Counting by 7s (21 page)

I
'm exhausted.

I've helped transform the apartment of a single, lazy, hoarding hermit into a family's living space.

And this has been done insanely fast.

Now as the bamboo steamer gets going, and Pattie has me chopping up green onions, the buzzer rings.

Lenore Cole is downstairs.

Once a week, since the accident, I've gone out to Jamison.

I've had a complete physical exam. I've had three sit-downs with a psychiatrist (Dr. Ron McDevitt) and I've seen Lenore Cole twice.

There's been talk of permanent placement in foster care, but it's not easy finding spots for older kids.

I met a girl in the bathroom during my visit last Thursday who said that once your baby teeth fall out, no one wants you.

She also told me that prospective parents always pick the blond kids first.

I don't think that she was trying to be a bully or anything.

We both had hair the color of ink.

The social worker isn't with us long.

Which is a good thing.

I guess we passed the test.

Pattie's not trying to be a foster parent, but still, they have requirements, even for the temporary custody people.

In the hallway, Lenore Cole says:

“We will find the right place for you. That's our mission.”

I don't answer.

I want to see this lady out the front gate and into her car and off the street and out of town and then removed from the county and then the whole state and finally relocated to the place they call Tornado Alley in Kansas.

But it's not her fault.

I'm
the Problem.

Maybe there are all kinds of available foster homes in Kansas.

I'm in the shadows of the entryway watching as the social worker gets in her car and pulls away from the curb.

She drives right by Mai.

Just seeing the graceful teenager changes everything for me.

When I tell her that we have a pretend room complete with Semper Fi bunk beds, she rotates in her shell.

She doesn't have an actual shell, of course, but whatever hard casing that protects her from life literally shifts before my eyes.

Apparently, she's long wanted to climb a metal ladder before she goes to sleep.

Maybe it's from years of sleeping on a floor.

I don't want to disappoint her by saying that all of this was just for show so they wouldn't haul me away.

Once in the apartment, I thank Pattie for everything she did today.

To my great relief, she is finally sitting down.

The world's ultimate pragmatist just shrugs and says: