Thrice Rescued

"Get that dirty crap off you and clean yourself up."

While I was showering, Gunny called Mrs. H. "He's drunk, filthy, let the place go to a pigsty and needs our help again. Can you get a couple of people over here to clean this mess up. I'll pack some clothes for him and drag him back to our place once he's done showering." Mrs. H agreed and Gunny H hung up and proceeded to pack my clothes in a duffle bag. The second rescue of Davie Derr by the Hopkins commenced.

When we got to the Hopkins house, Gunny H dropped my stuff in the bedroom I'd used when I was a foster kid and then glared at me. "You're better than this. We've put too much time and effort into you to let you fall apart. You've made way too much progress to crash and burn now. This shit stops right this minute. And reveille is at 0530 tomorrow. We're going to start over again with you." And then he shut the door.

The next morning was painful, to say the least. I hadn't run or done any exercise since Vera's disappearance. Gunny H set out on a five-mile run at a pace I'd have trouble matching on a good day and this was definitely not a good day. When we finished the run, he loaded me into his truck and took me over to the martial arts studio, where we lifted and stretched before sparring for an hour. By the time we were finished, I'd sweated all the booze out of my system and was totally wiped. This set the template for the remainder of the summer.

By the time the school year started again, I was back in shape and my head was mostly in the right place. The district had a pretty good employee assistance plan and Mrs. H got me enrolled into twice a week counselling sessions. By Christmas, I was mostly back to my old self, except for the hole in my heart where Vera had once resided.

CHAPTER FOUR

The laws regarding missing persons in Pennsylvania required Vera to be gone for seven years before I could have her declared dead. Fortunately for me, Vera's overwhelming need for financial security had caused us to purchase a home that we could afford on just my salary and disability pension. In addition, she'd divided her salary between maxing out our retirement funding, making double payments to pay down the mortgage and saving the rest. Financially, I was fine, except that I couldn't sell the house or her car or access any of her retirement funds. Even so, I was in good enough financial shape that I didn't need a second income, although I was once again working as a trainer at the studio in addition to teaching.

It was on a warm June day, just before the end of the school year, slightly over five years after Vera disappeared, that I heard my doorbell. When I opened the door, I discovered a man and a woman dressed in business casual clothing, one holding an accordion file. They each held up their credentials, then introduced themselves as deputy U.S. Marshals Simpson and Wallach. "What can I do for you?" I asked. It was an honest question, because I had no idea what could have brought two U.S. Marshals to my front door. Perhaps they were at the wrong house?

They asked if I were Davie Derr and was I the husband of Vera Derr. My heart sank. Had they finally found Vera, or more likely her remains? I confirmed that they had the right Davie Derr and invited them in, seating them in my living room and asking them if I could offer any refreshments or water. They said no. I asked them why they were here. They began to tell me a story that I found beyond comprehension.

Wallach took the lead. "Mr. Derr, we owe you a huge apology. The Marshal's service screwed up five years ago. We are here to apologize and try to rectify that screwup." Now I was totally confused.

She continued. "Five years ago, the Marshals service put a whistleblower you know as Richard Wilson into the witness protection program. He'd discovered and reported one of the largest defense procurement frauds in U.S. history. Your wife was part of the team of auditors the government brought in to audit the defense contractor involved and track the funds." I indicated that this was familiar to me, as it had been the matter Vera was working on when she disappeared.

"Apparently, your wife and Mr. Wilson had developed a relationship and he insisted that she go with him into witness protection. She agreed to do so. But before she did, she insisted that everything possible be done to make her disappearance from your life as easy as possible. That included having a divorce petition drafted and signed giving you all the marital assets and all her individual assets, signing a deed disclaiming any interest in your house, signing over her car, and various other transfer documents. She also included a letter to you. All of this was supposed to be delivered to you once she and Mr. Wilson were safely relocated."

Now I began to get angry. "Are you telling me that my wife, who I've been mourning for five years, ran off with some guy she met on an audit? And you knew and didn't report it? The local cops are still carrying an open file on this. They've been spinning their wheels for five years and I've been in mourning for that long. I can't believe this."

Wallach continued. "We're truly sorry. This file was supposed to be delivered to you long ago. We only found it when we went back into our records after Mr. Wilson and your wife were killed."

"Killed? Are you saying that my wife is dead now?"

"Yes, I am. They were relocated to Portland, Oregon after Mr. Wilson collected his whistleblower payout. They've been living quietly there until about two months ago. There was a home invasion and Mr. Wilson was killed during it. Your wife was badly injured and ended up in a coma. She lived about thirty-five days after Mr. Wilson died. Since she survived him for more than thirty days, his entire estate went to her. Your daughter and their other child are unharmed and in our custody. We didn't want to inform you or go public until we'd confirmed that the deaths of Vera and Richard weren't related to the whistleblower case. The Portland PD just arrested the home invaders based upon the footage from the house's security cameras, so we know who they were. They're just gangbangers, not professionals hired to eliminate Vera and Richard. It was purely random, not connected to the whistleblowing in any way."

"Wait a minute. Daughter? I don't have a daughter. Vera and I didn't have any children."

"Yes, you did. Vera was pregnant with your child before she went into witness protection. Your daughter is about four and a half. Her little brother is two."

"How do you know the girl is mine?"

"After the little girl was born, Vera had a DNA test conducted on her. She didn't look like Wilson at all and Vera thought there was a chance she might have been conceived the last time the two of you were together. It turns out that she was correct. She deposited the DNA test with her attorney to keep along with her will. She was confident enough of your parentage to name you as guardian of the two children if something happened to both her and Richard. She also named you as the individual trustee of the trust created for the children. Their bank is the other trustee. That trust is currently valued at more than one hundred million dollars. You are also named as a beneficiary of Vera's estate to the tune of five million dollars, contingent on your agreeing to take custody of both children and raising them as your own. And she also specified that you were to receive the necklace she wore daily, which you were to hold for Violet until she marries. You're to give it to her as a wedding gift from her mother."             

"There are some other things you need to know. Although we relocated Richard and Vera with identities as husband and wife, her marriage to you was never terminated because you never filed a divorce petition nor had Vera declared dead. You are still legally her husband, or at least were until she died a few days ago. That means we can release Violet to you immediately. Samuel is more of a problem. We're creating a replacement birth certificate for him. Once we have that, we can deliver him at the same time without your going through the whole foster parent background check process. We'll substitute your name as father for Mr. Wilson's on both certificates and turn the children over to you. What do you say?"

"What do I say? Are you fucking kidding me, pardon my French? You waltz into my house without warning, tell me my missing wife has been living with some guy under a different identity for five years and has just died, that I have a daughter I've never met who also has a half-brother, that these kids are rich beyond comprehension, and that you want me to take custody of both of them? Have you been listening to what you're saying. Some people in this room are nuts and I don't think one of them is me."

"As embarrassing as this is to admit, it's all true. We'd like to set up a meeting with the Marshals service to transfer the children to you and put you in touch with the law firm handling the estate. We would appreciate your keeping this under your hat until all the formalities have been taken care of. We know we made some huge errors in how this was all handled and we're really embarrassed and sorry beyond words. Some heads will roll for this, we promise. But the most important thing to address right now is the care of the children. So, are you in or not? As nearly as we can tell, there are no other relatives of either Richard or Vera. If you don't take these kids, they're going to end up in some sort of foster care."

That was a low blow. I suspected that the two Marshals were well aware of both mine and Vera's histories as foster children and had decided to play their trump card. Do as we ask or see two small children end up in a system you hated. I had no choice once they played that card. "I'm in. When can I meet the children?"

CHAPTER FIVE

The Marshals left the folder containing the documentation Vera had asked the Marshals service to prepare when she disappeared. I placed it on the desk in my office, deciding that it had been five years, so whatever was in there would keep a few more days.

After the meeting with the Marshals ended, I called the Hopkins. Without going into detail, I told them that I'd been contacted by federal law enforcement, that Vera was dead and that she'd left two children behind for whom I was now to become parent. I'll give this to both Gunny and Mrs. H. They never once asked me if I'd lost my mind, just started helping me plan to acquire all the things I'd need for my new role as bachelor father.

Two days later, in a meeting at the federal courthouse in Philadelphia, Violet and Samuel were delivered to me, complete with birth certificates naming them as my children. I was now officially their father. A totally unprepared, bewildered, saddened and angry father, but a father nonetheless.

Being younger, Samuel bonded with me almost immediately. It took Violet several weeks longer, but by the time the school year started in the fall, both were calling me "Daddy." I enrolled Violet and Samuel in the day care facility near the high school used by most of the teachers with young children. The Hopkins dipped into their extensive contacts list to provide me with a pediatrician, babysitters with good reputations, and the assorted other resources a new father needs. I think they saw Violet and Samuel as two more grandchildren, much the same way they saw me as a son, if not a formally adopted one.

The file sat on my desk for a month before I finally opened it one evening after putting the children to bed. In it I found all the documents that the Marshals had mentioned, plus Vera's engagement and wedding rings and ten copies of a death certificate in her name that I would need to close out various accounts and transfer her retirement funds to my IRA. The necklace which I had given her that first Christmas together was also in the file. The Marshals had recovered Vera's personal items from the hospital after she died and had made a point of adding that to the materials they'd given me.

I spent a long time looking at the envelope containing Vera's last letter to me before opening it. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what she'd been thinking when she'd left me. Finally, I just bit the bullet, opened the envelope, and began reading.

"Dear Davie,

By the time you receive this letter, I'll have disappeared. I'm sorry to do this to you, but I've attempted to make the process of dealing with my disappearing as easily as possible. Accompanying this letter are all the documents you'll need to remove me from your life and move on without me.

I know that this is going to hurt you. For that, I can only express my deepest regret. You loved me unconditionally. I will always treasure that. I wish I could have done the same to you. I'm self-aware enough to recognize that I've never loved anyone. I'm not sure I have the capacity to love after all the years I spent in that damn foster care system. I know I'd never experienced love until I met you, except perhaps from a mother I have no recollection of. You were much stronger than I was because you survived the system with your capacity to love intact. I didn't. Perhaps the difference between us was a result of Gunny and Mrs. H's time with you, or perhaps it is just that you are the best man I've ever known.

Leaving with Richard gives me the opportunity for a degree of physical and economic security that you and I could never have experienced. As a former foster child, I'm sure you understand the calculation. He and I will have enormous resources and be under the protection of the U.S. Marshals. Nothing you and I would ever have could begin to match that.

I don't love Richard. I think he knows that. But he's in love with me and he's willing to take the chance that I might come to love him over time, particularly if we have children together, as we plan to.

So, my dear Davie, be angry, hate me if you must. I don't expect you to ever forgive me for what I'm doing. But I do hope you will look back on the insecurities of your own foster care existence to understand why I have made this decision.

Please carve me out of your life and move on. Forget about me. Treat me as if I died. Mourn me if you must, but if you don't, I'll understand why you cannot.

Somewhere out there is the woman who can give you the same kind of unconditional love that you gave to me but I could never give you. I hope you find her and the two of you can love and grow old together. I hope she gives you a house full of children and grandchildren, something I failed to do for you.

Goodbye my dear, sweet Davie. Be well, move on with your life. May it be long, rich, and fulfilling.

Vera

After I read the letter, I sat at my desk for a long time quietly weeping. The irony was almost overwhelming. She'd fled to a place where she thought she'd be secure and a random act of violence had destroyed her. My tears were not for my loss, but for the unrepairable damage a hellish system had done to the woman I'd loved so much, whose childhood experiences had kept her from the experience of ever truly loving another person. Vera's death meant that now she'd never have that experience. I put the letter into my safe and went to bed.

CHAPTER SIX

I'll never understand why anyone would want to be a single parent. At least by the time Violet and Samuel came into my life, they were past the waking every two hours stage. Nevertheless, I found myself exhausted at the end of the day after teaching all day and then caring for them at night. I finally dipped into the funds Vera had left to me to hire a fulltime housekeeper/nanny, a delightful 50-something Mexican immigrant named Maria who immediately commenced to teach the children Spanish and lavished her love and affection on them as if she were their grandmother. By the time the kids had been with me for a year, we were a family.

The summer following the Marshals' visit, I took the kids and Maria to Ocean City, NJ for two weeks. I gave Maria a generous amount of time to herself while I took the kids to the beach and the boardwalk. We all had a blast and were sorry to see our vacation end.

My next-door neighbors at the time Vera and I purchased the house had been two seventy-somethings. Earlier that summer, they informed me that they were putting their house up for sale and moving to Texas to be closer to their daughter and grandchildren. The house sold quickly, the closing occurring while we were at the beach. I had not yet met the new neighbors when Violet came in from the back yard with a request.

"Daddy, can Teddy come play on our jungle gym?"

"Who's Teddy?"

"He's the new boy next door."

"Has his mommy or daddy said it's ok for him to come over?"

"I haven't seen them."

"Well, let's go ask. It's time I met the new neighbors anyway and this is as good an excuse as any."

And so next door we went. I rang the doorbell and after a brief wait, it was answered by an attractive thirty-something brunette in a set of paint-spattered dungarees and an equally paint-spattered t-shirt.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Davie Derr from next door. We just got home from the shore yesterday. Violet here is my daughter and I have a son, Samuel. They were playing on our jungle gym and your little boy wanted to join them. I wanted to make sure you were ok with it before letting him come over."

"Hi," said the woman. "I'm Carol Shick. I just moved in a week ago and you caught me in the middle of painting my son Teddy's room. Are you sure you don't mind having him play with your daughter and son?"

"No, that's fine. We'll keep him entertained and let you get your painting done without having to worry about him. Let me give you my phone number and you can call me when you want him to come home. Or just come over and give a yell. I'll probably be in the back yard with the kids."

With that, she thanked me and walked out of the house to tell Teddy he could go next door to play with Violet and Samuel.

The kids meshed as if they'd known each other for eons. Carol must have lost track of time. It was suppertime, and I hadn't heard from her. Violet and Samuel wanted Teddy to have supper with them. I hadn't yet gotten Carol's number, so I walked next door again, rang the bell, and was greeted again by an even more paint-spattered woman.

"Hi again. I was going to feed my kids and they'd like Teddy to stay for dinner. If you're alright with that, I'll feed all of them. You are free to join us if you'd like."

"Can you give me twenty minutes to clean up? I'll take a quick shower and get some clothes on that aren't covered in paint."

Twenty minutes later, my doorbell rang and there stood Carol dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a man's dress shirt with the tails hanging out and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She was carrying a bottle of red wine.

"Come on in. The kids are in the kitchen. We're having spaghetti and meatballs. I hope that's ok. I've made a salad for us to go with it and I have some garlic bread in the oven."

"That's great. Teddy loves spaghetti, although we'll probably have to hose him down when he's done. And I like pasta as well. Is your wife here?"

I wasn't about to share the whole Vera story with a woman I'd known about three hours, so I simply said, "I'm a widower. My wife died a little over a year ago."

"I'm so sorry. I know how painful that is. My husband was a helicopter pilot in Iraq. He was killed in action about two years ago."

"Now it's my turn to say I'm sorry. I spent two tours in the sandbox as a Marine. I lost several friends over there. It hurts to lose anyone, but especially a spouse."

Having realized that my new neighbor was a widow caused me to take a more careful look at her. She was a pretty woman, probably a year or two younger than me, with an attractive face and a nice body. She carried a few extra pounds, but they were distributed mostly to her hips and chest, giving her an hourglass figure that I found quite sexy.