earlier this year, especially now that Alec is on his
way.
We make our way to the small podium centered
on the only-slightly larger stage that’s set up near the concession
stand. My nerves jangle. Anytime I’m in the public eye, I worry
that someone will recognize me. I reason with myself that it’s
about as likely as me meeting an alien at the grocery store wearing
my panties, but that never completely eradicates the fear.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of my work. It’s
more that I don’t want people to know about the scars I carry. I
don’t want them to ask questions and make the inevitable
connections and deductions. Most of them would be wrong anyway, but
there would probably be one or two that would get it right. And I
don’t want people that close to me, that close to the real me.
Everyone has the right to hide if they want to.
And I do.
A few minutes later, after her short speech,
Mom introduces me and I make my way to her. She hands me the
microphone. I look out into the crowd and smile.
“I, too, would like to thank you all for
coming out tonight in support of the foster initiative. I am living
proof of how the program and the wonderful people who participate
in it can change the fate of a child. Without the love and
direction of my parents, I don’t know where I’d be today. I tell
everyone that Andre and Deandra Johnson saved my life. And it’s
true. They did. As you look around the crowd tonight, know that the
children you see here will one day grow up to say the same things
about you. So on behalf of them, and from the bottom of my heart,
thank you.”
I smile again and hand the mic back to my
mother.
Short and sweet. And over!
When I turn to move off the stage, I nearly
trip when I see Alec standing at the periphery of the crowd. He’s
watching me, his eyes hooded and mysterious, penetrating as
always.
Hesitantly, I make my way to him. I stop just
short of where he is. He says nothing, but continues to watch me.
His forehead furrows into a frown just as Chris begins to speak.
Out of respect for her and a desire to avoid Alec’s probing gaze, I
turn to listen.
I feel Alec move in behind me. He’s close
enough that I can feel his warmth against my back, but he doesn’t
touch me.
I make an effort to focus on Chris’s tearful,
heartfelt testimony. It always makes my insides hurt to hear her
talk of her life before Mom and Dad took her in.
Chris’s biological mother died when she was
just a baby, leaving her in the care of her father. Over the years,
his anger and resentment over being left with a child and no wife
turned into violence. Luckily, his abuse was discovered quickly,
after only one incident.
The first night Chris spent with the
Johnsons, her arm was still in a cast. She hasn’t had a broken bone
since.
As Chris talks about her life now, she
mentions how she wouldn’t be where she is—the owner of a thriving
business—without the support of her foster parents. As she always
does, she mentions me in passing. She thanks me for working
alongside her every day, as her coworker, her support system, and
her best friend as well as her sister.
I smile, never taking my eyes off her as
others look my way. They see us both as the success stories we’re
representing—me as an accountant, her as an entrepreneur. It’s only
half true, of course. I’m no accountant. But since Chris has her
own business, fabricating a story about working for her just made
the most sense.
“You work with your sister?”
I turn to look at Alec. I swallow and do my
best not to stumble over the lie. It’s the only one I can tell
halfway convincingly.
“Yes, I do her books.”
“I’m sure most people find that both
believable and appropriate.”
My heart stutters. There’s no way he could
possibly know. Could he?
Most people don’t bat an eye when they hear
that I’m an accountant. Evidently it suits my personality to
perfection—bland and predictable. Alec Brand isn’t most
way.
We make our way to the small podium centered
on the only-slightly larger stage that’s set up near the concession
stand. My nerves jangle. Anytime I’m in the public eye, I worry
that someone will recognize me. I reason with myself that it’s
about as likely as me meeting an alien at the grocery store wearing
my panties, but that never completely eradicates the fear.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of my work. It’s
more that I don’t want people to know about the scars I carry. I
don’t want them to ask questions and make the inevitable
connections and deductions. Most of them would be wrong anyway, but
there would probably be one or two that would get it right. And I
don’t want people that close to me, that close to the real me.
Everyone has the right to hide if they want to.
And I do.
A few minutes later, after her short speech,
Mom introduces me and I make my way to her. She hands me the
microphone. I look out into the crowd and smile.
“I, too, would like to thank you all for
coming out tonight in support of the foster initiative. I am living
proof of how the program and the wonderful people who participate
in it can change the fate of a child. Without the love and
direction of my parents, I don’t know where I’d be today. I tell
everyone that Andre and Deandra Johnson saved my life. And it’s
true. They did. As you look around the crowd tonight, know that the
children you see here will one day grow up to say the same things
about you. So on behalf of them, and from the bottom of my heart,
thank you.”
I smile again and hand the mic back to my
mother.
Short and sweet. And over!
When I turn to move off the stage, I nearly
trip when I see Alec standing at the periphery of the crowd. He’s
watching me, his eyes hooded and mysterious, penetrating as
always.
Hesitantly, I make my way to him. I stop just
short of where he is. He says nothing, but continues to watch me.
His forehead furrows into a frown just as Chris begins to speak.
Out of respect for her and a desire to avoid Alec’s probing gaze, I
turn to listen.
I feel Alec move in behind me. He’s close
enough that I can feel his warmth against my back, but he doesn’t
touch me.
I make an effort to focus on Chris’s tearful,
heartfelt testimony. It always makes my insides hurt to hear her
talk of her life before Mom and Dad took her in.
Chris’s biological mother died when she was
just a baby, leaving her in the care of her father. Over the years,
his anger and resentment over being left with a child and no wife
turned into violence. Luckily, his abuse was discovered quickly,
after only one incident.
The first night Chris spent with the
Johnsons, her arm was still in a cast. She hasn’t had a broken bone
since.
As Chris talks about her life now, she
mentions how she wouldn’t be where she is—the owner of a thriving
business—without the support of her foster parents. As she always
does, she mentions me in passing. She thanks me for working
alongside her every day, as her coworker, her support system, and
her best friend as well as her sister.
I smile, never taking my eyes off her as
others look my way. They see us both as the success stories we’re
representing—me as an accountant, her as an entrepreneur. It’s only
half true, of course. I’m no accountant. But since Chris has her
own business, fabricating a story about working for her just made
the most sense.
“You work with your sister?”
I turn to look at Alec. I swallow and do my
best not to stumble over the lie. It’s the only one I can tell
halfway convincingly.
“Yes, I do her books.”
“I’m sure most people find that both
believable and appropriate.”
My heart stutters. There’s no way he could
possibly know. Could he?
Most people don’t bat an eye when they hear
that I’m an accountant. Evidently it suits my personality to
perfection—bland and predictable. Alec Brand isn’t most
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