Marcus

 

Between your heart and mine…

 

 

 

 

It’s been two weeks since Shyann has been moved to the general peds floor. There’s been no luck finding any living relatives. Emory and I talked with a social worker and decided to apply to be her foster parents. The only thing that could possibly deter us is Emory’s health. Which made her sad, so I spent the entire evening making love to her to help get her mind off of it. Her doctor faxed a letter over indicating that she will be a good candidate and is on the road to remission. If nothing else, we can be a temporary placement until hopefully someone comes forward claiming her.

I just received the phone call saying that we’ve been granted temporary guardianship over Shyann. She will be released this evening into our care. I pick up the phone and call Emory to tell her the good news.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, beautiful. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“I don’t know, I only had one client on the books this morning and she’s already left. We haven’t had any walk-ins yet, why, what’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Shyann’s case worker, Miss Tyson, we’re picking her up in a few hours and bringing her home with us.” I have to move the phone from my ear when she squeals out in delight.

“She’s ours?”

“She’s ours, baby,” I tell her.

“Marcus! We have to go shopping, now!” I laugh at her and tell her I’ll be there within the hour to pick her up. This is a good day!

 

 

This is one fucked-up day! Not only did I pick Em up, I picked up Glory and Ariel as well, both stating they needed to help us ‘get the right things’ since they know more about babies than we do. It seemed logical at first, but now I’m ready to take them back. We’ve got deliveries coming this evening that consist of a crib, changing table, rocking chair, dresser and some wall art that won’t fit in my truck. How does a baby require so much? She needs a bed, clothes and necessities, that should be it, right?

Next stop is a baby boutique, a freaking boutique that caters to babies…I mean what the actual fuck? My arms are loaded down with dresses, onesies, pants, tops and nightclothes. We just spent over five-hundred dollars on damn baby clothes…clothes she’ll most likely outgrow in a matter of weeks. What’s wrong with department store clothing? I don’t ever think I’ll understand these women and their illogical thinking.

Finally as I’m relaxing, thinking the day is actually over, I’m directed to a baby store that sells wipes, diapers and cream by the bundle. There’s a hundred to a hundred and fifty diapers in what looks like clear trash bags. There are also stuffed animal and age appropriate toys, I throw my hands up and walk out the door and sit in the truck and let the women do their thing. I pull out my phone and play a game, trying to pass the time. What feels like forever later, but is only about thirty minutes, I hear the truck door open. I get out and help put the purchases in the back of the truck bed. Once everyone is settled in, I drive back towards the shop to drop everyone…or, more specifically, Glory and Ariel, back off. We need to take these things by the house and drop them off. Glory is going to meet us back at the house and wait for the furniture to be delivered and put everything away. When we meet back up at the house, I bring in the bags while the girls go into the spare room and talk about how to set it up. I roll my eyes at the debate of whether or not the glider should go next to the window or in front of it.

“Let’s go get our girl, Em,” I say, ending the great debate. These women can get vicious when it comes to these minor details. I don’t know how they ever shared a house growing up. I don’t even want to know how many cat-fights the girls got into, I bet they beat each other good. With this mental picture in my head I smile, my Emory is a scrapper and I bet she gave as good as she got.

 

 

We finally make it to the hospital forty-five minutes later, and excitement is in the air. Shyann’s case worker is in her room already and smiles hesitantly at us.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I immediately ask.

“Why don’t you two have a seat.” She says indicating us to sit in the chairs in the room. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I need to ask you, Marcus, did you serve with a Corporal Steven Sheridan?” Sheridan…Sheridan, then my eyes go wide…Sherry! We gave him a hard time and gifted him with that silly girl’s nickname.

“I did,” I tell her.

“I hate to inform you, but Corporal Sheridan is Shyann’s biological father. He was killed in a road side bombing as you’re well aware,” she says with her voice laced in grief having to tell me this.

“Oh God, Sherry,” I say, hanging my head in sorrow. He was a good man, I served with him for three years in the same unit. Why wasn’t I informed of his death?

“What does this mean for Shyann?” Emory asks.

“Well, that is what I wanted to speak with you about. Do you remember signing papers that would make you Shyann’s legal guardian should anything happen to him or his wife?” Thinking back, I do remember signing something the day Shyann was born. We were overseas, and he had to find out about the birth of his daughter through Skype later that night. Honestly, it just escaped my mind. I never thought in a million years something would happen to both of them.

“Fuck! I never thought those papers would lead to anything like this.” I look over at Emory and explain. “Sheridan was an only child whose family died in a housefire, it’s what caused him to take up firefighting. His wife, Carolina, was a foster care case. She never knew her family or anything about them. Carolina was never adopted and grew up in the system. Neither of them wanted that for Shyann should anything happen to them. I never believed at the time that this is the way it would play out. I was just trying to be a friend and give them peace of mind.”

“You were good friends then?” Miss Tyson asks me.

“He was one of my best while serving, we lost touch when I came home. All this time I thought he was home living life with his family, I always pictured him happy and healthy raising his child and loving his wife. She was everything to him.”

“Then we’ll honor them both by raising their daughter, Marcus.” Emory says with tears in her eyes.

“This is a forever commitment, Emory. Are you up for that?”

“I’ve never backed down from anything before, Marcus. We’ve got this,” she repeats the words back to me that I’ve spoken to her on many different occasions.

“We’ve got this,” I repeat back to her. I’m thankful that we attended Carolina’s small service after her death. I’m happy to know we grieved her on her husband’s, my friend’s, behalf. I didn’t even put two and two together since we didn’t follow the procession to the gravesite. Emory wasn’t feeling well that day, so after the service at the local church, we headed home. Now, for the first time since I signed those damn papers, I’m glad that I did. Shyann will never have to fear being left alone or worry about if someone out there loves her. Emory and I will love her enough that she never feels like something is missing. I will tell her stories about her father and tell her Every. Single. Day, how much that man loved, and worshipped, both her, and her mother.