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tered by Love,” which quoted Lorraine as feeling “hatred” toward the Cadys.

“I never said that,” Lorraine told Gordon, astonished. “I said I hated what had happened, that I hated Keefer having to go through all this.

I’m going to call that woman.” But the reporter had left a message the following morning, cheerfully swearing that she’d checked her notes and was sure of what she’d written down, and by the way, look for an interview in the afternoon paper with Raymond Nye, Sr.

“We don’t feel any hatred at all, toward any living soul,” Big Ray was quoted as saying. “We just know what’s best for this little girl. And the court knew what was best for this little girl. I don’t really think it had anything to do with adoption at all. We wanted to carry out the wishes of our boy, and his wife, too, who wanted the same thing. We have proof of that. And that’s all we’ve done. End of story.” A photo of Big Ray, a doleful beagle, and of Ray laying down his putter at the Knockout so long ago.

That day in school, Gordon’s boss remarked, “Knows how to stir things up, doesn’t she?” And Gordon, caught by surprise, nodded.

Now, clinging together like children in busy traffic, Lorraine and Gordon made their way to the Assembly chambers, where outside the chambers Phil Kay and a dozen other representatives quickly sur-rounded them, wishing them luck, expressing their support. Kay introduced them to one after another indistinguishable light-haired man.

These were the legislators who had crafted the language of the original bill, onto which the Kay amendment was tacked. “And now, nobody cares about all those months of work,” Kay announced cheerfully. “All they care about is your family’s part!”

“We’ll make sure we never forget that the whole bill is meant to make families like ours easier,” Lorraine told him. Gordon thought, My mother should run for something.

And then, Phil Kay led Gordon into the Assembly chambers, up the center aisle to the front of the room; the microphone was adjusted for him, and terrified that he would belch, he waited for Phil Kay’s introduction and began, “My sister Georgia named her baby daughter after me, in a way. When I was a little kid, I knew my sister’s full name was Theory[113-221] 6/5/01 11:59 AM Page 218

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Georgia O’Keeffe McKenna, with two
f
s, but I couldn’t pronounce her first name, for some reason, and so I . . .” He glanced at his mother, and saw her ghost of a nod, and continued, describing Georgia’s illness, Ray’s suffering, and the number of times Georgia had made him promise to look after Keefer and help Ray look after their baby. “I know she said that same thing to many of her friends and relatives. But it’s different . . .” He breathed, tried to right the wobble in his throat. “It’s different when someone is your big sister. I mean, you do what she says, right?” Faint laughter. “When it’s your only sibling who asks something like that of you, you take it seriously. And Georgia was my sister, no matter what any judge says. Or any law. I hope you find it in your hearts to make the language of the law plain, because this period of our lives has been . . . very hard. And it would frighten me to think that someday Keefer might have to go through something like this herself.

“Anyhow, nothing that happens here today is going to mean I will be more my parents’ son than I am right now. I’m Mark McKenna’s son.

I’m Lorraine McKenna’s son. By law and by blood, too.” He sat down.

Lorraine nudged him. Gordon shot back up. “Thank you,” he said.

Phil Kay pointed out the big light boards that dominated the two front corners of the chambers; each of the boards had all ninety-nine representatives’ names and a red and green light next to each of their names. Green, he told them, signified a yes vote, red . . . it was obvious.

The Speaker of the House rose, and called for a vote on Assembly Bill 600, those in favor and those opposed. As they watched, the board came to life, with first one, then ten, then fifty, then what appeared to be hundreds of green lights.

And only one red.

Phil Kay was pumping his arm, and Lorraine leaned her cheek against Gordon’s chest. And they were engulfed by backslapping, as they attempted to make their way into the aisle, toward the exit. As they passed, one man stood and began to applaud. All of them stood, the sound of their hands like a hard rain. “Well done!” someone called.

“This is just the first step,” Phil Kay told them, as they emerged into the glittering street, “but it’s a good one. The Senate will take it up next.

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I don’t anticipate problems there. And I can assure you I will do everything in my power to urge the governor to act with the utmost speed.

Merry Christmas, you guys!”

Driving through worsening weather on the interstate helped Gordon keep his anxiety quelled, but he caught himself wondering, as they passed the Dells, and Plainfield, and Stevens Point, what had happened at the appeal. Why hadn’t they called Dad? Finally, they were turning onto Cleveland Avenue. Gordon looked for the sounds of a celebration.

Horns. Hats. Bells. But nothing moved except Mary Dwors, who waved hello as she poked her head out to grab her newspaper. His parents’

house was still, the blinds full drawn.

He almost wept with relief when Mark came to the door with Keefer in his arms. Someone—Nora he suspected—had wound her feathery hair into two pigtails secured with elastic ties. One red, one green ball on each. “I can tell by your faces,” Mark said wearily, “that it went great.”

And they could tell from his face that on this end, in Judge Sayward’s courtroom, it had not.

“The judge did grant a stay,” he told them, “but she refused to change the guardianship order. That means the Cadys are going to take her. Now, Lor,” he said as Lorraine made a grab for Keefer, “this isn’t all bad news. The judge ruled that they can’t move to adopt her until the appeals process is completed. And we get visits with her, one weekend a month.”

“When are they coming?” Lorraine asked.

“They should be here now,” Mark sighed. “Delia just phoned.”

“Not today,” Lorraine said, raising her voice to a wail. “Not today!

Not today!”

“Gordie,” Mark said, “there’s a drawer up in our room. Bottles of pills. Bring them down.”

“Which ones, Dad?”

“Any ones, son.”

“They’re all gone, Mark. They’re not there anymore. Well, almost all. And anyway, I don’t need anything,” Lorraine said, patting Keefer, Theory[113-221] 6/5/01 11:59 AM Page 220

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who was patting her grandmother’s back as well, and with her other hand gently scrubbing at the streaks of mascara on Lorraine’s cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Keefer. Everything is all right.” They watched the hands on the clock stutter, and jump. A quarter past three. Three-thirty. Gordon thought, with a surge of hope, that the weather might have impeded the Cadys’ progress. Perhaps they’d turned back.

They all heard the thumps of the car doors slamming, and Craig Cady stood on the porch.

“She won’t go to you,” Mark told him mildly.

“Yes, she will,” Craig said, offering his arms. Keefer cringed.

“Aren’t you going to put her into her snowsuit?” Lorraine asked.

“Why would you take her out into a snowstorm without a snowsuit?”

“Okay,” Craig was florid, sweating, miserable. Gordon almost felt pity. Craig called back over his shoulder, “Alex! Alexis!” It did the trick. Catching sight of the red-haired girl, Keefer began making patty-cakes, showing all her white tooth nubbings, blowing kisses. “Should I take her, Craig?” Alexis asked. “Should I take her, Mr.

McKenna?” she asked Gordon.

Together, he and the girl teased Keefer into her snowsuit. He could hear, behind him in the kitchen, Lorraine’s voice, edgy, shrill, “Aren’t you going to take her bed? Aren’t you going to ask what her favorite toys are? What she eats, for God’s sake? Are you going to drive back to Madison in this weather, with this child you love so much?”

“She has everything she needs,” Craig said. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be. We aren’t trying to harm you people. We pray for you.”

“You pray for
us
!” Lorraine snapped.

“Alex,” Gordon whispered, “go out there for a moment and tell your . . . dad that I . . .”

“He’s my stepdad,” Alexis replied, also in a whisper.

“Well, tell Craig I want a moment with her, alone.”

“He’ll think you’re going to run away with her, like they did in Florida.”

“I’m not going to run away with her.”

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He had not envisioned how he would do this, accomplish this, actually part with her. And he told himself that this was foolish; he was not giving up Keefer. Today, in victory, they had taken the first steps toward a change that would have to carry weight with the court of appeals, even though he knew the court’s members were charged with a challenge to the law as it existed at the time of the hearing, not as it might exist in the future. Regardless, he reminded himself, Georgia had regarded Delia highly enough to ask her to be her matron of honor.

Surely, they would treasure Georgia’s child. Ray’s child.

Keefer was squirming, scrabbling at her snowsuit trying to scratch her itches. Gordon took one of her palms and kissed it. She pulled it away. He put his hands behind his back. “How many duckies back here?” he asked, first holding up one approximation of a beak, quack-ing vigorously. Keefer pointed at the door where Alexis had gone.

“Okay, Keefster,” Gordon said. Think now, right now, he told himself.

“Now, I love you.”

“Dory,” Keefer said precisely.

“Dory loves you, so much.” The baby immediately raised both hands over her head and waggled her fingers. “That’s right. So big.” He saw the Band-Aid, a tiny green strip in the shape of a crayon and remembered his father’s account of Keefer’s cut, the night before. “Let me see the boo-boo, Keef,” he said, and pulled the Band-Aid off. Keefer yelped.The cut had been significant, but had almost healed. Kids had the immune system of titans. But in the corner, where the scab had not quite congealed, one bright pinprick drop of blood welled.

Tenderly, Gordon lifted her tiny finger and placed it against his tongue.

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“Today, we mate,” said Gordon.

The class tittered appreciatively.

“You’re mine, Reilly,” Eddie Carlson cat-called. “You’re all mine!”

“I must have Kelly!” Kye Olstadt croaked.

Gordon mused, as Kelly Rafferty’s face crimsoned from the nose outward, whether Kye did have her, on a regular basis.

She looked exactly like her mother. Alicia had turned out to be one of the world’s kindliest friends. She had sent him, through Kelly, a thick bunch of Gerbera daisies, bright as parrots, when Senator Hammersmith offered to sponsor the bill in the state senate, where it had passed and not just passed, but unanimously. With any luck, the governor would sign the bill before the appeal was heard. Both the senator and Phil Kay had written the governor, urging him to quick action.

All the news was good.

As a result, he was wildly apprehensive.

In atonement, out of some arbitrary zeal, he’d tried to become Mr.

Chips—patient, jovial, the complete teacher. A matching pledge grant, in effect, for his aunt’s novenas, his mother’s bonzai national and international correspondence, her festival of superstitious gestures. Lorraine avoided looking at the rind of the new moon over her shoulder through window glass, whisked hats off any bed, walked backward out of the house if she had to go back in for something she’d forgotten and made 222

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a parody of rapping her knuckles on wood and touching them to her lips. She was his Grandma Lena to the fourth power. But without Keefer, for all of them, there was nothing much else to do but be superstitious and brood. At night, strumming, Gordon worked on Eric Clap-ton and Phil Ochs songs, but would end up torturing himself by playing “Puff, the Magic Dragon.”

He had what he’d always craved, all the solitude in the world.

Though they had counted on having Keefer for Christmas, Delia had called on the morning before Christmas Eve and informed them tersely that Keefer had an ear infection. It was her opinion that she needed to stay “home.” Keefer was just beginning to grasp the idea that Christmas meant candy and toys. “Because we believe that Christ is the reason for the season,” Delia had told Gordon’s mother, “we don’t do Santa or very many presents or anything. But at least she’ll be able to go to the service, and it’s so wonderful, the children’s choir dressed as angels, it’s really glorious.” It would be acceptable, Delia had further told them, for the McKennas to take Keefer for a few days during the week after New Year’s Eve. Keefer needed to be home for the family New Year’s celebration, at church, in Madison.

Lorraine had—-politely, according to her own account—reminded Delia that classes resumed that week, so that she and Gordon would be working every day.

“Well, let’s just wait for next month, then,” Delia replied. “She can come in February.”

Furious, Lorraine had phoned Greg Katt. Lay low, he’d advised. Lay low and be cooperative. He said Stacey Kane and Charley Borchart were about to file the briefs for the appeal. No waves. Think ahead. Be the most easygoing people on earth.

So, Christmas had been subdued, to say the least. The piles of presents that customarily overwhelmed the tree and burgeoned out into the hall were diminished when they’d mailed Keefer’s packages to Madison, and her stocking at the fireplace, knitted at her birth by Nora, hung limp, compelling all their eyes, a palpable reproach. Gordon had always found his mother’s Christmas mania extreme and embarrassing as they grew older and passed the developmental phase of naked greed . . . past Theory[222-351] 6/5/01 12:11 PM Page 224