Chapter 3 - The Place Between Destinations
Kael's company, Carr Mobility Partners, had been selected as the preferred developer for a new regional transit center. The project included bus bays, retail space, offices, and a parking structure. It would replace the old Franklin Street terminal with a larger facility financed through a public-private agreement.
In the company brochure, the plan looked clean and efficient. The drawings showed bright windows and wide sidewalks. They did not show the older people who waited for the late buses in rain, or the volunteer desk where Ruth and I helped riders find routes that the smartphone app listed incorrectly.
"The terminal is falling apart," Kael said when we met for coffee near the station. "The roof leaks, and the elevators fail. It's going to be replaced one way or another."
"I know it needs repairs," I said. "But your proposal closes the only evening route to the medical center during construction."
"The temporary plan provides alternatives."
"Have you tried taking them?"
He gave me a sharp look.
"I have a transit planning team."
"Then ask your team how long it takes a seventy-year-old woman with a walker to cross two streets and wait for a connection in December."
We stared at each other over our coffee cups.
It was the first disagreement of our adult lives, and it felt strangely familiar. Kael had been a stubborn little boy. He used to insist that a kite could fly inside the hallway if I would just leave the bedroom doors open.
"I didn't come here to be lectured," he said.
"And I didn't come here to be bought a new station as an apology for a quarter."
His expression changed.
"I didn't mean to humiliate you that night."
"But you did."
"I thought you were asking for money."
"Even if I had been, you could have handed it to me like a person."
He looked down.
"You're right."
The apology was small. I believed it because it wasn't followed by an excuse.
He asked whether I would join a community feedback meeting as a volunteer representative. I told him I would attend, but that a meeting shouldn't be arranged just to prove he was listening to me. We needed riders who used the routes every day, including people who would be unable to attend a weekday afternoon session.
He promised to ask the planning team about alternative times and accessible formats.
That week Mrs. Weller obtained older case records through authorized channels. The documents showed a series of notices mailed to my former apartment after the landlord had returned possession. They also showed attempts to reach me at a county office where I had registered once but not updated my contact information.
Kael called after reading them.
"The court record says you failed to appear," he said.
"I know what it says."
"It doesn't say the judge thought you didn't love me."
"No. It says the state decided you couldn't wait for me to become stable."
He was quiet.
"Maybe that was the right decision for a six-year-old," I said. "Maybe parts of the process were wrong. Both can be true. What I know is nobody should have told you I stopped wanting to be your mother."
He asked if I'd ever seen a photograph of him after the adoption.
"Not until the internet made it possible to search," I said. "And even then I wasn't sure it was you."
I told him about the birthday cards I'd written and never mailed once I knew the adoption was final. I did not want him to feel watched. I wanted him to understand that love hadn't ended when the paperwork did.
His adoptive mother, Diane Carr, agreed to speak with him about the years after placement. She lived in a small town outside Cleveland and had been widowed for five years. Kael warned me he didn't know how she'd react to finding me.
"You don't have to tell me what she says," I said. "Take the time you need."
Two days later he called from her porch.
He sounded like a little boy trying not to cry.
"She has a box too," he said.
May you like
"A box of what?"
"Letters. Some of them are yours."
