I truly can.” She felt the corners of her eyes burn as she pictured the little boy giggling on the floor of the community center as he made his grime angels, then imagined him lying motionless, bleeding.

  “The thought of that sweet child . . .” Char’s throat closed. She swallowed and tried again. “I understand why you felt you had to make sure that never happened again. But Sarah, was there no option besides advertising her on the Internet? As though she were some puppy you didn’t want anymore and were looking to rehome?

  Sara
h swallowed hard and slid lower in her seat.

  “It doesn’t seem like you,” Char said. “It’s too . . . heartless. I’m sorry, but it is. It’s like you to protect your son the way you did, and I’m not criticizing you for that. But it’s not like you to abandon your daughter. And I just cannot wrap my head around that part. I cannot comprehend that you did that to her.”

  Char felt herself shaking at the thought of Morgan watching out the window of a strange house in Ohio as Dave Crew, the man she regarded as her father, drove away. She gripped the wheel tightly with one hand as she used the other to wipe the tears from her eyes. “I cannot make sense of it. Why you couldn’t have found a different way to deal with the problem rather than dumping her with two new parents and two new sisters she had never laid eyes on before. Couldn’t you have—”

  Sarah shot upright and whipped her head around to face Char. “What new sisters?”

  “The ones in Ohio,” Char said. “The two girls Morgan’s new parents had already adopted—or acquired, or whatever you call it. One from Russia and one from Africa. I think that’s what Allie said.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sarah said. “The couple we sent her to didn’t have any children.”

  “Well, it’s hard to believe Morgan would lie about such a small piece of a giant puzzle,” Char said. “She told Allie she had two sisters, and that they were mean to her. They got her in trouble for crying at night, making too much noise—”

  “I can’t believe this! We specifically said Morgan shouldn’t be placed in a family with younger children.”

  “Well, they were older, sounds like, so—”

  “But they didn’t mention any children at all! In all the e-mails and phone calls, they made it sound like they had no other kids. That they’d have plenty of time to focus on Morgan. They even agreed when I said I was excited for her to have the chance to be an only child! They said they were excited for her to have that, too!”