Page 101 of Sure Shot
So I won’t do it. We won’t have sex. He may not like that but…
A tiny, invisible lightbulb goes off over my head. On the way in, I’d seen a store in the hotel lobby. I can buy some condoms, like any other girl who’s planning for a little fun in a hotel bed.
God, why do I make simple things so complicated?
I spring up off the banquette—my panties abrading me again—and head for the lobby store. Five minutes later I have a three-pack of Trojans in my purse, and I’m feeling so much better about myself that it isn’t even funny.
In the lobby, I plop down to check my messages. There’s nothing much there, thanks to Eric, so I use some of my spare time for people-watching.
A couple walks in through the revolving doors, and I watch them pause to take in their surroundings. The man is carrying a sleepy, preschool-aged child, and when he spots the check-in desk, he turns to his wife. They execute a complicated handoff, because the little boy is floppy and tired.
His mama speaks softly to him as she carries him over to the sofa across from mine and sits down. “There we go,” she says, stroking his hair as she settles against the cushions.
He rolls, curling up into a sleepy ball on her lap, adjusting his head as if her thigh were a pillow.
They’re so cute that I’m smiling like a fool. He has copper-colored skin, and lush, dark eyelashes that brush his round cheeks as he dozes. And—this is the kicker—he’s wearing a Dallas jersey over skinny black jeans.
And? The jersey saysTankiewicz.
My heart thumps a little faster, and I realize several things, one right after the other. First, there’s no joy greater than buying shrimpy clothing for shrimpy people. And shrimpy hockey jerseys are the ultimate item in my opinion.
Second, Tank must see little kids wearing the Tankiewicz jersey all the time. He’s probably been looking at them for years and wondering why he’s the only one in Dallas who doesn’t have a tiny Tankiewicz.
My heart starts to break for him all over again, but then I notice one more thing about this family. Mom and dad are white. And their child isn’t.
Another tiny, invisible lightbulb goes off over my head.
I must be staring, because the mom smiles at me. “He usually has a normal bedtime. We aren’t terrible parents, I swear. Once a year we get hockey tickets, and a hotel room for after.”
“Fun,” I say quickly. But I can’t take my eyes off her beautiful, sleeping child. “Could I…” I stop myself and try to figure out how to phrase the question. “Would it be terribly rude if I asked if he’s adopted?”
Her eyes widen and then warm. “Heis. We adopted him in China when he was almost two. Traveling there to bring him home was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had.”
Now I have goosebumps all over my body. “Was it difficult to be placed with a child?”
“Yes and no,” she says. “You need lots of patience, because adoption is slow. There’s so much red tape, and it’s wildly expensive. So you have to be ready for all that. But I really liked the agency we worked with. Would you like their name?”
“I would,” I say slowly. Then I hand my notebook to the woman, along with my pen. She takes it and starts scribbling.
When he was almost two. My chills double down as it hits me. I became motherless at the same age, and then I’d grown up with people who hadn’t really wanted me. Aside from my brother, I’d been nothing but a burden on everyone in my life.
Maybe there’s a child out there somewhere who doesn’t have even that much. A child who’s in an even worse situation.
A child who needs me.
“Here you go.” She hands back my notebook. “My name is Clara, by the way.”
“Thank you, Clara. I’m Bess.”
“I also wrote down my phone number. If you need to talk it through, you call me some night after eight, okay? I’m happy to tell you what I learned.”
“Really?” My voice cracks. “I’d like to do that.”
She smiles at me. “It’s a difficult, wonderful experience. Think it over.”
“There’s no doubt that I will.”
When her husband comes back with room keys a few minutes later, I watch him pick the sleeping boy up off his mother’s lap and tuck him against his chest.
