Dean's patience with bureaucracy was thin during the best of times, but dealing with various branches of social services over the past winter stretched and frazzled his tolerance to the limit. Department personnel operated on the basis of out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Unless there was a pending crisis of major proportions, telephone messages remained unanswered and promises unfulfilled. Anyone in authority seemed habitually out of the office after Dean gave his name. Frustration finally drove the couple to play the game the same way-contact no one, put your head in the sand, and hope everyone leaves you alone and forgets you exist.
Then out of the blue came the call from a sticky-sweet state worker informing the Deans that Martha would be picked up on Saturday morning-this was Thursday-for the introductory reunion. It was unclear if this action was prompted by Patsy Boyd herself or just some do-gooder trying to clear her desk of problems.
"I tried not to love her," Cynthia said sadly as she plopped down in a kitchen chair. "I tried really hard. I always knew Martha was only here temporarily but I thought we'd at least get some warning." She looked up at her husband. "She's such a sweetheart. . . ." Tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks.
Dean sighed. Damned if he didn't feel the same way. Only some unwritten rule forbade men from expressing their feelings with a flood of tears. He went to the sink and began attacking the pile of dirty dishes as he pondered how they would tell the young girl her world was about to flip upside down.
It was Cynthia who volunteered for the nasty duty, turning down Dean's offer to join her. "I'm not sure she doesn't suspect something is going on," Cynthia said as she took time to compose herself. "Something's been troubling Martha for the past two weeks."
"She's missing her friend Caleb since he and his parents left. There's no way she'd know her mother would be released. She wasn't even eligible for parole."
"She's out now and Martha deserves to know," Cynthia said as she went to the girl's bedroom to break the news. It was half an hour later when she returned, holding Martha's hand as they entered the room. Martha said nothing but tears streaked her cheeks. Mrs. Lincoln, the Deans' cat, strolled into the room and rubbed the young girl's leg as if to ask what was the problem. Martha bent down and scooped her up and snuggled the feline beneath her chin. Dean went to cat and girl and gave them both a long hug.
Martha bit her quivering lip and continued stroking the contended cat, but didn't let herself cry as she sat at the table. She bore a look of defeated resignation as Dean and his wife joined her.