Twenty-six

“I never saw you so dressed up,” Cary said as she opened the door.

“Special day.” It was her birthday. “You look great.” She was all in red—red dress, red shoes, a red band holding back her hair. I held out the box of chocolates I’d bought her. Gift wrapped by the store. “Happy birthday and all that good stuff, Cary.”

“Mmm, that smells wonderful. Come on in.” I followed her inside. “Feel my hands,” she said, “aren’t they like ice? Every time I think of what’s going to happen today, I start trembling. I hardly slept last night. It’s going to happen, it’s really going to happen, Pete.”

“Cary—what if—listen, you know it’s possible they got you something else—”

She smiled. “Uh uh, you’re not going to spoil things for me. Pete, I told you, my mother said, ‘A really special present.’”

“I know.”

“So what else could it be? They know how much I want to be adopted. But when I think that after all these years, I’m going to have a real family … When they tell me, I’ll cry, I just know I will. I’m talking a lot, aren’t I? Do you think they’ll just say it, or give me the papers, or what?”

“I don’t know, Cary.”

“I think it’ll be in my birthday card,” she said.

We went into the kitchen, where the table was set. When I saw Mr. Yancey in a tie and suit jacket, I was glad I’d listened to Gene and worn a tie too. The whole family was dressed up.

We stood around talking for a few minutes, then Mrs. Yancey said everything was ready and we should all sit down. “Right there, Peter.” She put me next to Mr. Yancey. Cary was across from me. The meal started with tomato juice with little wedges of lemon on the lip of the glass, then cream of broccoli soup and hot fluffy rolls. The food was delicious and it kept coming. Cabbage and apple salad, a rib roast, whipped potatoes, buttered green peas and carrots, and more hot rolls.

“Now, before we eat dessert,” Mrs. Yancey said, “Cary has to pick a favorite song that we’ll all sing. We do this for everyone’s birthday, Peter. It’s one of our family traditions. Next year, when Cary’s eighteen, we’ll do the same,” she added.

Cary looked at me and I knew what she was thinking. See! Next year, she said, next year when I’ll be their real daughter.

Cary chose “Bridge over Troubled Waters” for us to sing. The tune is high for me, so I just mouthed the words. The whole time Cary was singing she looked at her foster mother. At the end of the song she hugged Mrs. Yancey. “I love you, Mom, I love you all so much.”

“And we love you, honey.” Mrs. Yancey’s face was flushed almost as bright as Cary’s, and I started to think I was all wrong to worry that Cary was setting herself up for a fall. After all, she knew the Yanceys a lot better than I did.

After the cake and ice cream, Mrs. Yancey brought in the presents and gave them to Cary one by one. First a bunch of little presents, knee socks, hairbands, and writing paper. Cary opened everything without rushing, folded the wrapping paper carefully and passed it to her mother. She held up the knee socks and admired them (they were from Kim), replaced her hairband with a new one, and thanked everyone. The chocolates I had brought were passed around the table.

Finally there were just two boxes left, one of them small and flat and one good-sized, plus an envelope. “Mom, save my card for last.” Cary glanced at me, smiling. Her next present was an Instamatic camera.

“It’s loaded and ready to roll,” Mr. Yancey said. “You don’t have to do anything but press the trigger.”

“This is wonderful!” Cary raised the camera. “Smile, Mom.”

Mrs. Yancey took off her glasses. “Cary, I take terrible pictures.”

“No, you don’t, Mom. You’re so pretty.”

“Somebody make me smile.”

“American cheese,” Kim said.

Cary clicked off pictures until the whole roll was shot. Mrs. Yancey handed her the small present. Inside the wrapping was a flat white box and inside that, a coral necklace. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Cary said, putting it on. “This has been the best birthday of my life.”

“It’s not over yet.” Mrs. Yancey handed her the envelope. Cary held it to her lips for a moment, then slowly unsealed it and took out the card. On it was a picture of a yellow-haired girl sniffing a large bouquet of red and yellow flowers.

“Read it out loud,” Mrs. Yancey said.

“Don’t forget to look inside,” Mr. Yancey said.

“‘Happy birthday to a dear daughter,’” she read from the cover. She took in a deep breath and opened the card. A hundred-dollar bill fell out on the table. “‘Happy birthday to our dear daughter,’” she read on, “‘and may this remembrance bring you as much joy and happiness as you deserve. Love from Mom and Dad.’”

She turned the card over, then opened it fully. There was nothing else.

Mr. Yancey picked up the money and tucked it into Cary’s hand. “Just an extra something we wanted to give you. Because you’re a wonderful daughter, a wonderful foster daughter, and we want you to buy yourself something very nice with it.”

Cary had gone pale. Carefully, she put the card back into the envelope. “Oh, I will. Yes,” she said. “Yes, thank you. Yes … something very nice,” she repeated.