For the next couple of years, both Hawk's and my lives are spent primarily in study and practice, with only an occasional Saturday break in the regimen. Sundays we have our church duties, having moved into full time positions, for as the church had grown, so had the demand for us to become full-time. Why Hawk as cantor? Mainly because Pastor sounds like a bullfrog croaking and to be proper the mass should be chanted. Hawk has the voice for it. Sunday dinners are usually taken with Rob and Paul, though Hawk and I occasionally prepare a special dinner for them in return. We had been living in the apartment for nearly two weeks before we discovered that Paul and Rob live together as a couple. It was Paul who feared our finding out, because of the sensitivity of his job, not as an adjunct professor of social work, but as a licensed supervisor of CPS, the local childrens protective services.
Now with my class work virtually complete, Rob and I discuss my choice of possible areas for my dissertation. I'm leaning toward a study of the effect of music appreciation classes in public schools. The main drawback being the few schools still offering the course. Hawk finds Paul an excellent source of information and help in his proposed study of teenagers with physical challenges, primarily amputees. He faces the same problem as I with the paucity of subjects to study. We'll both be doing a reasonable amount of travel to gather enough information for our papers. Our love life is put on a virtual 'hold' as we begin our research.
And travel we do for almost a year, but we finally have the needed data in hand and start the laborious process of coordinating and sequencing it, then writing, revising, and seemingly endless discussions with our advisors. Finally comes the awaited day when we turn our completed dissertations in and begin preparing ourselves mentally to defend our work before the respective committees.
The night after our inquisitions, Hawk and I collapse on the sofa in our apartment and proceed to drink just enough of the pitcher of vodka collins I made to make us sleep well. We are both so drained emotionally that it's near three in the afternoon before we are awakened by Rob pounding on the door.
"You guys planning to sleep all day? Get your lazy butts up. Paul and I are taking you to dinner to celebrate."
I open the door and stare at him still bleary eyed. "Celebrate? We don't even know if we passed."
Rob grins. "A little birdie told me you both made it with no dissent in either committee. Now downstairs in casual but nice clothes by six." He punches me on the shoulder, "Doctor Wood," and heads down the stairs.
The Almighty must be looking out for Hawk and me, for with the conferral of our doctorial degrees, we are both offered immediate tenure track positions at the university, I as a teaching assistant in the organ department and Hawk as a teaching assistant in the school of adolescent psychology. This wasn't his goal, but he's promised a promotion to assistant professor within two years because of the uniqueness of his dissertation and the power of his oral presentation. At Paul's request, he is also appointed special consultant to the department of CPS, which delights him, though he knows the need for his knowledge will be rare.
As much as we have both enjoyed living in the apartment in Mam's old house, Hawk and I decide that now being settled in jobs with steady income, we would like a place of our own. One nice Saturday morning we break our habit of sleeping in, grab a cup of coffee and spread the real estate section of the paper on the table.
The listings in the Saturday ads offer homes we know we won't like or are in undesirable neighbourhoods.
"Maybe in tomorrow's paper," Hawk says.
"Yeah, Sunday paper's likely to have more. I guess we should tell Rob what we're planning, too. It wouldn't be fair to just up and leave, especially after he and Paul have been so good to us. I'll bet our rent barely covers the utilities."
Our little parish has mass at 10, while Rob's church has services at 11, so Hawk and I are back home sitting at the table looking at the paper while Paul is fixing dinner. Rob drives in a little after noon as usual. "What's up, guys?" He asks as he walks in the kitchen door.
"We need to talk to you for a minute," I tell him.
Rob pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down across from us, waiting.
"I guess you can see we're looking at real estate ads, Rob. We've really been happy here and you and Paul have been super good to us, but we are getting so many books and all that we need more room. Now that we've good jobs here, our folks are going to want to visit us some, so Hawk and I have decided we need a place of our own, if we can find a house that's reasonable. It'll give you guys more privacy, too."
"Having you and Hawk here has been our pleasure, Ric, and we'll miss you. But I can understand why you want your own place. It might be hard to find something decent that you guys can afford, this being a college town."
"There's no hurry that I can see," Paul says. "Hang loose for a few days and let me see what I can find. I have a friend who works in the real estate division of one of the banks. He's sure to know what properties are in foreclosure. Not all of them are in perfect condition, but there are some which are ready to move into, given a little routine maintenance, a good cleaning, and maybe some new appliances."
Rob gets up and hugs Paul. "Thanks, love. Now let's eat. Guys, you pick that paper up and set the table."
Hawk and I turn to.
Nothing else is said about us leaving until a Friday evening a week or so later. Paul calls us into the kitchen where he's fixing dinner. "Got enough here if you guys want to eat with us, but the reason I called you in is that I got a call from my friend in real estate. There's a house just a block down the street that might be what you guys are looking for. If you want to take a look, I'll call Ted right now and we can see it tomorrow morning," he gives us an evil grin, "if you can get your lazy backsides out of bed before noon."
"Absolutely. Thanks, Paul."
"Absolutely what, dinner or the house?" He teases.
"Both, damn it. We won't ever turn down anything you cook," Hawk says.
"Why thank you, kind sir. Now set the damn table."
Hawk and Paul love to swear mildly at each other, now that we are all academic equals, at least in terms of degrees.
Hawk and I have talked about the size house we would like to have, one with enough bedrooms for our parents when they visit, but we've never thought about style. I figured it would more than likely be a ranch style, much like the house I grew up in. The house the realtor meets us in front of is a Tudor - brick and half-timber. I love the look because of the English connection, and there's a two-car garage. Though it's older than most of the neighboring houses and the yard is overgrown, it looks well maintained despite being empty. As he's unlocking the door, the realtor, a guy about Rob's age who has been chatting with Rob and Paul, says, "If you like the house, you should move fast because it's just gone into foreclosure. The remainder of the mortgage is well below the assessed value, so it should move quickly despite the condition of the economy."
The living room is a bit smaller than I expected, the dining room somewhat larger, and the kitchen, while not large, is well arranged with good workspace and almost new appliances. But it's the huge family room that surprises us. A nice brick fireplace with gas logs, surrounded by generous bookshelves. On the far wall is more than ample room to accommodate my organ and electric piano. The sizable nook, easily concealed by a folding screen, next to the kitchen has a desk big enough for both our computers, we use laptops, and the printer which we share. Hawk loves this.
Upstairs, Ted shows us four nice bedrooms, the master en-suite, a smaller en-suite, and the other two bedrooms sharing a bath. I like the idea that the washer and dryer are stacked units in a closet opening into the hall. I mean most of the things needing washing are in the bedroom area so this will save a lot of lugging wash up and down the stairs. He has shown us the small half bath under the stairs on the first floor. When he shows us the disappearing stairway to the attic, Hawk and I go up the steps far enough to see it will give us reasonable storage space.
Lastly, he shows us the cellar. There's little to see beyond the gas water heater and an old laundry tub. The house recently had heat pumps installed and the old furnace was removed. There is also a gas heater and pumps for the swimming pool in the backyard. I hadn't expected this and wonder if we can afford such a nice place.
The realtor says something to Rob, then turns to Hawk and me. "Well, boys, how do you like it?"
I may look young, but I resent being called boy, so does Hawk. Rob immediately notices and whispers something to Ted. His face turns red and he says, "I'm so sorry, gentlemen. I wasn't aware ..."
I nod at Paul and he tells Ted, "The guys will naturally want to discuss this and we need to know what the bank is asking. We may wish to have the house inspected as well." Ted's face drops. "But I think I can assure you that they are interested."
"Like I said, you should move fast if you want it."
"The way things are, I hardly think it'll sell even by next week. Get the price for us by Monday afternoon, then we'll talk more." Paul shakes Ted's hand, as does Rob and us.
"Thank you for showing us the house," Hawk adds.
"Okay, guys, as soon as we have a price, plan on going down for a conference with your mom, Ric, and maybe your parents as well, Hawk. I know an expert residential inspector who can look the place over for us Monday morning, so we should have plenty of information to go on." Rob tells us. "Though it's a lot of house for just two guys, I'm envious, it's a really nice place and in a great neighborhood. I hope you can swing the deal."
At noon on Monday, Hawk and I meet Rob for lunch at the cafeteria on campus. Once we've gotten our lunches and settled at a table in the far corner, Rob begins. "I'm glad you guys could get free, because your mom can give us most of the afternoon, Ric. I have the inspector's report and the figures from the bank. We may be able to make this work for you. Now eat up and let's hit the road."
Mom awaits us at her office, greeting us all with tight hugs. "Come into my office and we'll get down to business." Once we're all seated with cups of coffee or Dr. Peppers in hand, mom starts. "It may come as a surprise, but I know all about the house. Of course I've seen it the times we've been to visit you, Paul, and the boys, Rob, because its style is so distinctive for the neighbourhood."
"Paul, I'm delighted that you thought of having an independent inspection done. The few things he found can be easily taken care of at minimal cost."
Her expression grows serious. "Ric, I normally would tell you and Hawk to forget this one, simply because the price would be far beyond what you can afford, however, I know what the bank is really owed. They are adding in a sizable profit margin in the figure they gave Rob." Mom smiles evilly. "They also expect the property to go for even more at auction. I suggest that you offer them the amount they're owed plus five percent, of course this is based on deducting the foreclosure costs from their figure. I know you boys have accounts at the State Employees Credit Union; you won't find a better interest rate and they will likely grant you a mortgage with no problem." She names a figure that is lower than we had worked with in our calculations.
Then mom dashes our happy expressions. "Should your offer be accepted, I hope you have done some calculations on the cost of furnishing the place. At least you have good appliances, but decent furniture isn't going to be cheap. I can give you some help there because I'm known at a reputable showroom and can buy at ten percent above cost."
Hawk looks at me and says, "We didn't even think about that."
"Then I suggest that you do," mom says, "unless you plan to sleep on the floor and eat at McDonalds."
I hand mom our financial statements and look at Hawk who's shaking his head with a worried look.
Mom appears pleased with the amount of money we've saved together in hopes of this day and the careful way we budget. "I'm very surprised, boys. You are in much better shape financially than a lot of people who want to buy homes. I believe we can swing this deal if the bank will accept our offer, which I doubt, but even with closing costs you will be able to afford some furniture. I don't mean you can furnish the entire house, but the needed rooms first and the rest as you're able."
"There's some of mom's stuff in the cellar at home you can have to get started," Rob tells us.
"Thanks, Rob," mom says, "now do we go ahead with the offer?"
Hawk and I look at each other then tell mom to go for it. "Good. Now get out of here; I have another appointment in a few minutes. I'll get started on this immediately and let you know as soon as I know something."
Our offer is refused by the bank, just as mom predicted. I am close to panic because I've fallen in love the place, but mom calms me down and says she will attend the auction with us and do the bidding since she knows the procedure. She feels we still have a good chance.
The day of the auction is miserable, a mix of sleet and cold rain pouring down. The referee moves the auction into the hall of the courthouse, but there are only two or three besides mom, Hawk, and me.
The first bid is even lower than what we offered the bank, followed by a pregnant silence. The referee looks unhappy and looks at mom, who nods, and he raises the bid by a few thousand. He looks back at the first bidder, who nods. He raises the bid again and mom nods. Another rise in price and the other guy nods. By now, the price is close to our original offer, but when the bid is raised again by the referee the other guy walks out. The referee comes over to mom, greets her, and they discuss the sale. Hawk and I look at each other unbelievingly, we have a house for several thousand less than we thought it might cost us. On the way home Mom keeps having to reassure us that the house is really ours. Rob and Paul take over mom's kitchen to fix a celebratory dinner when they find out that we, or rather mom, was successful in the bidding.
It takes a couple of weeks for all the paperwork to be processed and our mortgage to be approved by the credit union, but finally the keys are in our hands. It's then that the work begins. Mom surprises us by sending over the cleaning service she uses on rentals. It takes them a full day of hard work, but the old place sparkles. Hawk's dad talked with the dean of the agriculture department to the end that five students in landscaping needing practicum are sent to our new home accompanied by a teaching assistant. After two days of intensive labour, the grounds appear manicured, other than the shrubs needing time to recover from their heavy pruning.
Hawk and I have spent nearly every free moment in painting four of the rooms needing refurbishing before we can move furniture in. We naturally complete the master bedroom and bath first of all, for with mom's connections we found a kingsize bedroom suite we both liked. I'm still staggered by what a top of the line mattress set costs. Our first night is one of joy and blissful sleep, both of us arising the next morning fully refreshed and ready for work.
Slowly we completely furnish the entire house. With mom's advice, Hawk and I are happy with the look, for it still reflects the English character of the place. Come Thanksgiving, we throw our first party. Well, a Thanksgiving dinner for family to be exact, for they've all contributed to our success.
Hawk and I now settle into a comfortable routine. We seldom accept any engagements that will keep us away from each other, even overnight. Nearby and local events are fine.
If it wasn't for the weather I suppose people would have nothing to talk about. No matter where one lives, there's the saying, 'If you don't like the weather just wait an hour or so and it'll change.' That's for darn sure here in North Carolina, but despite capricious weather and 'good old boy' politics, it's a beautiful state and one I'm proud to be a native of.
The week after our Thanksgiving celebration, Hawk is at a called meeting of the CPS. I had eaten my dinner at a small café we both like and afterwards I went into an owner operated bookshop to browse, for he has an amazing collection of books on music, composers, etc. It was chilly when I left the house, now, two hours later, it has begun to sleet. I pull my jacket tighter and start walking briskly toward my car, which is parked a hundred feet or so away. This area of town isn't the best and no place for one to be walking at night, so with practically no night business and after three robberies within two months, the owner of the bookshop has bowed to the inevitable and is moving to an outlying strip-mall. To reduce the costs of moving so much weight, he is having an honest 'at cost' sale to reduce the inventory. There's no way I could resist having a look and purchasing quite a few volumes which I'll pick up tomorrow.
The lone streetlight glows fitfully rather than shining, as though it is as weary as the neighborhood has become. I'm about to pass a deeply recessed doorway when a moan attracts my attention. Curiosity overcomes caution. Closing my hand around my small cannister of pepper spray I stop to peer closer, trying to see in the gloom. It looks to be a ragged overcoat. Likely some drunk passed out, I think to myself, then the street light brightens enough for me to see a shivering figure struggle to lift his head and look at me for a moment before dropping back under the folds of the old coat. Even so, I could see it was a child, not an adult. He continues to shiver violently.
I'm no bleeding heart, but as I start to turn away my conscience takes control. I lean down. "Don't you want to go to the shelter down the street?"
There's no answer as he tries to squeeze into as small a ball as possible and pull the ragged coat closer about him.
I straighten up and start to walk away, but my feet fail to move. I shiver, too, as the sleet intensifies. To leave the kid here means he'll likely not see the morning. I bend back down and tuck my hands under his arms lifting. He weighs far less than I expected and I start to remove my hands when I feel him sliding back down. I can only wonder how long he's been lying there. With no coherent response from the boy, I ease him back down and wrap the coat about him once more. He doesn't weigh that much, so I can easily carry him the short remaining distance to my car.
I take an old blanket from the boot of my car and spread it across the front passenger seat, place the child, who now appears to be unconscious, on the seat and fasten the seat belt, more to hold him partially upright than for any protection.
Thankfully Hawk is home when I get there. "I need your help, bud."
He follows me out to my car and stares when I open the door. "What the hell?"
"He was huddled up in a doorway next to the bookshop. I just couldn't leave him there, he'd have frozen as cold as it is. Help me get him in."
Hawk is a few inches shorter than I, but quite muscular. He lifts the child with ease. I close the car door and walk ahead to open the front door of our home. As I close it behind Hawk, he says, "Bathroom," and continues up the stairs.
Laying the semiconscious child on a towel he has me spread on the bed in the smaller bedroom, he strips the filthy clothing from him. The child is pitifully thin and unbelievably filthy. "Run lukewarm water in the tub," he tells me. "He's so cold we'll have to raise his bodily temperature slowly. I ... oh, shit!"
"What?" I ask.
"Look." Hawk points to the child's left arm, which ends just below the elbow. "It's a congenital abnormality. I ran into only one of these when I was doing my research. Let's get him in the tub."
Hawk lowers the child into the tepid water, then turns the hot tap back on to a small trickle. "What about a glass of wine?" He asks me. "We'll have to stay with him until he's fully conscious. You can help me bathe him."
As he slowly regained consciousness in the warm water, his expression became one of intense fear. Hawk and I talk softly and reassuringly to him. The tension is broken when he sees Hawk's handless arm. "You're like me!" He exclaims.
I take his clothes to the washing machine and put in plenty of detergent, while Hawk wraps the child in a large beach towel and brings him down to the kitchen. Within a couple of hours after I found him, we have a clean cute little boy sitting at our kitchen table scoffing down a bowl of chicken soup with rice, two pieces of toast with butter and strawberry jam, and a mug of hot chocolate. "Thanks, mister. That was real good."
"I'm glad. You can have more to eat tomorrow. I know you'd like more, but I don't want to make you sick." I glance at my watch. "I think it's bedtime anyway."
I get him tucked in bed, pull the covers up, and kiss him on the forehead. "Nighty night. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite," I recite from my memory of mother's bedtime ritual. Colin, for that is what he told us his name is, is asleep before I finish whispering to him.
Hawk hands me another glass of wine when I join him in our study. "Well?"
"Well?" I reply.
"Is this someday?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know we've talked some about trying to adopt a child someday. So, is this someday?"
"Yeah, I think it is. If any kid needed your guidance, this one does because he relates to your missing hand so strongly. Anyway, he's a cute little guy and a good age. I can get him in the education department's training school with no trouble."
"That would be great; I lectured to them on children with physical challenges not long ago. Colin would give them a full-time example on how to cope. Good thinking, bud."
"Assuming we can get custody."
Hawk grins. "Forget that we have inside influence? I'll talk to Paul tomorrow. He seems to have quite a bit of influence at CPS."
With Paul's help and because there's nowhere for childrens services to place Colln without someone taking him over a hundred miles to a childrens' home, Hawk and I have temporary custody of Colin by the next evening. As I'm discussing the school he will be attending with him, the full story slowly comes out.
Colin Andrew Whitworth, eight years of age, ran away to escape his father's drunken rages and threats to kill him. His mother had left with another man and his father had recently lost his job because of his constant intake of alcohol, even while on the job. Colin had been on the street for about three weeks when I found him.
By the time the rest of the week and weekend have passed, Colin appears to have made himself completely at home, bonding with Hawk more so than me. However, he's begun to refer to us as dad if only one of us is with him, or dads if we're together.
Even though he's only eight, his room is always neat, things put away promptly when he's through with them. When Hawk asks, he says merely that he's never had nice things before and wants to keep them that way. It makes us even more proud of him.
Much as both of us hate to shop, it was fun having an excited little boy in tow when we took him shopping for basic clothing. Hawk and I both know darn well that his mom and mine will spoil Colin to death. But all the while we're picking out things for him, he never begs or whines, but chooses carefully when we let him make a decision, then gives us hugs and kisses when we're back home. Hawk recognized immediately that he's starved for affection.
I'd had a bad day at school. The moment I opened the front door Colin wrapped his arms around my legs, almost tripping me. My temper pops. "For heaven's sake, Colin, can't I even get in and have a moment's peace!" I snap. Instantly I'm released and Colin runs to his room in tears. I can hear him sobbing through the closed door. Instantly filled with self-recrimination and on the verge of tears myself, I tapped at his door. "May I come in?"
I finally hear through sniffles, "I guess."
Colin is lying on his bed curled into the foetal position, his body shaking with each sob. Now my tears are flowing as well, my heart breaking, knowing my thoughtlessness is the cause of his misery. I sit on the edge of his bed and gather him up in my arms. He raises his head and looks into my eyes. "I was just happy you were home, Dad, and I wanted to show you my good grades. I didn't mean to make you mad. Please don't send me away. I try to be a good boy."
"I'm so sorry, Colin, honey. I didn't mean to yell at you. You didn't do anything wrong, I was just mad because one of my students wasn't prepared and wasted time I could have spent with a serious student." I hug him closer. "You are a very good boy, Colin, and Hawk and I love you very much. This is your home and we want you to be happy here. Besides, you haven't met your grandmothers and grandad yet. They're going to love you to death."
I have his interest now. "I have a grandma and a grandad?"
"That you do. Two grandmothers and one grandad."
"How come I only got one granddad?"
"Because my dad didn't like my mother and me, so he left home. Your grandad is Granpa Svenson."
He gives me a tiny smile. "I never had a grandma and a grandpa before, I hope they like me."
I hug him again. "They will. Go wash your face and let's go fix dinner. I'm getting hungry."
"Me, too." He hugs me; I kiss his forehead before getting up from the bed.
Friday evening I call mom and invite the three of us to dinner on Sunday, telling her to ask the Svensons also. Impossible I know, but I can hear her smile through the phone.
Colin gets a bit antsy during the drive over to mom's. "What's your problem?" Hawk asks.
"I'm scared my grandmas won't like me," he replies with a quavering voice.
"They'll love our sweet boy," Hawk replies. "You wait and see."
"Oh, you adorable little man!" Mom screams when I introduce Colin as her grandson. She hugs him tightly, kissing him over and over. "I've always wanted a grandson just like you."
Colin has just relaxed when the Svensons come in. Mom is as bad as mom. Dr. Svenson beams as he shakes Colin's hand, then wraps his arm around Colin's shoulders. "By damn, boy, when it's warmer I'm going to take you out in my boat and teach you to water ski, if you'd like that. Maybe get in some fishing, too. Haakon always liked that."
Starting from my first organ lessons as a student of Tim's, I became a student member of the American Guild of Organists. I progressed to full membership under Rob, then passed the exam and became a Fellow as part of my doctorial work. I hated going to meetings alone, so because he loves music, I talked Hawk into joining our group as an associate member. Despite several of the members being academics, myself included, our chapter is very laid back and enjoy the music and fellowship, not to mention many of the luncheons that precede our meetings. Of necessity, we often take Colin with us to meetings where, because of his engaging personality, he quickly becomes a 'pet'.
Our meetings generally rotate among the members' churches, the campus, and other public venues, but if a member has an organ in his home and is willing we meet there as well.
With the advances in electronics, I had become increasingly dissatisfied with my aging Makin, longing for more 'realistic' pipe sound. A visit to the dealer who originally sold mom the Makin, and after considerable discussion with Hawk, because while Hawk and I have a joint bank account for domestic purposes, we also maintain separate 'slush-funds' for 'play money', I decide to blow a goodly portion of my rebuilt savings on a new 3-manual Johannus American Classic with selective voicing. This will allow me to play a wider range of literature with more authentic quality of sound. The speaker system array is installed in a utility closet with openings cut into the wall behind the bookcases. That diffuses the sound and eliminates whatever 'electronic' sound it may have giving it full pipe organ quality.
It's such a thrill for me to play this new instrument that for a few days I begrudge the time I have to spend at school. Word spreads among our colleagues, so I'm not surprised when I'm asked by the chapter dean to host the next meeting at our home. Seeing Hawk's nod of approval, I agree. Love him, for in his own way he is as proud as I. Not to worry about Colin, for he will be happy to help prepare, and actually does a decent job, as well as oversee the refreshment table. Oversee meaning his fingers will sneak a finger sandwich from time to time.
In the privacy of our home I enjoy playing flashy, some would say trashy, music. I know it's not always in the best of taste, but some of it requires good skills and is pure fun to rip off at top speed. I also like some of the wild new improvisations on hymn tunes. With some of the recent Guild programs having been so academically slanted that even I was bored, I try to teach my students several pieces that I know will have great audience appeal, feeling the academic approach is what has led to the deep decline in attendance at organ programs. Unless it's for church or when I'm teaching, I play strictly for fun and relaxation.
Despite one or two wrinkled noses when I begin my performance, our members soon relax and begin to enjoy themselves. Frequent visits to the wine on the sideboard certainly helps. When I invite others to play, I'm surprised at what, now that they're relaxed, they choose to treat us to. From the looks of the table after a very cheerful group of organists depart, they not only enjoyed the hors d'oeuvres, but especially the wine. Fourteen people, two others having chosen ginger ale instead, have consumed over eight bottles of white zinfandel. Colin is dancing lightly around - why do I have a feeling he's sampled the wine when neither Hawk nor I were looking - and pigging out on the few leftover goodies. Oh, well, I won't have to fix much supper for him.
I'm washing up the few things I didn't put in the dishwasher when I hear a faint scratching and mewling sounds at the backdoor. "Colin? What's Fat Cat doing outside?" I yell.
"He's in the den," Collin replies coming up beside me. Fat Cat is a twenty-five pound Maine Coon cat we took in as a favor to one of my colleagues. They are quiet, very low maintenance if given an occasional brushing, and great with kids. I know Colin initially wanted a dog, but he was soon enamoured of the animal, naming him Fat Cat because of his size. Hawk and I get a good deal of pleasure watching them play together. Fat Cat loves to catch Colin bending over, for when he does he pounces on Colin's back knocking him to the floor. They roll over several times in play before getting back on their feet.
We hear the sound again, fainter this time. I stop Colin from opening the door, switch on the lights, and open the door to look through the glass storm door. At first I don't see anything, then look down. There's a child lying on the icy stoop.
I bend and scoop him up, kicking the door shut. He has on a hoodie pulled tightly around his face. Hawk hears the door slam and comes running, stopping abruptly. "Not another one," he says.
"I'm afraid so. Help me get him in the tub, he's out of it." Colin follows us upstairs. I strip the thin clothing the boy is wearing from him and take him in the bath. Hawk has enough luke-warm water to cover him. I'm filled with a sense of déjà vu. Watching to keep the boy from slipping, then, with Hawk's help, I gently wash him good and clean.
"What were you doing on our deck," I ask once the child is completely coherent.
"One of the boys told me Colin lived somewhere around here. I wanted to see him, 'cause he was so good to me. I heard the beautiful music so I sat on your porch to hear more, but I got cold and sleepy."
On hearing his name, Colin looks closely. "Oh, my God! It's Kenny. Help him daddy. Please. Please."
"You know we will, son. Why don't you and Hawk go fix some soup for him, maybe a sandwich, too."
Colin brightens up. "Yeah. I know he likes chicken. We got any?"
"There's some sliced chicken breasts from the deli in the fridge. We'll use that," Hawk replies.
"Where's your home, Kenny?" I ask as I dry him off and hand him one of Colin's sweat suits.
I see tears begin to trickle. "I don't got one. When my momma and poppa got killed, I got sent to a home. It was awful. I got hit, beat, and cussed at all the time. That's how come I ran away. Please don't send me back. I want to stay with Colin. He's real nice. He helped me."
"Why'd you hide from me, Kenny? I was trying to help." Colin asks.
"Cause one of them older guys was from the home. I knew he'd tell where we was so he could get some money. Them people paid when someone told 'em where us that run away was hiding."
I hug him close. "We'll try our best to keep you here with Colin." I take his hand. "Let's go get you something to eat."
Once Kenny has scoffed down his sandwich and begun slurping his soup, I look at Hawk. "Someday?"
For a moment he looks puzzled, then it dawns. "You think Colin will let it be otherwise?"
I look at the boys, Colin seated as close to Kenny as possible, his arm around Kenny's shoulders. All I can do is shake my head in resignation. "I hope this isn't going to turn into 'Cheaper by the Dozen,' we can't afford it."
Hawk grins and sings sarcastically, "One for you and one for me ..." I slug him on the arm.
It's back to the law school for me on Monday morning. The Dean looks up when I enter his office, drops his head into his hands and moans, "Not again!"
I smile. "But of course, sir. I'm sure you have a new class of wannabes that need some practical experience. However, this one does involve childrens' services."
He groans again, teasing, then raising his head, grins at me, picks up the phone, and a few moments later the same grad student that helped us before trots into his office. "You wanted me, sir?" The Dean nods and jerks his head in my direction.
The guy's eyes widen. "Say it ain't so."
"Yep, and a better experience for you, because this one involves CPS and I know how you love them."
"Oh, shit," he mumbles, then looks at the Dean and apologizes for his language. That done, he has me follow him to his cubbyhole, then digs out a thick folder.
Again I fill out a number of forms from what little I know. "It's gonna cost you, you know," he says, "because we've gotta hire someone who has or can get access to the information we need, particularly that from childrens' services."
"First of all, there's no need. Remember Paul? He can get access to that information. So try not to bankrupt me," I fire back.
"I ain't a real shyster yet. Wait'll I finish this last semester, then pass the bar exam."
"Which bar? The Keg and Still? I'm sure most students can pass a drinking exam."
He laughs and says, "Yeah," then his expression turns serious. "You know I'll do my best. I may even want to do what you're doing someday. I think it's great, giving a poor kid a chance at a decent life. If we're lucky, one of them may turn out to be somebody really significant."
We trade a few more friendly barbs before I return to my office.
It takes a week or so to accumulate the necessary documentation needed for the court. During that time, Kenny has bonded with me and settled as comfortably as Colin. While their physical challenges created the bond between Colin and Hawk, music builds the bond between Kenny and me. I'm amazed that a seven year-old will sit quietly for hours just watching me practice. Seeing his interest is real, I pull him up on the bench beside me. To my amazement, he hits each note of the scale with a finger and correctly names it, then plays a simple child's piano piece. I'm in heaven! I just might have a near prodigy on my hands.
Our day in court arrives. Fortunately Kenny doesn't realize fully the possible effects the events of this day will have on his future life. Rob and Paul are with us, of course. By greatest good luck the judge is one Paul knows very well, having appeared in his court many times representing childrens' services, also as a private consultant.
The judge enters after the bailiff's customary call to order. When he's seated and our case is called, he looks over at Paul. "It's a pleasure as always to have you in my court, Doctor Adams, but aren't you at the wrong table? CPS is the defendant, not the plaintiffs."
Paul stands. "No, Your Honour. I happen to be one of the plaintiffs in this petition."
"I see." The judge smiles, then turns to the other table where a sour faced woman is seated. Kenny looks and whispers to me, "She's the one who beats me."
While she's introducing herself to the judge, I whisper to Paul. I see him grimace with anger. "She's fairly new to our office, but I'll see that bitch fired," he whispers back.
"Very well," the judge says, "let's proceed. Doctor Adams?"
Paul explains how Kenny was brought into our household, his adoration of Colin, rapid bonding with me through music, and lays out our hopes for adoption and Kenny's future. When it's the woman's turn to speak, she becomes abusive, questioning our character, our home life, even going to far as to ask what idiot judge gave us custody of Colin. That brings her a stern warning from the judge. I'm surprised he didn't hold her in contempt, but she finishes by screaming, "Those queers ain't fit to raise any child!"
For the moment, we all sit stunned, even His Honour. Before any of us can react, Kenny picks up a small wooden puzzle he's been amusing himself with and throws it at the woman as hard as he can. He misses, but I see the judge glaring at me, for Kenny has been sitting beside me, my arm around him.
I'm on my feet quickly. "My abject apologies, Your Honour. If you will forgive me a further moment of disruption ..." I snatch Kenny up in my arms and whisper fiercely in his ear. When he screams, "No!" I sit down, turn him across my knees and give his little behind three good swats to gain his attention. Then I pull him back up on my lap and caress him as he cries briefly. I look at the judge and apologize once again.
The woman from CPS is on her feet again, screaming, "See, Your Honour, see? I told you them queers only wanted children to abuse them."
The judge has had enough. He bangs his gavel hard enough to break it and says, "Sit down and shut up. I've had quite enough of your homophobic ranting. I'm holding you in contempt. Fifty dollars and fifty more for calling me an idiot. Pay the clerk once this court is dismissed." He turns to me. "Your apology is accepted, Doctor Wood, and it has confirmed my thoughts. What you did was not abuse, but just enough to gain the attention of an out of control child. Then you immediately gave him the love he apparently needs so desperately. Doctor Adams, I may assume that there will be some immediate changes in your department?"
"Quite expeditiously, Your Honour."
"Very well. The adoption of Kenny Brandon, now Kenneth Brandon Wood, by Doctor Aleric Wood is final." He bangs his gavel.
As the bailiff is asking us to stand, Kenny asks, "Can I go back home with Colin?"
I nod. "Yes, darling, the judge made me your daddy."
Kenny lets out a yell and launches himself towards the judge, grabbing his robe. When the judge looks down, Kenny hugs his neck and kisses him, saying, "Thank you, thank you."
Looking pleased, the judge kisses Kenny on the cheek and tells him to go enjoy his new home and family.
As time passes, it appears that we have, indeed, taken in a prodigy. It is a battle to get him to stop practicing piano and enjoy the out-of-doors during this beautiful weather. Occasionally he will run the soccer ball with Colin against Hawk if we're cooking out, so Hawk and I try to do more things with both boys. During the school year, Kenny and I always attend Colin's soccer games, and Colin and Hawk accompany Kenny and me to organ programs, where Kenny loses himself in the music.
Kenney's progress is so rapid that after six months of piano. I let him try the organ, his feet barely reaching the pedal board, even with the bench cranked all the way down. Though he almost slides off the bench when reaching for the lower pedal keys, he rapidly develops a pedal technique even I envy. His memory for scores is also astounding, as I find at one of our guild meetings. An older member asks if anyone happens to have the music for David German's Festival Trumpet Tune. Some discussion follows with several saying they have played it, but don't have the score. Before I can stop him, Kenny slips up to the console of the Austin organ in the church where we're meeting and tears into the piece from memory. I wasn't even aware that he had learned it.
The applause is genuine. The member who asked the original question almost smothers Kenny in her ample bosom as she hugs him. "Yes," she cries, "that's what I was looking for." She hugs Kenny again and asks if he has the music. He nods and promises her a copy by the next meeting. Oh, yes, Kenny is promptly made a full member of our chapter despite his young age.
Five years slip by almost unnoticed, save for the boys' growth and the easing of our jobs. Hawk dropped his position at CPS, having been promoted to a full professorship. With both of us having tenure, we teach fewer classes and do more research. Hawk's book on the psychology of dealing with young people with physical challenges is a good seller much to our amusement, for the entire 350 pages of content can be summed up in one brief sentence; 'Treat them as you would treat any fully abled child.'
My own publishing effort is concentrated on virtually unknown French composer Joseph Bonnet. His music is not in vogue, but I enjoy playing it, as does Kenny, and feel it should get a wider hearing. Great music? Hardly, but it is always a crowd-pleaser.
The boys have their own accomplishments. Colin makes the district all-star team and maintains a straight A grade average. Kenny doesn't do quite so well, a few B's here and there, but at age twelve he gives his first public program at the university's music hall to wide acclaim.
We're a close, loving family and, should you ask, yes, it has all been worth it, even through the few lean years we had at first.