Chapter 16
"Blow your nose, honey." Sharpay handed Andy a tissue and straightened the collar of his white polo shirt. "Maybe you should take some tissues with you. You can keep them in your pocket."
"In my pocket," Andy repeated. He stared over Sharpay's shoulder at one of the pictures on the mantelpiece. "Is that you, Mommy. . . oops. . ." he blushed, his face truning as red as the sweater Sharpay had made him put on. "Sorry, Sharpay."
Sharpay sighed. "That's okay, sweetie, it was an accident. But I'm not your mommy, honey. And it will hurt her feelings if you call me Mommy, so remember to call me Sharpay." She smiled. "Don't forget and call your mommy Sharpay!"
Andy giggled. "That's not her name. She's not as nice as you."
Sharpay cringed. "Don't tell her that, either, or you'll really hurt her feelings. Remember, your mommy is trying really, really hard."
"We have to say please and thank you," Andy recited, in a singsong, "and Merry Christmas, and not say we wish we were at your house, and not say that we love you better than we love Mommy, and Kevin can't say anything bad about her or Troy will find out, and Troy will be mad. . ."
"That's enough," Sharpay told him, worried that he'd eventually spiel off this litany of rules to his mother. "I think you'll know what to do. I trust you. Just be a good boy, okay?"
"I'm always a good boy," Andy pointed out. "And we can't say that we want to leave, or wet the bed, or take the cat, or run away. . ."
"When did you add those rules?" Sharpay asked, not recognizing the last three.
"Kevin made them up," Andy told her. "And we can't cry, or fight, or hit anybody-even-if-they-hit-us-first. . ."
"Well, you're very good at memorization," Sharpay commented.
"And I can't hog all the covers if we sleep in the same bed," Andy finished. "Kev made me promise."
Sharpay grinned. "You would never do that."
"I wouldn't," Andy agreed. "If I did, it would be because I was sleeping. If I was sleeping, I wouldn't know I was doing it, was I?"
"Of course not," Sharpay assured him. She looked up to see Kevin coming down the stairs. His head down, he was dragging his feet and staring sullenly at the carpet. "You look nice, honey."
Kevin sighed hugely. He slunk into the room and positioned himself on the couch, his arms folded across his chest.
"How are you doing?" Sharpay asked him.
Kevin sighed again. "I dunno."
"I know this isn't easy," Sharpay said, smoothing Andy's hair, "but it'll be a good thing. Good for you guys, and good for your mother, too."
"I guess," Kevin breathed. "I hope so."
"It will," Sharpay told him, sounding way more sure of herself than she felt. "It will."
"And we will see my mommy on Christmas," Andy chanted. "And we will see my mommy on the day after Christmas."
"That's right," Sharpay agreed, not knowing what else to say.
"It's two nights," Andy went on. "Two nights. And today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. And then we come back and see if Santa Claus came here, too. Do you think he will?"
"I'm sure he will." Sharpay was certain of this. "He definitely will."
"Santa Claus is dead," Kevin muttered. "Dead, dead, dead. . ."
"Kev. . ." Sharpay warned him.
"Fine," Kevin scowled.
"I know you aren't happy about this," Sharpay told him, standing up, "but there's not really anything anyone can do to change it."
"I know," Kevin sighed.
"Kevin. . ." Sharpay began, then shook her head. "You can call. If things get too bad there, you can call and we will come and pick you up. All three of you. Any time. Day or night. Okay?"
"Okay." Kevin didn't look reassured. "I guess so."
"It'll be fine," Sharpay repeated, attempting to meet Kevin's eyes. "Believe me, honey, it will be."
--
"So, are you sure that's all you need?" Troy asked Zac. He played with the zipper on the edge of the backpack, not ready to close it yet.
"Yeah," Zac agreed. "Just clothes. And Ninja Turtles."
"You don't want any books or anything?" Troy prodded.
"My mommy doesn't read to us," Zac told him, matter-of-factly. "Kevin does. And you do. And Sharpay does. But not my mommy." He smiled. "You read better than she does, anyway."
Troy didn't know how to respond to that. What did he say. . . thank you? It might very well be true, unfortunately, and to deny it would be a lie. "Well, I don't know about that."
"Do you like these?" Zac had moved on to the permanent marker that had fallen out of Troy's pocket and landed on the floor. "You gots lots of them."
"I use them to work now. Remember I told you I used to be a basketball player?," Troy explained, capturing the marker before Zac had time to decorate the bedspread. "Well, now I draw cartoons."
"Is that what your job is?" Zac wondered.
"Yep. . . pretty much," Troy assured him. "You know that place we go where we drop off the drawings every week?"
"Your office?" Zac asked.
"That's right, buddy. . . you're really smart," Troy smiled. "That's my office. Someday, you and me will go there and go inside and meet my boss."
"How come you never is at your office?" Zac didn't know much about jobs, and the people who had them, but he did sense that it was kind of unusual to be home all day.
"Well," Troy said, "the good thing about my job is that I have an office at home, too. That's why I don't always have to go to my office to work. . . I can pick up assignments there and do them at home."
Zac shook his head, having no clue what Troy was talking about. It sounded kind of nice, though. "When I grow up, can I work at your office?"
"If you want," Troy grinned. "I'd love to work with you."
"When I'm big though," Zac informed him. "When I'm four or five. Or maybe thirty-six or ninety-twelve."
"Are you sure. . . you'd be old enough. . . to go to work. . . when you were only ninety-twelve. . . years old?" Troy sputtered, shaking with silent laughter.
Zac considered this. "Maybe I could wait until I was bigger," he decided. "Ninety fifty-two or ninety-eleven."
"That might be a good idea," Troy agreed.
"Yeah, if I was too little, maybe I should wait to go to work," Zac resolved. "So I wouldn't break the law."
"We don't want to break any laws," Troy concurred. "But I'm not going to work with my mommy though!" Zac exclaimed.
"What's her job?" Troy couldn't resist asking.
"She smokes cig'rettes," Zac told him, seriously. "It's all she ever does," he sighed. Promptly, he changed the subject. "How come that deer's nose is all red? Does it have a cold?"
--
"I don't feel good about this," Troy whispered to Sharpay. They'd gotten the boys ready and Mary, the social worker, had arrived to pick them up. Troy and Sharpay had asked if they could drop them off at the halfway-house themselves, but their request had been denied. Children's Services felt that the less contact there was between foster and biological parents, the better the situation was for everyone. Maybe this was true, Troy thought. . . he didn't particularly know what he would say to Kathleen, and he didn't know if he wanted to see her again. Still, he'd feel a lot more comfortable knowing what exactly he was handing the boys over to, that was for sure. As he watched Mary's car disappear around the corner at the end of the street, he felt a hard knot of worry tighten in his stomach. "I really, really, really don't feel good about this, Shar. . ."
"I don't really either," Sharpay agreed. She tried to shake some sense into herself. "God. . . we have to detach ourselves somehow." She took a deep breath. "This is not good, honey. If anything, we should probably try to be happy for them."
"Yeah, but how do we know she'll really change?" Troy wondered. "If I just had some kind of insurance. . . if I knew she wouldn't relapse. . . if I knew for certain that she would never hurt them again, I could turn the boys back over to her. It's the fact that we don't know for certain that's the most awful part about it."
Sharpay sighed. "This is just a visit. Hopefully, it'll be a good test of the situation. . . if Kathleen is really incapable of being rehabilitated to the point where she can take care of herself, let alone the boys, we'll probably see it now. Otherwise, I think it will help her to see them again, and to have them with her for a short period of time. They're her kids, Troy. She has more of a right to them than we do."
"Well, when does someone cross the line," Troy asked, "and give up their right to have kids any longer?" Neglect and abandonment, in his mind, were certainly line-crossing activities.
Sharpay shook her head. "I don't know, Troy. All I know is, I definitely agree with you that the boys should never. . . ever. . . go back to live with her if it will mean that their safety is compromised. The only problem is, we have to give her a chance before we can make that judgment."
"Yeah," Troy sighed, "but I can't help wondering. . . what if. . ."
"Don't say it," Sharpay pleaded. "I'm thinking it."
Troy nodded. "Yeah. . . I guess I just think that the consequences. . . what might happen if she screws up even more badly this time. . . are possibly not worth the risk of giving her a chance."
"She deserves a chance," Sharpay decided. "She's lost as much as the kids. . . and the worst thing is, I don't know if she knows it. She deserves a chance to try again just as much as they do."
"I hope you're right." Troy shook his head.
"I hope I'm right, too." Sharpay agreed, nervously.
--
For the next two days Troy and Sharpay jumped every time the phone rang; they squirmed through and endless Christmas dinner at Troy's best friend Chad's house in Connecticut and were certain there would be an awful message on the machine by the time they got home. Instead, there were only the voices of Sharpay's brother Ryan and his two daughters, singing out a Christmas message. "We love you, Auntie Sharpay! We love you, Uncle Troy! We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we WISH you a merry CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY new YEAR!"
Troy chuckled. "We should save the tape and play it when they get boyfriends."
"Troy," Sharpay giggled. "That would be humiliating!"
"My thinking exactly," Troy grinned. His eyes slid toward hers. "You know what we didn't do last night?"
"What?" Sharpay asked, worried.
Troy took a deep breath. "We didn't. . . er, Santa Claus didn't. . . pay a visit."
Sharpay nodded. "Let's do that now."
"Okay," Troy agreed, happily. He dove toward the hallway closet and pulled out a roll of brightly colored wrapping paper. "Woohoo!"
Sharpay shook her head. "Maybe this will be too exciting for you," she observed wryly.
Troy shook his head. "No," he said. "This is my favorite part of Christmas."
"You've never done it before," Sharpay pointed out, taking a roll of tape out of a drawer on the hallway table.
"That doesn't mean I don't like it!" Troy grinned. "You know, next year. . . I'm going to gain some weight. . .well, some more weight. I haven't worked out properly in almost two months!"
"Yes, those three pounds you've gained really make you tip the scale. Me on the other hand…" Sharpay said disdainfully.
"You're crazy," Troy said. "What do you need to lose weight for? Anyway, I'm going to gain weight, and grow a beard and bleach it out, and then I'm going to go down to the mall and get a job. . ."
"You're the crazy one," Sharpay smiled. "They'll think you're psychopathic."
Troy flung his arms out. "I'm just filled with the Christmas spirit!" he exclaimed.
"I'll bet," Sharpay chuckled. "You're probably just filled with a little too much of the Christmas cheer."
"There's nothing wrong with Christmas cheer," Troy told Sharpay, drawing her close to him. "Mrs. Claus," he added, kissing her on the lips.
Sharpay leaned against him. "I didn't know you felt that way. . . Mr. Claus. . ." she teased.
"Oh, I do," Troy nodded, pleased that she was playing along with him. "You can never have too much Christmas cheer. . ." He kissed her again. "See, there's some more."
"If this is the kind of Christmas cheer you'll be spreading," Sharpay murmured up to him, "they'll never give you a job at the mall."
--
"I should have given them my pager number." Sharpay opened her eyes in the middle of the night and sat up in bed, waking Troy up. "I forgot to give them my pager number."
Troy yawned, "Wha. . .?" he inquired, blearily.
"My pager number," Sharpay said. "They should be able to page me, if they want. . ."
"Shar," Troy murmured, "the odds that any of them know how to use a pager are really small."
"Still. . ." Sharpay shook her head. "It would have made me feel so much better to know that they can use it."
"It would probably just cause more problems if they could," Troy pointed out. "The kids haven't called yet. They must be fine. They're probably enjoying themselves. Go back to sleep, Shar. Don't worry."
"Well, now I almost wish they'd call," Sharpay sighed. "So I wouldn't have to worry."
Troy shook his head. "They're fine. Worrying about this is going to make you crazy. Anyway, they're coming home. . ." Troy glanced at the bedside clock. "Today."
"Home?" Sharpay repeated, her voice high-pitched and questioning.
"O-h-h-h. . ." Troy groaned again, into the pillow. "Back, I meant. Coming back."
"We're going to be such wrecks when they have to leave for good. I already am a wreck. I'm not ready to give them up," Sharpay said with a hint of a waver in her voice.
Troy turned over and pulled Sharpay into his arms. He stroked her hair and face, trying to soothe her. After a few minutes in silence, Troy felt the beginnings of a damp spot forming on his chest.
"Sharpay, are you crying?"
"I just…you're such an amazing father, Troy," she whispered. "And all I've ever wanted is to give you children, and I can't, I can't," Sharpay broke off into a sob.
Troy sighed. Fertility problems had taken such a toll on their relationship, but he thought they were past that. "Sharpay, no. We will adopt, one day, I know we will. And you've given me more than I could ever ask for already. I love you wholly and completely, Sharpay Bolton, and however our family grows, right now it's you and me, and it's perfect."
--
AN: Well, there you have it. Only a few chapters left…
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margaret