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Like a Love Song

By Camille Eide

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Chapter One
Adoption disrupted ... undisclosed behaviors ... inability to bond ...

Susan Quinn squinted at the new girl’s file as the words on the page swirled in a taunting blur. She rubbed her eyes and refocused on the document. She was in no frame of mind for processing the information about Juniper Ranch’s soon-to-be-newest resident. Not after the unsettling confrontation she’d just had with her handyman. Or rather former handyman.

“Sue?” Bertie padded into Sue’s office, her footsteps muted by Birkenstocks. In spite of her hunched frame, old Bertie got around like a flower-powered ninja. “She’s here.” Bertie peered out the window. “The new girl. But ... I think you’d better come take a look.”

Sue dropped the intake folder on her desk, adding it to the mounds of paperwork and overdue bills. What limbs she wouldn’t give for this transfer to go smoothly. But experience had taught her to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. With a sigh, she headed for the office’s outer door. “Wish me luck, Bert.”

Bertie offered her a packet of papers. “Holler if you need me.”

Sue frowned at the intake packet. “Why do I need this? We’ll take care of everything in
the office.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” Bertie nodded toward the window. “Look.”

Sue opened the door and peered outside. A late model Escalade sat in the drive beyond the front lawn, engine still running. A man, barely visible behind tinted windows, remained in the car while an athletic-looking woman in designer warm-ups dropped two pink suitcases on the front porch of the main entrance. A black haired girl stood beside the bags, shoulders cinched up so tight they nearly touched her ears.

Jasmine—the new girl.

Sue’s heart tripped.

The woman hurried back to the SUV. Halfway across the lawn she turned, said
something to the girl, and then pointed to the front door.

Sue’s breath caught and stung. No. Please don’t. Not like that. Don’t just dump her and
go. She rushed outside, down the steps, and across the lawn. “Hi, Mrs. Walker?”

The woman turned with a start. “Is this Juniper Ranch group home?”

“Yes.” As Sue approached her, she glanced at Jasmine.

The girl was as stiff as a fence post.

“We got lost trying to find the place.” Mrs. Walker crossed her arms like a shield.
“Where do I sign?”

Sue couldn’t answer, could only gape. Bertie was right—the woman was ready to sign
away her child on the hood of a car. Sue stole another look at Jasmine, who stared at the hot pink bags in silence. Beyond the girl, curtains twitched in the den window, partially revealing the curious faces of Cori, Edgar, and Tatiana.

While Mrs. Walker signed papers, the man remained at the wheel, shoulder belt still
fastened. It took the woman all of six minutes to complete the paperwork. A new Juniper Ranch record. Then the couple drove away. The Escalade’s brake lights didn’t blink once.

Sue joined Jasmine on the porch, feeling oddly connected to a girl who hadn’t uttered a
word. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe. She’d done this countless times and still didn’t have the words. What could she possibly say to a kid who had just been dumped off on a total stranger?

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know the feeling. But you’re among friends here...

Sue inhaled the dry, sage-scented air, opened her eyes, and made a quick study of Juniper
Ranch’s newest resident. Wafer thin. Cambodian, maybe Vietnamese. About eleven or twelve. Jasmine’s paperwork was a long maze of inconsistencies—which was not uncommon—so Sue would have
to best-guess her age.

“Well, Jasmine.” Sue summoned a bright smile for a moment that was anything but. “You hungry? We’re not serving dinner for a while, but I bet I can find you a snack.”

The girl turned her gaze toward the long driveway leading away from Juniper Ranch. The
ribbon of dust disturbed by the Escalade rose and spread slowly, drifting in the afternoon sun,
bound to settle in some other place. The pair of suitcases flanked Jasmine’s feet, price tags still attached. A couple of bags that held everything. And nothing. Much like the beat-up green Samsonite that had once followed Sue to more foster homes than she could count.

As if wakened by the memory, Sue’s stomach growled. She grabbed a suitcase. “All
right, kiddo. Let’s get your stuff inside. We’ll get you set up in your new room.”
Jasmine turned then, her eyes almost level with Sue’s. No shocker there. At five-two, Sue was used to meeting pre-teens eye to eye. The girl’s face had no remarkable features. Some might even call it plain. Wide nose, small eyes. No abnormalities, no physical handicap that Sue could see. No sign of the kinds of imperfections that often made Mr. and Mrs. Disenchanted back out of an international adoption.

What fears haunt you, little friend? What coping quirks couldn’t they handle?

“I no need room.” A frown creased the girl’s brow. “I no—I not staying here.”

“Well, we can discuss that. Just not here on the front porch. Okay?” She softened the
question with a gentle smile.

Jasmine’s frown deepened. Thick tears pooled, glittering in her dark eyes.

Oh, honey, no, please don’t do that ... A quiet ache squeezed Sue’s heart. It wasn’t the
first time she’d stood here on these weathered steps, a silent witness to the aftermath of a
“disrupted” adoption. It came with the job. But no matter how many times she’d done this, she
still couldn’t get used to watching a young heart break in the middle of her front porch.

Sue adjusted the girl’s bag and motioned with her head. “C’mon, kiddo. This way.” She
opened the front door and went inside. If she hesitated or looked back, it wouldn’t work. “It’s not Disneyland,” Sue called over her shoulder, “but at least it’s a place where you can fit in.”

The door hung open, letting in the crisp October air. She headed for the stairs. “Fitting in” might be aiming a bit high. But Sue would do whatever it took to make Jasmine feel like there was one place in the world where she wouldn’t be an outsider. Sue reached the staircase and paused.

The tangy aroma of spaghetti sauce wafted through the foyer, sending another jab to
Sue’s stomach, but no sounds of footsteps came from the porch. Dragging a girl inside and forcing her to stay wasn’t high on her list of favorite things to do. Come on, Jasmine. I’m offering you some dignity here. Please take it. Fighting the temptation to look, Sue took a deep breath and headed up the staircase, straining to hear sounds of Jasmine following.
Fourth step. Sixth.

Take it from me, little one. The sooner you learn to stop longing, the sooner the pain will
go away. Trust me.

Ninth step. The urge to look back reached a cresting point. Then, shuffling footsteps and the click of the front door.

Sue exhaled, turned, and gave the skinny girl with the pink suitcase a smile. “C’mon, slowpoke. Follow me.”
* * *

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