Burning America: In the Best Interest of the Children?

No parent prepares for a child to be taken.

Nixon died with his eighteen minute tape and I guess Kaitrin has a videotape as well.

Before we left California for Pennsylvania, my wife, Anne, had her sister videotaped us at our baptism going away party as the Theus Family. On the tape, not once did Anne touch or hold Kaitrin. Anne insisted on flowers on Kaitrin’s head during her baptism at St. Johannes and people laughed when our baby wouldn’t stop crying. Once alone with Kaitrin I saw why. Anne used pins to keep the flowers in place; I removed Kaitrin’s crown of pins. Anne rarely saw Kaitrin early on. While Kaitrin crawled, walked, and developed between her first ten weeks of life and eight months old, Anne worked double shifts six days a week and, God bless her, she was too tired on the weekends to be involved with our family activities.

I serenaded Kaitrin nightly while rocking the baby to sleep, singing, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” Baby was conceived using NFP (Natural Family Planning) as the Church favored. And, before sleep, no need to burn these blessed baby diapers after changing them. They did not smell like all the horror stories you hear. ‘She’s a keeper’ as they say.

Kaitrin’s eyes danced to the fluttering fire engine red of the cardinals, the swift blue jays, and the full-breasted subdued red robins that chirped outside her bedroom window. At twilight, we hearkened to and spotted these winged visitors. As night crept to her cozy room, the walls revealed decorative stars, moons, and the Big Dipper. Kaitrin tranquilly fell asleep despite her squeaky rocking chair. I commissioned an artist to portray the Pennsylvania state bird and a sign that read "Kaitrin" on one street intersecting with "Theus" as the cross street.

Anne saw little of Kaitrin as a baby but when Kaitrin was five Anne increasingly left Kaitrin alone and with other people to watch. Typically, I would come home from work and have to track down where Kaitrin was and get her fed to put her to bed for the night.

One day I returned home to find the house stripped. It was obvious from the driveway. With the curtains gone it was easy to look in and find an empty house. The house looked even worse now. It was bad enough before. The deferred maintenance rancher was drab but now it looked disheveled too. The stone faux front was typical Post-War Levittown, Pennsylvania architecture. I had tried to liven up the interior a bit though and spruced up the front too by showing off the matching wood and green flower pattern throughout. Then I tore out the carpets to show the wooden floors and matching exposed wooden beams on the ceilings. Now the house looked abandoned.

I ran to the door yelling for our five-year-old child, "Kaitrin! Kaitrin!" I feared she was gone.

I unlocked the dead bolted door, a quick look through the empty house revealed that anything valuable, but not nailed down, was long gone: furniture, antiques, pets, child, and whatever we accumulated in over eleven years of marriage.

Okay, I thought. The stuff is gone. Fine. But Kaitrin?

Fighting back my panic, I spotted the tip of a note on the floor where the dining room table used to be, tucked in a book about the Jon Bonet Ramsay murder.

Dear Paul, I'm going away for a while. I'll call you later. – Anne

"Oh my God! Kaitrin’s gone. She took our little girl away from me.”

More panic-stricken than before, I tried to think clearly. What should I do? Who shall I call? The police? Parents? School? Wife's friends? Where could Kaitrin be?
 My first call was to the school.

“Ms. Donna,” the Extended Hours secretary at Kaitrin’s school, “this is Kaitrin Theus’ father. Is Kaitrin still there?”

“Just a sec, Dr. Theus, lemme’ check. No.” I heard papers rustling, “Kaitrin was picked up by the Johnsons today.”

“Okay, thanks.”

No answer at the Johnsons when I phoned. But Kaitrin was often left with my wife’s friends. I went through my Rolodex calls. There was no one home but I couldn't just wait. I had to do something.

I ran to my rented car, my old reliable Honda wagon had died. Kaitrin and I had to walk home when it bit the dust. Bought it just before I met her mother. Funny. Gone now. Rented cars never fit right. Ouch! Bumped my knee again getting in. Rentals are always too small for my 6’2” 198 frame, too short for hoops but too tall for rentals. But Kaitrin did like green so she fell instantly in love with this car and to me the engine murmured soothingly. I couldn’t dispel that queasy feeling gnawing at my gut. I drove along Conestoga Avenue, Main drag. There had to be a cop along here. My eyes spotted a North Blackland Township police officer.

“Officer, may I file a missing person’s report? My wife left a note that she has our daughter.” I surveyed his uniform. It was immaculately pressed with regular navy blue pants and his blue shirt had a badge pinned to his right side while the radio attached to his shoulder epaulet. I’m not sure how I had the presence of mind to do so but I noted his name Carl Harris.

“Person gone more than forty-eight hours?” The officer didn’t remove his glaring, intimidating cop glasses, like the kind you wear on the ski slopes, shiny, reflective lenses, can’t see eye type. The policeman stared down at me.

“Well, I don’t know how long she’s gone, just a kid, only five, our daughter, Kaitrin. She may be at a neighbor’s, the Johnsons.”

Below the shiny lenses and in the corner of his lip trickled brown ooze.

The cop spat out a slug of tobacco.

“You can’t file a report since you don’t know how long your daughter has been gone.”

“Can’t you call?”

The peace officer glared but said nothing while he stretched for the phone in his patrol car.

Keith Johnson was home from work. He informed me that my wife's newfound best friend, Silena Diaz, had driven my wife and Kaitrin to the airport.

The airport! Where did they go? "California" the radio crackled.

Kaitrin and I hadn't been apart more than three days on my longest academic trip. We were close, especially because my wife wanted to go right back to work after our baby’s birth. We have been in Pennsylvania since Kaitrin was ten weeks old. Anne worked her double shifts at the hospital until Kaitrin was eight months old so I provided primary care six days a week. Even after my professorship began at the University, I arranged a teaching schedule to accommodate Kaitrin’s needs.

Me? Paul M. Theus, PhD, mid-forties, slender, short beard, looked like Russell Crowe in The Gladiator. I was no hero today. I was simply scared and totally unprepared.

The policeman seemed genuinely sympathetic now, but there was little he could do. No evidence that Kaitrin was in imminent danger. The little girl was with her mother after all, and although this cross-country trip was unannounced, kidnapping seemed a bit hasty to conclude. He advised me what I could do. He suggested I could contact the local police department in California to check on Kaitrin's welfare.

The most likely destination that my wife would show up would be at my mother-in-law's house, Harriet P. Dough, in Orange County, near my sister Sally’s house. Sally introduced me to Anne, and they lived near each other. I called, left a message, and waited.

The living room echoed without any furnishings. I sat on the bare floor to ‌get my bearings. What was gone? The red antique dry sink that was just inside the front door, the 1700s corner cabinet possibly made in our own county, the antique rug beater, all gone. Any valuables not nailed down were gone. Funny thing was, the antique poster bed headboard sat disconsolately alone, still bolted to the wall because whoever removed the rest of the bed apparently couldn't get it taken apart quickly enough. The headboard stood as a silent sentinel and the only witness to what must have been a feverish day.

I called to check the status of our bank accounts. Just as I suspected, emptied, all our money was gone too. Naïve as I was, it suddenly dawned on me why Anne had pushed so hard to get that Castle Federal Credit Union loan for "home repairs." Since my reliable Honda wagon had recently died, I depended on the rental until I could buy a car. I checked my pockets for cash, how much did I have? $5.85, I won't get far on that. Isn’t it funny what people value most? Never one to bank much on money, still, with no car and no money. Practically speaking, my financial situation was getting grim.

Recently, one night at dinner, Silena, Anne, and I speculated about what was most valuable to each of us. The parlor room conversation was, “What if there was a fire in your house and you had to get out quickly, what would you take?”' Kids, pets, spouse, and family pictures were the typical replies.

Pictures! I stared at the picture. Odd, wasn’t it? Any disposable asset was indeed gone; anything that could be sold at a profit was removed. But Kaitrin's largest oversized baby picture, the one we both beamed over as proud parents, still stood in pride of place in the living room. Pink headband, a “Cool Hand Luke'' smile, reaching for a chocolate chip cookie. Kaitrin was there, beaming on the wall as always. Odd that it was not considered valuable enough to take. A baby picture is only valuable to loving parents and Kaitrin had two: a mom and a dad.

I was pulled from my reverie when my phone blared and echoed throughout the empty house and jolted me out of my musings. Who the devil could that be I wonder? Kaitrin?

Telemarketer. They think this is an affluent area but this place is blessed with being poor in spirit: maybe a mixed blessing.

The Main Line: Bryn Mawr, Swarthmore, and Villanova set the local standards for fashionable WASPish living immortalized in the 1930s Philip Barry play, "The Philadelphia Story." This story popularized privileged suburban life in the 1940 movie version starring Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and James Stewart.

Proud of their superiority over their distant city cousins, the typical North Blacklander inhabitant is "Upper Main Line" in orientation. They feel smugly superior to city dwellers but mistakenly think of themselves as part and parcel of Katharine Hepburn's privileged social elite. This place near Valley Forge used to have a history but was built by Post-War sprawl, its strip mall, USA.

I know Anne well and she is no Katharine Hepburn. Five foot four and always fighting the family weight problem, God bless her husky build. Met her on a blind date my sister set up, told Anne straight off I was leaving California so she knew from the first where I stood. Not that I'd dated much in grad school, hardly at all, but my biological clock was ticking. Anne also wanted a child. Frugal PhDs teaching the liberal arts were not exactly babe magnets. We got engaged within six weeks.

Anne lived on her own, graduated high school, a couple years of Radiologic Technologist training and she could work with as little education as possible. She hated school, but being a Rad Tech got her a job straight away and free from her oppressive mother.

People who met her loved her. She was like Cher, a charismatic celebrity type. Always entertaining, Anne thrived on attention and it enthralled people. Tart or virgin, Anne could play any role, like the Apostle Paul, she was all things to all people.

Once Anne abandoned the house totally, I had access to the spare bedroom that she had separated herself to four months before--with her hand-written note of 12 December 1998--when she dead bolted the extra room and kept the only key to herself. But the room was now open for inspection.

Papers were scattered everywhere around the lone standing antique headboard, still bolted to the wall. Obviously, the movers had left hurriedly.

A brochure with the word "PIERCING" in capital letters stuck out conspicuously among the debris and caught my eye. I picked it up and read a section entitled: "Special Care for Genital Piercings."

“Aftercare for genital piercings [sic] is the same as most other piercings, with antibacterial soap being the recommended cleaning solution. These piercings are some of the quickest to heal, so care for them is often very easy. Simply follow the instructions under `Basic Piercing Care.’

“Sexual activity should be avoided for the first two weeks after getting a genital piercing, but it is not prohibited during the entire healing. If you do have sex during this time, do not subject the area of the piercing to a lot of abuse, and be sure to clean the piercing immediately afterward. Men should wear a condom and women should consider similar protection to reduce the risk of infection. Unprotected oral sex should be avoided during the entire healing period. Pay attention to the piercing [sic], and you should be able to realize when you are abusing it more than you should be.

“Warm salt water baths can significantly speed healing and sooth piercings. Add 1/4 cup sea salt, epsom salt, or even table salt to hot bath water. Soak as often as possible in the first two weeks, especially the first night. This also helps ease the pain and itching.”

Fascinating. I turned the brochure over; it was from a piercing parlor in the Bohemian South Street section of Philadelphia. A loose piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.

According to the receipt, nineteen days earlier Anne got her labia pierced. She had gotten a bead and gold ring. With her navel piercing and jewelry this had cost her $143.00. I referred back to the brochure to discover that depending on what part of her labia was pierced; healing would take two to twelve weeks.

Now more than ever, I knew what I had to do.

Coffee helped me think clearly, so I went for a cup at the Wawa convenience store. I opened my car door and her high-pitched voice smacked me. Laughing, joyful, and playful, a little girl clutched her dad’s hand and her mirth echoed off the store glass panes. I turned around on my heels and got back in my car. I didn’t get coffee that day.

I drove right home. "Silena, what do you want?"

“Fat and forty,” as the sexists say, describes Silena. She is a big-boned woman with two elementary age Fetal Alcohol Syndrome kids, speech impediment and all. She had curly hair, she was chatty, and she had a cock on the walk, domineering, and haughty bearing. Silena hailed from the Caribbean, and she had a handicapped sticker for her car, though I never saw a visible handicap. Anne told me Silena was pierced also; the less I knew, and where, the better. Silena was the campaign manager for the progressive Supervisor who swept her opponent in the last Township election. Also, Silena was recently estranged from her husband, Dan, who had left the home. And she lived three doors down from us.

The only real contact I had with Silena's husband Dan was a fish dinner Anne and I had with them, in happier days, just two days before his departure. He was a quiet, good guy according to my pre-dinner instructions, and then, once he left, he was a no-good physically abusive person. I don't know what the truth is; I guess my perception depended on what the neighborhood Yentas Silena and Anne thought I should think. I would just rather not be involved in their personal lives, and it would have been preferable if Silena were not in ours. All I wanted from Silena was that when Kaitrin was with her, I could get our kid and get on my way. Lately, Silena had a live-in beau since she kicked her husband out.

I happened to catch Silena outside. “What is going on?” I demanded.

"What do you think?" She smirked while surveying the debris of the recent move. I neglected to lock the door, especially since the valuables were gone.

"Well I understand that Kaitrin is on her way to California. Do you know anything about it?" She glanced up disdainfully at me while she crossed her arms. She appeared to be looking for something amongst the papers.

"Sure, I dropped Anne off at the airport,but I'm not saying where Anne is going. How are you making out?" She smiled fully then.

"What’s it to you? Do you know what's going on? Is Kaitrin okay? Anne left a note but it didn't say much." I started a mental list while talking—school, Grandmother, two Aunts—things to gauge what Silena knew.

Silena paused. Then she said, barely whispering, "There's nothing to be concerned about.”

I cocked my head, leaning forward and strained to hear. “And Kaitrin?”

She smirked again. “Happy.”

“She is happy to see strangers?” I grinned.

Louder she said, “Anne’s family counts too,” and she released the Palm Sunday branch pinned on my wall and it fell to the floor.

She took a step closer. “Kaitrin does not know them.”

I smelled something like whisky on her breath as I instinctively backed away reaching for the red antique dry sink behind me. I forgot it’s gone. I retreated while stumbling back into a stack of bills which fell over.

She laughed. “Anne needs a break.” And she stepped on the Easter Palm branch that had fallen.

“Can I get Kaitrin back?”

Silena fluttered away. “Work it out with Anne.”

“Kaitrin does not know Anne’s family.” I picked up the Palm, and I stayed within earshot.

“I think she plans on coming back after she is ready; but, I'm not telling you where she went.” Silena stepped away and out the door.

At a safe distance, I said, “Kaitrin was only ten weeks old when we left California."

"Hey, talk to Anne about that. You know Anne is my friend and I would do anything for her." And she was gone as fleetingly as she had appeared. “Call me later; maybe I’ll know more then.”

I didn’t want to wait too long. "I guess taking a kid unannounced out of school during the school year is okay?" Still guessing the plane had not arrived in California, I called Anne’s new-found friend, Silena, to see what she knew or what she would tell me.

"Whatever Paul."

"Are you aware that Kaitrin’s maternal Grandmother, and two of Anne's sisters, had visited only briefly?" I asked.

"Still family, you know.” Silena shrugged.barked off the phone, apparently to one of her kids. “Family visits at night. My mother used to come then . . ."

"Yeah, but one sister left in a huff when visiting.”

“Anne misses time with her family. I miss my childhood. Night time in bed is such a special treat.”

I truly had no idea what Silena was rambling on about. Was it her or Anne she meant?

“Anne confronted her sister since her sister’s husband molested Anne as a teenager; no five-year-old can be that thrilled with seeing people she doesn't know.”

“Anne needs Kaitrin with her. My mother comforted me at night. We are close.”

“This was not a visit but a flight."

"Sounds like you and Anne better start communicating."

"Well, I'm trying to reach Kaitrin so if you hear from Anne let me know, alright?"

"I’m sure you’ll be the first to hear from me."

Even Silena didn't know if or when Anne planned on returning which did not reassure me. Or, at least from the tone of her voice, she was not telling.

I spent the next hour cycling through and calling every one of my contacts, hoping to get any information about Anne’s whereabouts. Nothing. But I was surprised to get a call from Silena so soon after talking with her.

"Paul, I just got off the phone with my attorney, Wilhelm Livid," Silena said. "I'm informing you that calling me by phone is harassment and you are never to call here again. Is that clear?"

"You know why I—"

"You've been warned. I will press charges against you if you call. Stay away from my house and my kids.”

“Have I ever—" Click.

I shook my head. I didn’t have time to dwell on Silena. I was just relieved when my sister picked up my call.

"Sally," the call to my sister in California began, Sally was an attorney, a satisfying mid-life second career for her, and no BS, a life’s lesson from her divorce. "I don't know where to start but I guess Anne took off and is en route to California with Kaitrin. I wonder if you can check with Harriet and see if they show up there?" She knew Harriett was Anne’s mother. I think they interacted at the wedding and baptism at some point.

"Sure, Paul, are you alright? What happened? Did you have a fight? Did you file a writ of habeas corpus?"

"Nope, darndest thing, Anne just took off, took anything valuable as well. I just want to make sure Kaitrin is all right."

"So essentially Anne kidnapped Kaitrin? They are on their way to California? Is she on her Meds? What about Kaitrin and school?" Sally asked.

"That's right, Anne took her out of school and I found out that they are flying to California."

Sally had the foresight to call the Yorba Buena Police Department; Yorba Buena, Richard Nixon land, is a typical, behind the Orange Curtain, suburb of Los Angeles. Orange County is still mostly conservative John Wayne country, and as such is a safe haven from the wanton ways of Lost Angeles. Orange County is the epitome of the good life and the laid back carefree lifestyle for Californians who have made it and arrived. Orange Countians enjoy their lifestyle and except for the gang bangers, drive-bys, and congestion, life is great. The droll police officer informed Sally that there is not a great deal to be done. The child, as the Officer correctly pointed out, was in no immediate danger and Kaitrin was with her mother. So the cop's hands were tied according to policy.There is nothing that could be done unless I had a court order demanding the child’s return. No crime has occurred and while the child is with the mother the assumption is that the child is fine unless I could inform them otherwise.

Sally emailed me a full report in case she needed a deposition for the Court.

When Sally got to Harriet's, the house was black with the shades drawn but a night light was on and Harriet was cordial and invited Sally right in. Kaitrin was sleeping peacefully with her “Big Afghan” in her mother's old bedroom after the long night flight.

"Anne, Paul told me Kaitrin was here," Sally said.

Kaitrin, upon hearing her favorite aunt's voice glanced up at Sally and smiled, gave her a tired hug, and fell right back to sleep.

"Yes, I needed a break, so we flew out tonight," replied Anne.

“When is Kaitrin going back to school?” Sally asked.

“I’ll put her back in school in the Fall,” Anne replied.

Nonetheless, Sally kept her visit short and non-combative; she called me with the report that Kaitrin was at Harriet's sleeping.

“Paul, one last thing,” Sally said, “bad news, nothing to do directly with Kaitrin but Anne put Barney to sleep.”

Barney was Kaitrin’s anchor; the floppy, brown dachshund was her first view of the backyard when waking and he was her morning signal that all's right with the world.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“She said that she didn’t want to take care of him; no word on the other pets or where they are or anything.”

“All right, prepare now I guess. I got your report, thanks, get some sleep.” It didn’t matter that I no longer had a bed because I spent the rest of the early morning getting my paperwork in order. 


Once the next morning dawned on California, I called for Kaitrin.

"Anne, I got your note. Can I talk to Kaitrin?"

“By now you know she is fine.”

“Fine enough to talk?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level. Getting angry wouldn’t help.

“No, Sally woke her up last night; Kaitrin is still asleep,” Anne said.

I heard Kaitrin singing, “You are my sunshine,” in the background.

"What are you doing?” I criticized.

“Breakfast is fine,” Anne grunted out, I assume to Harriet.

“What are your plans?" I groused.

“I plan to eat,” Anne boasted.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I slammed my fist on the counter.

"What do you mean?" Anne toyed.

"Anne, you took Kaitrin. You've always left her home before,” I stammered.

“Home is where the heart is,” Anne trumpeted.

I tried to appeal to her sense of reason. “When are you bringing her back to school?" I pleaded.

"I talked to the teachers and the teachers said the school work is not that important so it really doesn't matter," Anne sneered.

“Kaitrin belongs in school now. When exactly are you bringing Kaitrin back?" I probed.

"I don't know. I'm not sure right now. Maybe the Fall: I just know that I need some time off and you have to take care of your problems first. . ." Anne ridiculed.

"Why did you take everything then? Problems?" I faltered.

"Whaddya mean," her voice cracked, "I didn't take everything."

“The shabby stuff or worthless things you left behind Anne, yes some things were left but you took everything of value is my point. Where are the pets?” I asked about Dante, Cinnamon, Barney, and Rocky. "What did you do with the furniture?” I quizzed.

"Everything is safe; I have it all," Anne snickered.

"So when will you return Kaitrin?" I hesitated.

"First, I want some things done, and you need to recognize that your personality has changed. You need help," Anne gloated.

"What in the world are you talking about?" I asked.

"Look, first of all, you need to call the Johnsons,” Anne demanded.

“I didn’t say they did anything wrong,” I questioned.

“They let you know exactly what was going on,” Anne demurred.

“They picked up Kaitrin from school,” I growled.

“I talked to Keith and Yvette and you were really rude to them, making them feel bad,”Anne accused.

“I was looking for Kaitrin. I was worried!” Still was.

“My friends are important to me. Apologize!” Anne chastised.

“Fine. Anything else?” I gulped.

“Go see a counselor because of your personality problems, and get an MRI because you have had a personality change," Anne bleated.

Anne was throwing down the gauntlet, and she had what I wanted: Kaitrin. And with that, she hung up.

So I swallowed my pride and dialed Keith’s number.

"Look Keith," I started, "Anne seems to think that you felt badly about her going to California and the cops calling you. Just call her, tell her anything she wants to hear, and let her know there are no bad feelings, okay? I want Kaitrin back home." They accepted my apology.

Mission one accomplished. 


"Hello, Mrs. San Jacinto, this is Paul, Anne's husband. Look, I'm sorry about the misunderstanding at the bus stop. Maybe I overreacted. Will you accept my apology? I'd like this to blow over so Kaitrin can come home."

“This is a big deal,” Mrs. San Jacinto said.

“Look, we don’t know what happened, Kaitrin and your child are small and while on the bus together somehow Kaitrin ended up with a cut over her eye.”

“You have your version. I’ve spoken to my attorney.”

“There was some sort of altercation. Your child is bigger and heavier.”

“So now my kid’s fat right? My husband is a peace officer in the Township. He can make life difficult for you.”

“I called the School District and they told me their policy. They just ask kids not to sit near each other after a problem.”

“There is no problem, I heard you apologize but my husband will keep an eye on you. I’ll keep Anne posted.”

Anne got involved and the revised version of what occurred differed from mine because now I sounded angry and threatening. But, for the time being, I got what Anne wanted.

In any case, Mission #2 accomplished.

“I don’t see anything psychologically questionable; but I believe you are understandably distraught.”

I went to the session at Thanatos Counseling arranged by Anne. Dr. Mason is too sympathetic for Anne. He got her on the phone.

“Mrs. Theus I’m afraid that I can not agree with your assessment.” I waited for the boom to fall.

“Really?” Anne Responded. “I don’t see it that way. He needs an MRI. Something, anything. He is not well.”

“Mrs. Theus, Paul is not an abuser in this scenario.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.,” Anne snapped.

“Why not make an appointment when you return to Pennsylvania? Bring Kaitrin back. I’d be glad to see you and Paul.”

“Somehow I don’t see myself doing that. I need to go.” And with that, Anne hung up.

“Mr. Theus, I find nothing strange about your behavior.”

“That is what I suppose most ticks her off though. You suggested that she returns Kaitrin. Anne has a stable of cultivated pet therapists. She’s had several of them on her string for years.”

“Then I’m just rocking the boat for her,” Mason concluded.

“I’m afraid, but that’s not good. I know you tried. Thanks for that.”

Mission #3 accomplished.

“You can put your clothes back on; I’m finished with the examination,” Dr. Randal Silverman of Brandy River Memorial Hospital stated.

“I understand that you know, Anne, she won’t be satisfied unless I get that MRI.”

“You are in perfect health for your age; there is no need for that.”

“She thinks I have a strange personality change; wouldn’t an MRI show whether something is wrong?”

“That’s quite true, but Anne is a tech; she does not order a procedure without any warrant. Wait right here. I’ll be right back.”

I put my clothes on and waited but I heard Silverman’s muffled but discernible voice through the thin office wall. “Mrs. Dough, Anne asked me as a courtesy to call at this precise time for her convenience.” Then silence.

“No, wrong, I don’t expect to be kept waiting; I’d like her to call me immediately when she gets in.”

Then there was a moment of quiet.

“No, that is certainly not what she told me.”

A long pause ensued.

“Good day Ma’am.”

I heard the receiver firmly put down.

Once Silverman returned, I tried to explain my case again. “Anne will not be pleased, and look, I’m only asking for the scan because I need to get our daughter back; I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“Yes, Anne needs to learn a bit about medical procedures and protocol. As I see it, you are fine, there is no medical reason to order any more tests, and Anne is not qualified to make medical judgments. She is a staff tech and nothing more.”


“Can I quote you on the fact that I’m healthy?”

“Of course. Good luck with your daughter. I understand this is not what she expected but I need to speak with Anne and inform her as soon as she calls.”

“Thank you Doctor; sorry for the trouble.”

I left with the good Doctor obviously miffed with Anne, and I had to confront her. I called her and she picked up on the second ring. "Look, Anne, I've done all that you asked. Now what? Will you bring Kaitrin back home?"

As the early morning light warmed up the house, eight-year old Kaitrin took her “Big Afghan” and neatly folded it over eighteen times, handed it to me, and said, “Put this up on my shelf, please.”

I complied. Then Kaitrin strode outside, opened the garage door only to be shocked by what she saw. My dad had the “Buiee,” my parents’ first car and other than mom, dad’s baby, shipped to pass on down through the family line. Kaitrin knew the car as well, a 1957 Buick Special Riviera 46-R. Dad threw me the keys; my transportation issue solved for sure now.

She paused only long enough to adjust the purple bow of the National Children's Rights Council on the door and she knelt purposefully behind the bumper of the “Buiee.”

A car horn honked down the street. And Kaitrin glanced down the street to see a car pulling away from Silena’s driveway. Silena entered her doorway with a small child waving goodbye to her mother.

Kaitrin pursed her lips, but then she flashed that ole “Cool Hand Luke” smile at me, and tapped her temple with the index finger of her right hand. She understands. Kaitrin carefully made certain that the bumper sticker was straight before applying it. The self-made sticker read: "Family Court = Domestic Violence."

"Crank up Ian, Dad," Kaitrin implored, as she often did, when going for a drive. So I dutifully put on a favorite Ian Hunter CD, Rant, and the song, "Purgatory" intoned.

As for me, I was now prepared to nurture Kaitrin until she was eighteen in single parenting freedom.