After 7 ayes, the matter was settled.
By the time Thomas finally built up the nerve to broach the subject, Sara was already convinced. Neither Thomas nor Sara had wanted the other to think that they were giving up on conceiving a child, so they had never discussed adoption. But almost instantaneously, after building for three years, a pressure valve seemed to have been released. Suddenly, neither felt inadequate any longer or wondered if that’s how they were perceived by their spouse. Intimacy once again was about making love instead of the emotionally-distant act of “trying to get pregnant.” No more charting temperatures; no more doctors; no more “expert” advice from friends; no more procedures. But they still didn’t have a child.
From the day of their engagement, they had been subjected to friends’ and family’s gushing about how adorable and smart and athletic their children would be, which had only served to create a picture in their minds of what their child’s potential would be. So, in addition to desperately wanting a child to love, they‘d cultivated a strong desire to guide this extraordinary child they’d both been imagining toward realizing his or her potential.
Consequently, they wound up registering with the most restrictive adoption agency they could find, which meant that while they would be required to provide more information about themselves, they would also have access to more information about the prospective child.
Reams of paper documenting every year of their lives pre- and post-marriage were notarized and mailed and faxed back and forth. Rigorous background checks, including fingerprinting, reviews of tax returns, and detailed interviews with contacts from different points in their lives, took them six weeks to complete.
At the end of it all, they were presented with a local boy, who had already significantly separated himself from his peers academically, with biological parents who had both earned doctoral degrees. He had been reading books since age 3, they learned. In kindergarten, he’d been referred to a neuropsychologist and had maxed out the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children, the most commonly administered IQ test for kids, after which he was labeled by his public school as “gifted.” Sara, a gifted teacher herself, chuckled when she’d read that. “That’s like labeling Wilt Chamberlain tall,” she’d told Thomas. Then of course there was the Initial Aptitude Test he’d aced in September of first grade. The only concern they had left was whether or not this savant could function in a social setting.
A review of his teacher’s report had revealed that toward the end of first grade he had withdrawn socially, but prior to his parents’ deaths, the only negative comments he’d ever received were that he was at times too social and could be a distraction to the other kids — the hallmark of an unchallenged gifted student.
All of Ryan’s information was delivered to the Ewings piecemeal over a three-week period with his name withheld until the end of his third month in the orphanage. One new tidbit of information would arrive one day without another word for two or three days, followed by three emails in one day. The "Ryan emails" became an obsession. Sara and Thomas both found themselves checking their messages first thing in the morning, all throughout the day, during meals, and even in the middle of the night if they had to get up for one reason or another. The fit seemed perfect, and by the end of the three weeks, they were committed — ready to do whatever it took to bring this incredible boy home with them.
The final hurdle would be an interview with James Prescott, who would personally fly to Cleveland to meet them. Sara had heard of him; Thomas knew the name well. In the financial world, half seemed to think he was a genius, and the other half a sociopath. Oddly, nearly everyone who had actually met him was in the former camp. He was recognized globally as a master fund-raiser and negotiator.
Having earmarked Sara and Thomas’s application shortly after it had been submitted, Prescott had been pulling the strings behind the scenes all along, carefully orchestrating the logistics of the adoption. The couple was perfect, and they were obviously already sold. All he had to have them do now was sign the papers.
The negotiations, however, were far more intense than Prescott had envisioned, forcing him to book a last minute hotel room in Cleveland in order to meet for a second day. The actuarial tables and financial incentives did not impress the Ewings who wanted significantly more parental control. Prescott, on the other hand, wasn’t willing to consider giving away any more decision-making capacity than was outlined in the original agreement.
In the end, only one person was unwilling to back away from the negotiating table, and that was Sara. Once both men realized this, the conclusion was foregone.
In the spirit of compromise, and mindful of the need for a positive long-term relationship, Prescott conceded a few minor points that had to do with vacation time and giving Sara and Thomas durable power of attorney for healthcare.
Within a week, Ryan came home.
“We’ve got a few other minor issues to deal with here,” Prescott said casually. “His parents sent a permission slip for swimming — as legal guardian I signed off on that. And one for soccer, which starts in the fall. I declined to sign off on that…”
“What’s wrong with soccer?” one of the executives interrupted. “All my kids played it.”
“Repetitive head trauma,” J.R. chimed in.
“No!” another member of the board scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Seven-year-olds don’t get head trauma playing soccer!” Then he turned to Prescott, “Are you just saying no because you can?”
A lengthy pause followed the pointed question.
“Do you have a favorite wine?” Prescott asked contemplatively to no one in particular yet grabbing the attention of the entire board. He had pushed his chair back from the table and appeared to be staring off at some distant building in the skyline. “Mine’s pinot noir, specifically Burgundy. It’s a fickle grape — very hard to grow. Winemakers call it the headache grape — nothing to do with hangovers; it’s just very difficult to grow.”
He stood and began a slow waltz around the table, gradually looping back around toward the head, telling his story as he walked. “To make the perfect pinot noir you first need a great vine from great stock — and the clones from Burgundy are the best. But the best wine grapes don’t grow in ideal conditions. Far from it. They need some stress — struggles to overcome! The soils in Burgundy are ugly gravelly clay and limestone with no trace of the dark, fertile topsoil you’d see in a nursery. The weather can be harsh with freezing cold winters, frequent spring hail storms, and hot summers.
“But ahh, those grapes that do survive to harvest, they have character. Truly amazing,” he whispered, closing his eyes as if he were sipping the wine then and there. “Well, they’re full of potential anyway. But they aren’t ready. They need age. Perhaps no wine benefits more from age than Burgundy. Finally ten, twenty, even fifty years down the road, the end result can be mind-blowing.
“Gentlemen, we have a great vine from great stock, but if we put him in a nursery with fertilized topsoil, we’re sure to get very good grape juice. With some carefully managed adversity and patience, we’ll eventually have a world-class Burgundy.
“So to your question, am I saying no just because I can? You could say that.
“But the adoptive parents are the heart raising RTJ. We have to do what they can’t. We have to be the mind. Now, are we all agreed that soccer is out?”
Nine ayes.
It was time. Ryan had to talk to J.R.
Not only was J.R. Ryan’s only connection to his former life, he’d also really been nothing but good to Ryan. He was the only visitor Ryan had had for 3 months at the orphanage, and he seemed to have played some role in setting him up with Sara and Thomas, who Ryan had rather reluctantly come to realize were pretty great people.