Special Forces - 7. Chapter 7 Consequences

It’s all very well to rescue a little waif from the street. Not unlike seeing a puppy in a pet store window. You think, he’s so cute, I’d like to take him home, but then it only takes 24 hours before the novelty wears off and reality punches you in the face. Don’t get me wrong, Sam and I love Jorge—we’d lay down our lives for him—but raising a child is a lot of work. And a big change to established routines.

Day two begins:

Jorge slept through the night just fine. I’d gotten him up to pee before Sam and I went to bed, so there was no bed wetting incident.

Sam and I shared morning duties. We were trying to reinforce ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and had limited success. But Jorge giggled when Sam did a puppet show with Monkey and a jar of jam. I guess SEALs are good at improvising.

[Mr. Jarhead (with a deep voice) was ordering Monkey to go to Nicaragua and fight rebels in the mountains. Monkey (with a high voice) was refusing because he wanted to stay with Jorge. In the end, Monkey won, and Mr. Jarhead had to go to Nicaragua by himself.]

“Marines are a bunch of pussies,” declared Sam before he realized that a little impressionable boy was present. Sam blushed. I laughed.

We had decided that I’d spend the day at home with Jorge, to allow him some settling in time.

Sam left for work with little fanfare. We thought it best to not make a big deal out of him leaving. He just gave each of us a quick kiss. Jorge did look longingly at the door after Sam’s departure, but I soon distracted him with making cookies. I hadn’t made cookies for years, but it was something my mother used to do with my brother and me, so it seemed like a good idea to amuse Jorge.

I got him to help me put the flour in the bowl and showed him how to crack an egg, which fascinated Jorge and resulted in several broken eggs having to be wiped off the counter and floor. Luckily I had extra eggs, butter, brown sugar, baking powder, oatmeal and raisins for the cookies.

I got Jorge to help me place the dough on the baking sheet. He wanted to eat it raw; I was worried about salmonella from the raw eggs, so it was another minor skirmish. But we reached an amicable truce.

When the cookies came out of the oven and were cooled enough to eat there was no problem with getting him to say ‘please.’ I even started him counting to three using cookies for the lesson. I let him eat the three cookies then had to deal with a sugar high for the next hour. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

After the sugar high came the crash, and Jorge zonked out for a long afternoon nap.

I took advantage of Jorge’s nap to call my psychologist. I asked him to refer me to a child psychologist because I had a lot of questions about Jorge’s behavior, his placidity, age appropriate activities, language acquisition and so forth. I requested an initial telephone interview.

I had enough time to sketch a portrait of Jorge. I used the happy expression he had on his face when Sam was putting on the puppet show.

Sam and I texted frequently throughout the day—he was really sad to have had to leave us. In one of his texts he warned me that Sandy was going to phone me with a special request.

Sure enough, Sandy phoned. He asked if I would come to the morgue the next day and do a sketch of Jorge’s mother’s face. He said they could show the sketch around and ask if anyone had seen her. The idea of that task didn’t thrill me for two reasons: One, I had a sad memory of seeing my own mother dead, and two, I dreaded the thought that Sandy would find a relative of Jorge’s and we’d have to give him up.

But on a positive note, I thought that this might be the only chance for Jorge to have a reasonably accurate portrait of his mother.

By the time Sam got home that night Jorge was sound asleep. I think all-in-all we’d had a pretty good day. I spent time playing with him using his toys as teaching tools. We succeeded in counting up to 5 and identifying the pig and duck. Jorge was as compliant as ever, but he was warming up to me. He’d snuggle into me when I held him on my lap, which I have to admit made my heart sing.

The next day Sam agreed to leave work at lunch to watch Jorge while I did the sketch, and we arranged to meet outside the morgue.

Sam had taken my car to work because Jorge’s car seat was in his truck. I needed to buy a second car seat for my car, but I wondered how that would work in my beloved Honda Accord Coupe.

Sandy met me at the morgue entrance, signed me in, and escorted me into an autopsy suite. Luckily, there were no autopsies in progress. It was a cold, creepy place. Jorge’s mom was under a sheet on a gurney.

“Ready?” asked Sandy.

“Yes....okay....”

Sandy gently removed the sheet from the woman’s face. Her skin was waxy, but otherwise she looked reposed and at peace. I could see similarities to Jorge in her facial structure. Her long black hair was combed back off her forehead.

I felt a little queasy, but not as bad as I thought I might. The sketch outline only took a few minutes. I used artistic licence to give her face a happy countenance—generally the same expression I’d sketched on Jorge’s portrait a little earlier—and I captured the resemblance to Jorge as best I could.

Sandy was very pleased with the result. He took a photocopy of it and handed me back the original. He told me that until an autopsy was completed they wouldn’t know if they’d be investigating a homicide or not. A preliminary examination had indicated that she’d likely died of internal injuries caused from a blow to her side. But whether the blow was from a fall or from her being stuck they didn’t yet know.

As for the sketch, I had plans to add a little more shading and texture to it, then paint a portrait of Jorge and his mother happily together sometime later.

It was sad that we didn’t know her name. One of the questions I wanted to ask the psychologist was how much we could talk to Jorge about his mother. He might remember her name, but we had been reluctant to ask for fear of upsetting him. Oddly, he never asked about his mother, seeming to accept the fact that she was sleeping. That begged the question of how much Jorge had been left alone before we found him.

One step at a time.

Later, while Jorge had his afternoon nap I had an hour-long telephone chat with the child psychologist. She was able to assuage many of my worries. From what I described, she said his behavior sounded fairly normal for a 4 year old. She encouraged me to let him play with blocks (a 4 year old should have the coordination to stack several blocks), and to color simple pictures. He should learn to count to ten. She also thought putting him into a preschool was a good idea to encourage socialization with children his own age. She strongly supported the tri-lingual nature of our household saying it would be an enriching life experience for him, so finding a Spanish speaking nanny/helper was a warranted. She explained Jorge’s passivity was most likely a self-protection mechanism.

After that whenever he became passive I felt a huge wave of guilt. Would I ever earn his trust?

The next two days—Sam being at work each day—rolled out well. Through a reputable agency I found a Spanish speaking helper, Maria, who would come in from 10 am to 4 pm on the days Sam worked, starting after Sam’s next days off.

I researched preschools and found a private school over in Point Loma Heights that had a program for children from pre-kindergarten through to 8^th grade. When I phoned I was disappointed to hear there were no openings.

At Sam’s suggestion I phoned Susan for help. Within hours I received a call from the school’s principal asking us to come in for an interview. Apparently Senator Rotherford had graciously promised them a visit from Michelle Obama on her next trip to San Diego. Senator Rotherford? I’d never heard of him, but obviously Mr. Smith has friends in high places.

Sandy telephoned to say that the autopsy on Jorge’s mother was inconclusive. She had died from a ruptured spleen, but whether the blow that caused it came from a fall or a hit was undetermined. Without clear evidence that she was murdered the investigation into her death was shelved. Sandy said that her picture had been shown around on the streets, but no one had recognized it.

Her body was released to a mortuary and we had her cremated. We asked the funeral home to hold her ashes until we decided what to do. Sam thought a cemetery niche might be nice for Jorge’s sake, but we didn’t yet have a name—we’d wait to see what Bugs christened her with on Jorge’s papers.

Sam and I discussed the fact that he and I had slipped into traditional daddy/mommy roles. Sam was concerned I’d be resentful for having to take on maternal duties. But I wasn’t bothered with that. “It’s just the way it works best, and I’m not going to worry about what other people think.”

“You and Jorge are a lot alike. You both just seem to accept things without fuss.”

“Yeah, but watch out for our fiery Latin temperaments!”

It was time to introduce Jorge to Budweiser. So on Sam’s first day off, we packed up the truck and headed for the dock. Sam had already ‘acclimatized’ Jorge to his life vest so that was no problem. But things didn’t go well once we reached the marina. Jorge was clearly frightened of the water as we walked down the ramp and along the dock to the boat. He refused to look at the little fishes that Sam was pointing out. My big SEAL’s reassuring manner helped to calm Jorge down temporarily, but once on the boat he seemed more nervous and remained wide-eyed as Sam gave him a tour. He was fine with me as Sam performed a pre-cruise system check, but when Sam fired up the engines Jorge burst into tears and clung fearfully to me. Sam immediately shut off the engines, but nothing either he or I could do pacified Jorge who began to sob and howl uncontrollably.

The straw that broke the camel’s back? Absolutely. All that pent-up emotion behind Jorge’s mask of indifference came out explosively.

“Might as well let him have a good cry,” said Sam. I agreed.

“Te amo, hijo mio, te amo.”

Jorge gradually settled down. The howls stopped, then the crying became hiccups, and finally he conked out in my arms.

Sam looked truly distraught, and I knew exactly what his worry was. What if Jorge hated the boat?

“Listen, Sam, we’ll get him used to it, okay? Little kids are resilient; we’ll just take it slow. Let’s look at this as a positive experience that allowed Jorge to have a bit of a catharsis. Maybe he won’t react so strongly next time the engines are started....”

While Jorge slept in the shade Sam and I did a little cleaning. Then we ate our picnic lunch.

After Jorge woke up and he’d used the head (no problem) we fed him and let him explore the boat at his own pace. He seemed to be just fine—relaxed and happy.

We thought we’d give the engines another quick try just to see Jorge’s reaction. And this time when Sam started the engines Jorge only looked alarmed; there was no crying. To divert attention away from the engine noise I became Mr. Happy-and-Excited and exclaimed things like, “Isn’t this fun?! Put your little hand here. Feel the buzz buzz.” Nuts, I know, but it seemed to work. Jorge’s attention was diverted from the engines to the crazy antics of his Papi. Apparently compared to my Oscar-winning performance a little boat noise was nothing.

Encouraged by that favorable outcome, we decided to take the boat out for a short, slow cruise. Sam cast off the lines. Jorge jumped a little when the transmission clunked to engage the propellers and the boat moved, but otherwise he was his placid self. His little head rotated as he tried to take in all the sights. He really liked the seagulls. We only stayed out on the water for about 15 minutes, but it was enough to declare the day a rollicking success.

We stopped for an ice cream cone on the way home (nothing like a little positive reinforcement) and declared, in three languages, that Jorge was the bravest, best behaved boy in the world and we loved him very, very much.

The next day we visited the school. The principal was very gracious and didn’t seem the least curious or concerned that we were a gay couple raising a son. Jorge seemed interested in the toys, but looked a little askance at the all the children running around. We’d filled in the application online, and after Senator Rotherford’s intervention all that was left to do was to decide on a start date. I wanted to give Jorge a chance to get to know Maria, so I suggested that he start in two weeks.

After the boat crisis Jorge became more animated and assertive. And I think Sam and I became more relaxed with him as well—things became more ‘natural.’

Maria, just as we’d hoped, turned out to be a wonderful companion and caregiver. That left me time for exercise (something I’d been sorely missing) and my art.

I took Jorge with me Mrs. Graham’s when I need to fire some pots. I explained that he was our newly adopted son, and Mrs. Graham was incredibly excited and supportive. She knew that the way to a man’s heart was through food, and Oreo cookies and milk seemed to do the trick for Jorge. When she found out he had no grandparents (Sam being estranged from his family) she asked if she could take on the role of Abuela.

I told her about enrolling Jorge in a school nearby.

“But you live near downtown, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, but this seemed like a good neighborhood for a school.”

“And you live in an apartment? How’s that working out with Jorge?”

“It’s a little cramped, but it’s okay for now. I guess we’ll have to do something about it eventually. With everything else we haven’t given it much thought.”

Her eyes took on a sparkle and she tapped an index finger on her chin. “You know, I was talking to Edna Winters just the other day. She lost her husband a while ago, and she was telling me the upkeep on her house was getting to be a bit much. Said she was thinking about moving to an apartment. She’s got a real nice rancher on the next street over. Three bedrooms, and a there’s a nice little garage in the back yard that would make a lovely studio....”

“I’ll mention it to Sam.”

*****************

Sam liked the idea of buying a house. Especially the idea of having our own bedroom again. We’d gotten pretty clever about having sex when Jorge was sleeping. We just had to be quiet. The first time we tried it with our little neighbor close by we started by kissing and rubbing with no thought of actual sex. But we got so worked up that I spooned against Sam’s back and fucked him like that. We went slowly and quietly, which only caused us to be all that much more excited. Eventually we climaxed together with quiet little grunts of pleasure. I was jerking Sam off and he shot all over the sheets. Then damned if he didn’t volunteer to lie on the wet spot, saying that he found it erotic. Maybe it’s a SEAL thing.

Sam is an early riser (pun intended), so sometimes we had morning sex in the shower too.

******************

But before the house buying process happened, I got a job! Well, contract work. Apparently Sandy’s boss was impressed with my sketch of Jorge’s mother, so he asked me if I’d be interested in being a police sketch artist on a call-in basis—probably not more frequently than once a month. Sam, as usual, offered unqualified support.

The first ‘case’ I got was a robbery witness. She had a good memory, and guiding her through the sketch was fairly easy. She pronounced it a good likeness of the perp.

Sandy phoned me a week later and said the robber had been caught because of my sketch—that and the fact that he was a ‘total fucking idiot.’

And Jorge’s birth certificate and adoption papers arrived. All phony, of course, but very good quality. Bugs had done a great job of hacking into, and altering, God only knows how many databases. Jorge was now a bona fide, born in America, citizen. No known birth father, but full documentation that the mother, Maria Fernanda Fuentes, signed away parental rights, and court orders of the adoption and name change. Bugs was extremely proud of his work on this project and assured us that all the documents would stand up to the highest scrutiny.

We took Jorge out for ice cream to celebrate. He didn’t quite understand what we were celebrating but he was happy to have ice cream. Later that evening we had Maria babysit while Sam and I went for a celebratory meal at Fred’s, the restaurant where we’d had our first date. Then we went dancing at a club. It was a wonderful romantic evening.

Two days later I had a meltdown.

We’d gotten a car seat for my car, but it was very awkward getting Jorge in and out of it. I ended up pulling a muscle in my back which made me very cranky. When Sam got home from work, he was met with an out-of-control, hysterical husband. I raved about having to get rid of my sporty little car, and it was a pity party of grand proportion.

Sam grabbed me in a bear hug and wouldn’t let me go in spite of my feeble attempts to free myself. When I started softly crying into his chest he stroked my hair and said, “Te amo, hijo mio. Te amo.” That made me laugh and cry at the same time. Sam continued to hold me and stroke my hair until I’d calmed down.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I feel so ashamed.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, Nicky. You’ve been through so many changes lately I’m sure you’re under a lot of stress. Just like when Jorge had his meltdown on the boat. It’s gotta come out sometime. You Latins run pretty hot and cold though. Calm one minute, fireworks the next.”

“Do you mind?”

“Are you kidding? You and Jorge are the most amazing, wonderful people on the planet. You wanna have a meltdown now and again? Be my guest. I’m always here for you guys.”

If I had to get rid of my sporty Accord, I decided to go whole hog and skip the ‘mom’ SUVs (like the Honda CRV) and go for something butch like the GMC Yukon. Sam agreed, so using his military network (that network is like the Borg on Star Trek—one big collective mind) I soon had a very gently used, but mondo equiped, SUV the size of a Sherman Tank. But I told Sam that when I turn 40, I was going to have a major mid-life crisis and buy a Corvette. He laughed and said he could hardly wait.

After several outings Jorge gradually warmed up to Budweiser—in fact he started asking when he and Papa and I could go for a ride—so one weekend we cruised up to Los Angeles to show off Jorge to Rob and Jerome. Jorge loved their pool, as long as Sam was with him, and he enjoyed playing with the twins who were now running around like little whirling dervishes. The evening we were there, Gary, the honorary grandpa neighbor, watched the kids while the four adults went out for dinner. Rob and Jerome couldn’t say enough nice things about Jorge and told us over and over how happy they were for us. Honestly, that feedback did us a world of good.

Jorge was doing just fine in three languages. I spoke French to him. Maria spoke Spanish. Sam spoke a mixture of Spanish and English. Preschool was in English. With a child’s capacity to learn languages he was soon switching back and forth effortlessly.

He had integrated into preschool well. At first he hung back but gradually started playing with the other children. He made friends with a little boy named Gregory.

And we celebrated Jorge’s 4^th birthday, which Bugs had very considerately deemed to be about a week after he presented us with the paperwork. Jorge got his piñata, which he liked, but the whole birthday idea was new to him. He did, however, like the gifts, and cake and ice cream.

*********************

We liked Edna Winter’s house and entered into negotiations to trade my apartment for her house, and put Sam’s apartment on the market. We’d hired a lawyer and he seemed to know what he was doing, although I really thought that the Paris Peace Talks might have been more straightforward.

Before we took possession of the house we were having some updating done (kitchen, bathrooms, flooring). The garage was expanded to include a workout room in addition to my studio.

Life settled into a new rhythm. Jorge was developing well. He very seldom retreated into periods of passivity any more. He liked preschool and he and Gregory were good friends.

Sam was selling boats. I was selling pottery and paintings.

Sam was teaching Jorge to swim. “This kid’s gonna follow his dad and become a SEAL!”

*********************

Then Sandy called to ask Sam a favor.

Now you can take a man out of the SEALs, but you can never take the SEAL out of a man. So when Sandy phoned Sam for help with a particularly nasty situation Sam naturally jumped in with both feet....