The Yellow Sock: An Adoption Story Read online

  The Yellow Sock

  A novella about adoption

  For Taryn and Tyler, who are and always will be

  my “trees of life . . .”

  With special thanks to Dr. Lisa Mallett, D.V.M,

  Seminole, Florida

  Other Books by Angela Hunt

  Roanoke

  Jamestown

  Hartford

  Rehoboth

  Charles Towne

  Magdalene

  The Novelist

  Uncharted

  The Awakening

  The Debt

  The Elevator

  The Face

  Let Darkness Come

  Unspoken

  The Justice

  The Note

  The Immortal

  The Truth Teller

  The Silver Sword

  The Golden Cross

  The Velvet Shadow

  The Emerald Isle

  Dreamers

  Brothers

  Journey

  Doesn’t She Look Natural?

  She Always Wore Red

  She’s In a Better Place

  Web page: www.angelahuntbooks.com

  Copyright © 2001 by Angela Hunt

  All rights reserved

  Originally published in The Story Jar, a collection of novellas published by Multnomah Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission from the author.

  Typos in this ebook may be reported to [email protected].

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Mrs. Leber?” Megan Wingfield looked up from the medical chart in her hand and smiled at the petite woman sitting on the edge of a chair in the examination room. “I’ve got some interesting news for you. Princess is not sick or overweight—she’s pregnant. Carrying five puppies, to be exact, and due in about a week.”

  “Pregnant?” The older woman’s face went pale. “Impossible. Princess stays in the house with me except when I go to work, and then she’s in a fenced back yard. She hasn’t been around any other dogs.”

  Megan lifted a brow. “Any holes under your fence? Any loose boards? You’d be surprised how easy it is for a determined dog to, er, visit.”

  The woman shook her head decisively. “It’s a chain link fence, and I keep my yard locked up tight as a drum. No way Princess has had a visitor.”

  Megan folded her arms. “Well, she’s definitely pregnant, so there’s a daddy dog somewhere in your neighborhood. You might begin by asking your neighbors if their male dogs have been neutered.”

  “Oh, my.” If possible, Mrs. Leber’s face went a shade paler. “My precious purebred . . .”

  “Great Danes are wonderful dogs,” Megan said, trying to soften the blow, “so even if the puppies are mixed, they are sure to inherit many of Princess’ fine qualities.”

  “You don’t understand.” The red line of Mrs. Leber’s mouth thinned for a moment, and her throat tightened as she swallowed. “That annoying boy who lives behind me—he has a male dog. A Chihuahua. A yappy, irritating, pesky little runt that is always yipping at Princess through the fence . . .”

  In spite of herself, Megan grinned. A Chihuahua could easily slip beneath a chain link fence, but she couldn’t imagine what sort of pups would result from a union between a giant, docile Dane and a high-strung toy breed.

  “We’ll have to see what the puppies are like when they are born.” Megan moved toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll go get Princess. The doctor will be in to discuss the delivery with you.”

  “Five puppies,” Mrs. Leber murmured, her gaze drifting toward the wall. “What am I supposed to do with five bizarre little mutts?”

  After closing the door behind her, Megan walked back to the x-ray room, where Dr. Bob Duncan and Tom, another technician, were easing the huge Harlequin Dane off the examination table. Princess was a sweet animal, though in her present condition she seemed all legs and belly.

  “Mrs. Leber thinks the pups might have been fathered by a Chihuahua,” Megan told the doctor, trying her best not to giggle.

  “Egads.” Dr. Duncan’s genial face split into a grin. “Won’t that be an interesting combination?”

  The black and white Dane lumbered over to Megan and sniffed at her fingers.

  “You want a treat?” Megan pulled the bottle of canine vitamins from her pocket and opened it. “You’re a lucky girl. You get two--one for you, and one for the pups.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Dr. Duncan asked, turning toward the door.

  Megan flashed him a wry smile. “Mrs. Leber or Princess?”

  The doctor laughed. “I know the dog will be fine. I’m worried about the owner.”

  “I think she’ll be okay once she gets over the shock,” Megan said, slipping her hand beneath the huge dog’s collar. “But we might have to help her find homes for those puppies.”

  “Hmmm.” The doctor made a polite sound as he took the dog’s chart and scribbled a note. “Ought to insist upon spay/neuters for the pups, too, as soon as possible. I don’t think I’d want to encourage the breeding of Great Chihuahuas.”

  “No, sir.”

  Following the doctor, Megan led the pregnant Princess to the examination room and paused as the doctor pasted on a straight face. After giving her a “here goes nothing” look, he opened the door and called out in a cheery voice, “Mrs. Leber! I hear you’re about to become the grandmother of five!”

  Megan lowered her head to hide her expression as she led the Great Dane into the exam room. The huge spotted dog had never found it easy to maneuver in the room designed more for cats and small breeds, so it took Megan a full five minutes to pull the heavily expectant animal into the open space between the patient door and the exam table.

  As the doctor tried to explain why Mrs. Leber should build a whelping box no matter what breed had fathered the puppies, Megan urged Princess to sit. The gentle giant was eager to comply, and dropped to the cool tiles with a long sigh. Megan sat beside her on the floor. As she stroked the dog’s neck, she felt her own thoughts drifting away.

  Life. Birth. Death. Every day she saw the cycle repeated in this office where animals were born, grew through the stages of development, and finally died in their weeping owners’ arms. Her love of life and animals had brought her to this veterinary hospital, and she’d willingly stay forever if not for her own desire to experience the cycle of life.

  She wanted a baby. And, if God was merciful, she might have one on the way.

  She lowered her head to gaze into the Dane’s beautiful brown eyes.

  “When did you know?” she whispered, fondling the dog’s silky ears. “Did you know right away, or did you have to wait until you felt the puppies moving?”

  Princess didn’t answer, but when she lifted her head Megan could have sworn the dog was smiling.

  Most teachers had summers off, but Dave had chosen to spend his July teaching a summer school class for Alta Vista high school students who’d flunked American history. Often he remained late to tutor kids who were having difficulty in the intensive class, but his car stood in the driveway when Megan arrived home. She snatched her keys out of the ignitio
n, sailed through the front door, and found her handsome husband on the deck, a plate of raw hamburger patties in his hand.

  “Hi, Chef Wingfield.” She gave him a quick kiss, then stood back and nodded appreciatively at flaming grill. “Hmm, those burgers look good. But be sure they’re done in the middle, okay?” She almost added that eating raw meat was bad for pregnant women, but then thought the better of it.

  “Have I ever fed you a raw hamburger?” Dave’s blue eyes twinkled over his shoulder as she moved to a deck chair. “They don’t call me Chef-Boy-ar-Dave for nothing.”

  “Yeah, right.” She sank into the seat and propped her feet on the edge of the vacant chair behind her husband. Though the sun had begun to lower toward the Virginia mountains in the west, the air was still warm and muggy.

  She pushed her bangs off her damp forehead and smiled up at him. “Have a good day?”

  “The kids were fine, no problems.” Dave dropped the patties onto the grill, where they immediately began to sizzle. “Dr. Comfort called to talk to me about next year. Seems she’s thinking about making it her last year. She wants to retire.”

  Megan stared at him, a tingle of excitement beginning to flow through her veins. Dr. Stella Comfort was Dave’s boss at Valley View Elementary School, where he worked during the regular school year. “If she’s retiring—“

  “Yep, she wants me to take her place. She says she’ll recommend me to the school board even though I’d be the youngest principal in the county.”

  “That’s wonderful news, honey.” Megan beamed at him as she fanned her face with her hand. “I always knew you were the best, but this proves it.”

  Dave shrugged. “It means Dr. Comfort likes my work. I’d still have to convince the school board I could handle the job, and there are other assistant principals who’d kill to have that spot.”

  “But you’ve been at that school four years. The teachers know and respect you, and the parents have never had a bad word to say—“

  “All the same, it’s up to the school board.” Turning, he winked at her. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You’re welcome.” Megan crossed her legs at the ankle, wondering if the fluttering in her stomach was the result of hunger or something else. “I might have some other good news.”

  His brow lifted. “Not another pet, I hope.”

  “No, two cats are enough.” She looked down at her hands as a sudden feeling of awkwardness overtook her. How many times had they replayed this conversation?

  “I’m two days late.”

  His voice softened. “You’ve been late before.”

  “Yeah, but today, around lunchtime, I felt really queasy. Laurie says that’s how she felt in the first month. She said she couldn’t even stand the sight of food.”

  “Maybe you ate something you shouldn’t have.”

  “I didn’t eat. I skipped lunch.”

  When Dave didn’t answer, she hurried to fill the silence. “And there are other signs, too. Breast tenderness. And I’m tired, really tired. So on the way home I stopped to pick up another test kit.”

  His eyes, when she looked up, were soft with sympathy. “I’d wait a day or two,” he whispered, keeping his gaze on her while he absently patted the burgers with a pancake turner. “Save your money.”

  Megan’s eyes filled with tears as he turned his attention back to the grill. Why couldn’t he be optimistic? They’d been through so much together—twenty-two long months of the struggle to conceive a baby. Everyone said they just needed to relax, to trust in God’s timing, to let themselves settle into married life. Well, they’d been married and settled for three years and still there was no baby. No pregnancy. Nothing but hope after hope, month after month, an endless roller coaster of rising optimism and falling dreams . . .

  Megan’s stomach gurgled as the scent of sizzling fat reached her nostrils. She placed a protective hand over her belly, then pulled herself out of the deep chair. “Yell at me when the burgers are done,” she called as she left the porch. “I’m going in to cool off.”

  Once inside the house, she locked herself in the bathroom. A moment later she discovered that Dave had been right—she should have saved her money and not bought the pregnancy kit. This would be another month without a baby.

  After dashing tears from her eyes, she opened the cupboard beneath the sink and fumbled for the box of tampons. She tried to tell herself it was no big deal, just another minor setback, but her pep talk did nothing to stem the hot tears stinging her eyes.

  Dave pressed the flat blade of the metal pancake turner to the mound of ground beef on the grill and blinked as steam rose from the dripping fat. He’d heard the note of resentment in Megan’s voice, and he knew his wife was nearing the limits of her endurance. She’d been remarkably patient in the face of frustration, but soon she’d be looking at him again with mute appeal in her blue eyes.

  They both wanted a child, but Megan had been far more active than he in the pursuit of their goal. After their first anniversary, Megan brought up the topic of children, and he agreed—they had been blessed with a home, their marriage was stable, and they were mature enough to pursue parenthood. So they stopped using birth control and waited for God to bless them with a baby.

  Now, two years later, they were still waiting.

  To her credit, Megan didn’t become anxious right away. The books she read assured them that no couple should consider themselves infertile until they’d been unable to conceive for an entire year, so she waited six months before taking the matter up with her gynecologist. At her annual physical, the doctor did a cursory examination and said everything looked normal. To appease her doubts, he sent Megan home with charts and instructions on how to determine the time of her ovulation—prime time for conception. For three months Megan began the day with a thermometer in her mouth, then recorded her waking temperature. On the days that the thermometer dipped a degree, she told Dave that they’d reached the Appointed Time.

  Dave had never minded the act of intimacy between a husband and his wife, but Megan’s no-nonsense tone on those days was anything but romantic. Still, if her efforts and record-keeping resulted in a baby, he figured it would all be worthwhile.

  After a year of temperature-taking, Megan tossed out her tattered charts and turned her eagle eye on Dave. A man’s fertility, she told him, could depend upon what type of underwear he wore, so he had to switch from briefs to boxers. Dave grumbled at bit at this, but the concession seemed small when he considered what she had endured with her thermometers and charts.

  After six months of boxer shorts, Megan’s gaze narrowed even further. “You need to see a urologist,” she told him in a flat voice. “There’s no sense in me taking drugs if . . .”

  The problem lies with you. Megan had left her sentence unfinished, but Dave could hear the note of accusation in her tone.

  Trouble was, a visit to the urologist was at the bottom of his list of Enjoyable Pursuits. The appointment was certain to be inconvenient, uncomfortable, and embarrassing. He’d never been to a urologist before, and he wasn’t eager to establish a relationship with any doctor who worked . . . down there.

  But as he carried the steaming burgers into the kitchen, he saw Megan’s watery eyes and knew they’d failed again. Those eyes lifted to him in a silent plea, and he found himself whispering, “Okay, honey. I’ll make an appointment.”

  One week later, amid the yipping and yapping of a litter of miniature Doberman puppies in the waiting room, Megan paused behind the reception desk and glanced at the clock. Dave’s appointment with the doctor had been scheduled for nine o’clock that morning, and at lunch he’d called to say that the doctor would have results by three. He’d be back in the classroom by that time, but if Megan wanted to call and check on things . . .

  She forced herself to concentrate on the woman behind the counter. Her Persian cat, an aloof creature named King Midas, had just had his teeth cleaned, and was definitely unhappy with the situation.
>
  “Here’s the doctor’s report,” she said, handing a copy of the kitty health report to the cat’s solicitous owner. “King Midas should be fine, but he’ll need to have those teeth cleaned at least once a year.”

  As the woman moved away, Midas scowled at Megan, who scowled back, then shifted her gaze to the clock above the desk. One o’clock. Two more hours before she would know anything.

  “Laurie,” she said, turning her back on the waiting patients, “I’m going to the back for a minute.”

  Craving a moment of silence and privacy, she moved into the restroom, the locked the door and leaned against it. The afternoon had crept by, each moment longer than the one preceding it. The morning had begun like all the others, but at the breakfast table she had opened her book of daily devotions and read an unusual challenge. “What is the thing you want most from God right now?” the writer had asked. “Are you willing to surrender that desire so God can work His will in your life?”

  She had stared at the page in silence, feeling oddly betrayed. Someone had been reading her mind; the author obviously knew her deepest secret. The thing she wanted most in life was to become pregnant, and no, she wasn’t willing to abandon that desire . . . not while there was even a slight chance that her dream might become a reality.

  Did God ask such things of His children? She’d grown up believing that if you followed the principles of the Bible, God would grant the desires of your heart. And He knew her heart’s desire was a baby.

  She exhaled slowly, then lifted her chin and stared in the small bathroom mirror, bracing herself to face the waiting patients and their owners. If she kept busy, this afternoon would pass quickly.

  She counted the minutes between one and two, her eyes gravitating to the clock between patients. At one-thirty she’d prayed the Dave’s test results would be good; at two o’clock she amended her prayer. “Please, Father,” she prayed in the quiet x-ray room. “Let Your will be done, but please end this uncertainty. I’d rather know there was absolutely no chance for us to have children than continue this emotional roller coaster ride.”