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BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

By

Esther Minskoff

Smashwords Editions

Copyright Esther Minskoff 2016

Thanks you for downloading this free book. You are welcomed to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied, or distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete form.

Contact me at: eminskoff@gmail.com

Chapter 1

My life can be divided into three distinct parts. Part One was like a sit com on 1950's T.V. I existed in Father Knows Best, The Donna Reed Show, and Leave it to Beaver. In Part Two, I lived with The Walking Dead, The Sopranos, and The Sons of Anarchy. When I picture Part One, I see a red streaked sunset reflected in a tranquil sea, while in Part Two there is a black, foreboding storm hovering over a wind-battered hut. When I hear Part One, there's a full orchestra playing the Hallelujah Chorus, while in Part Two there's a funeral dirge pounded out on an organ by a partially masked phantom.

Now I'm living in Part Three, which is filled with thick fog and deafening static. The divider between Parts One and Two was the entry into my life of a beautiful, blond, curly haired baby. The murder of that baby as an adult was the divider between Parts Two and Three.

In Part One, I had an idyllic childhood as the daughter of Louis and Phyllis Carter. Dad was a successful optometrist in Manassas, Virginia, a suburb of Washington D.C. I was always an obedient child. My parents called me their little Nazi because I unquestioningly did whatever they told me to do. I was a success-oriented student, always studying diligently so I could earn straight A's. In high school, I was the editor of the yearbook and secretary of the National Honor Society. I never broke rules. I didn't drink, do drugs, or have sex. I was never even tempted to do these things. I was probably one of the few girls in my high school who could make that claim. I liked being a straight arrow. I took pride in myself. I never consciously thought about doing the right thing. It was just automatic for me.

I went to American University in nearby Washington where I got excellent grades and made time in my busy schedule to tutor inner city children. Helping others made me feel good. It made me feel like I was making a difference in the world, albeit a tiny difference, but a difference all the same. I dated, but usually not the same guy for very long because I didn't want to have sex until I met Mr. Right. Again, I was one of the very few college students who didn't drink, do drugs, or have sex. I didn't have a troubled adolescence, and I wasn't a rebel in college. To some people, my life may sound boring, but to me it was perfect.

In college, I became a wide-eyed idealist. Maybe because I lived in the D.C. area and was interested in U.S. history and the presidents. I worshiped the memory of John Kennedy. I believed in a great America with equality for all. I wanted to put into practice Kennedy's philosophy, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." But to me, it was more than just my country, it was the world. "Ask not what the world can do for you. Ask what you can do for the world."

Years later when I became an optometrist, I put my idealism into action, both at home and abroad. Throughout the years that I worked as an optometrist, I volunteered one afternoon a week at an eye clinic in inner city D.C., providing free eye care to the needy. One week each summer, I traveled to Guatemala with a medical missionary group to continue the volunteer work I started there while I was in optometry school. I wanted to make sure that good vision was not just for people who could pay, but a basic right for everyone, no matter where or how they lived. Everyone was entitled to see the world clearly. Although for some unfortunates, the world wasn't always a nice place to see.

And I always smiled because I was happy with myself and the world around me. I was an eternal optimist who found the silver lining no one else detected. The kids on campus viewed me as Miss Goody Two-Shoes, virtuous, even self-righteous. But I didn't care what other people thought of me. I knew who I was, and I liked and respected myself.

I idolized my father so I chose to follow in his footsteps and become an optometrist. When I was a kid, I loved going to his office to see how people responded when he helped them to see better. I recall the facial expressions and words of gratitude when people became aware that they perceived a sharper, clearer world. I felt such pride in my father and the good he did for others. I wanted to do good also, and I did.

I applied to only one optometry school, the Illinois College of Optometry, ICO, in Chicago because my father had studied there. I knew that would be the place where I would master the skills to achieve my professional goals. Since I've always liked working with children, I specialized in pediatric optometry. And I continued my involvement with inner city children by volunteering at a free clinic in one of the worst slums on Chicago's west side. I also spent two weeks one summer providing optometric services on an Indian reservation in New Mexico. And for one of my senior year field internships, I went to Guatemala where I continued volunteering during the summers after graduating.

Do you see what a good person I was? I wanted to make the world better for everyone, especially the needy. I wanted to give of myself. I wanted to do for others. That was Karen Benson in the first part of her life.

Not only did I learn my profession at ICO, I found Mr. Right. During my first semester there I met Paul Benson. By chance, we sat next to each other in one of our classes. It was love at first sight for both of us. I wasn't physically attracted to Paul because he wasn't particularly good looking, and he wasn't attracted to me because I'm not particularly good looking either. We're both average – in height, weight, and looks. I have thick dark curly hair and dark eyes and unremarkable features, except for a turned-up nose. Paul has thin straight dark blond hair, very white skin, and a long face with large eyes and a hooked nose. We're the type of people who often go unnoticed based solely on our looks. But once we show that we're assertive, articulate, and socially adept, we get noticed. I know that sounds conceited, but we both have good personalities and that is what has made us successful in life.

As soon as we started talking to each other, we felt vibes. It was as if we'd known each other our whole lives. At the end of our second class, Paul asked me out. When I got back to the dorm, I made an appointment with a doctor to get a prescription for birth control pills because I knew Paul was the one I wanted to have sex with. He was Mr. Right.

We went out for dinner, but ate quickly because we both knew what we wanted, and it wasn't food. We went to Paul's apartment, and after a short preliminary conversation, we had sex. I didn't have my pills yet so Paul used a condom. Sex was definitely worth waiting for! It was just like my fantasies based on romantic movies I'd seen and books I'd read – erotic and affectionate and fun. Paul said that although he'd had sex with several girls, I was the best. That's my Paul. He adored me then, and has adored me every day since.

On our fifth date, we proclaimed our love for each other, and on our sixth date, we started planning our wedding. After that, we talked about the shared lives we wanted, which included two kids – a boy and a girl. Or, we would settle for two boys or two girls. Over Thanksgiving break, Paul came to my house to meet my family and plan a wedding after graduation in four years. For Christmas, Paul surprised me with a one and a half carat diamond engagement ring. We didn't mind the long engagement because after our first year at school, we moved into an apartment together and practiced being a married couple. Do you see how my fairy-tale romance further enhanced my optimistic view that life was good and always would be?

Paul's family background was quite different from mine. His parents divorced when he was six. His mother moved to Italy where she married a much younger man than herself. When Paul was 15, his father, who Paul dearly loved, died in a car crash. After that, he lived with his grandmother until he went away to college. Paul inherited a goodly sum of money from his father which allowed him to do whatever he wanted. After graduating from the University of Illinois, he spent a year traveling through Europe. He didn't have clear career goals, but he thought he might want to be a physician so when he got back to the states, he applied to three medical schools. He had an almost straight A GPA, but his MCAT scores were just average. He was rejected by all three medical schools. As a back-up, he applied to IOC where he was accepted. When he entered IOC, he had a luke-warm commitment to become an optometrist. After spending some time with me, he was infected with my professional passion and his commitment turned red-hot. So, in addition, to sharing our love for each other, we shared our love for our profession which brought us even closer.

I think Paul and I have a unique relationship. I'm more than just the woman he loves. I'm his whole family, the center of his universe. I'm the mother he never really had as well as the wife who fulfills his every need. Paul affirms me as a woman and a human being. He completes me. I see him as a part of me, part of my inner self. We truly believe that we were destined for each other. And without Paul, I never would have survived the tragedy of the second part of my life. Nor would he have. We were life preservers for each other when we were drowning in sorrow.

After graduating from IOC, we married in an elaborate wedding on December 23rd. Christmas is such a wonderful time for a wedding. The reception was at the elegant J. W. Marriott Hotel in D.C. We had red, pink, and white poinsettias everywhere. I looked beautiful in a lace wedding dress with a long train. My hair was in a French twist covered by a frothy veil. They say all brides look beautiful, but on that day, and only on that one day in my life, I was truly stunning.

Paul was dashing in his tuxedo with a red velvet cummerbund to match the deep red velvet bridesmaids' dresses. When I look at us in our wedding photos, I'm filled with so much nostalgia. We were so happy, so innocent, so hopeful that our perfect wedding would be the introduction to a perfect life.

We went to Hawaii for our honeymoon. Leaving Washington where it was 20 degrees and landing in Honolulu where it was 90 degrees was worth the long flight. We toured Oahu, Maui, and Kauai. We visited the beach where the famous love scene between Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity was filmed. If there hadn't been people around, we would have tried to make love in the surf like they did, but we thought we might be arrested for public indecency. We did manage to make love on the terrace of our 10th floor hotel room where we couldn't be seen because we faced the ocean. We brought leis back for everyone in the family, but they died as soon as the 25 degree temperature outside the airport hit them.

After optometry school, we worked with my father at his Manassas office. Dad had diabetes and his health had deteriorated so after a year, we took over his business. He was glad to retire and pass the store on to us. We immediately expanded the business by establishing relationships with several ophthalmologists who performed cataract surgery. We provided pre- and post-surgical care as well as eyewear for their patients. The business quickly became successful so we opened a second store focusing on pediatric optometry, my area of specialization at ICO. We had the only office like this in the Washington area so it, too, became successful. Eventually, we opened a third store in a new upscale mall where we specialized in designer glasses, especially for people who didn't need glasses, but wanted to make a fashion statement with their eyewear. This site was our biggest money maker.

At our three sites, we employed 18 people. We were very good to our employees; paying them good wages and providing them with generous benefits. We tried to create a family atmosphere, helping them with their personal problems, especially financial, and attending weddings, birthdays, christenings, and funerals. Paul went from having no relatives to having my immediate family as close relatives and our 18 employees as extended family.

Paul was like a son to my parents who became needier as they aged. Mom had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and clinical depression. She disliked leaving the house, and only did so when we pressured her. In addition to his diabetes, Dad suffered several mini-strokes. He spent most of his time with his stamp collections and his two Labrador Retrievers. I arranged for help for house cleaning and medical support. Paul or I called at least once a day, and more if there were problems. We had dinner with them once or twice a week. We were their pillars of support. We didn't feel they were a burden because we enjoyed their company, but most of all we loved them.

Paul was also a big brother to my sister Heather who had lots of financial and emotional needs. We supplemented her waitress salary so she could live in a nice apartment and drive a reliable car. We encouraged her to attend community college, although she kept finding reasons to drop out. We also provided lots of emotional support to help her cope with a parade of disappearing boyfriends. Paul was a wonderful uncle to her son, Brian, who wasn't doing well in school when we first married. We hired a tutor and a psychologist to work with him, but what helped Brian most was the time he spent with Paul. At least once a week, Paul took him bowling or to a movie. Sometimes they just went for long drives so that Brian could talk to Paul "man-to-man." Brian never saw his biological father who was a bartender at a restaurant where Heather formerly waitressed. Paul was the only stable man in Brian's life, and he looked to him as a father figure. Thanks to Paul, Brian eventually became a well-adjusted kid who did well in school. And he grew up to be a responsible, loving adult.

Heather and I had always been close despite being quite different. I was the average looking, smart, obedient child, while Heather was the pretty, rebellious child who was more interested in boys than school. People found it hard to believe that we were sisters because we looked so different. I was dark haired, rather flat chested, and wore little make-up. She was voluptuous with naturally big boobs, blond, beautiful, and heavily made-up. I was the caring big sister who saved Heather from messes she always seemed to get into. To me, Heather was more than a little sister. She was almost like my child. I always had a strong maternal drive, and it was apparent in my dealings with Heather and Brian. But that strong drive to mother could only be satisfied by my own child. I was certain that a child would be in my future when I was ready. How wrong I was.

After three years of marriage, we built our dream house in a gated community in Leesburg. It had the best of everything – huge open rooms, granite kitchen tops, marble floors, a wood-paneled office, 10 foot ceilings, a three car garage, and an indoor hot tub. There were four bedrooms, one for us, one for guests, and one for each of the two children we planned to have. We were ready for the next stage of our lives – parenthood.
Chapter 2

Until May 15, 1983, life had been perfect for Paul and me. On that date, we stopped using birth control. It was the right time for us to have a child. Our business was doing well, our family was stable, and we had a beautiful home. We were ready. But I learned that things don't always work out according to even the most carefully made plans. Throughout three years of unsuccessfully trying to conceive, I had a growing dread that I would never conceive despite my gynecologist's calm, soothing advice not to worry, and that becoming pregnant would just take a little longer for us. But the medications she prescribed did nothing to make her prediction come true. I had to constantly reassure myself that there were many ways of having a child, and one of these ways would eventually work for us.

We consulted with one of the top fertility specialists in Washington who put me on all types of fertility drugs which did nothing but make me irritable. I snapped at everybody, but people understood why and accepted this fleeting change in my temperament. We'd made no secret of the fact that we were having trouble conceiving and that I was taking fertility drugs. After endless tests, we still had no explanation as to why we couldn't conceive. Sure, I wasn't producing many eggs, and sure, the eggs I was producing were weak and sure, my periods were sporadic, and sure, my fallopian tubes were narrow, and sure, I had a history of fibroids, but I still should have been able to conceive, but I wasn't. It wasn't Paul's fault; his sperm were strong, little swimmers.

The physicians referred to me by the politically correct term "infertile." I used the word that really described me – "barren." I whispered it to myself over and over. "I'm barren. I'm barren. I'm barren." It was as loaded a word as "insane." The word "barren" conjured up images of a dried-up, shriveled woman. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I pictured myself like the figure in the Munch's painting "Scream" – emaciated, clothed in black, and face engulfed by an oval mouth uttering a silent scream audible only in the viewers' imagination. But my screams weren't silent. When I was alone in the house, I would stand in my closet screaming.

After it became apparent that the fertility drugs weren't working, we turned to IVF, in vitro fertilization. Now we were in the hands of highly trained medical professionals who assured us that this procedure would work. Maybe not the first time, but if we tried it two or three times, it would probably work. We ignored the word "probably," and put our trust in modern medicine which would rescue us. But it didn't. We tried three times, and three times it failed. After each failure, I was overcome with crushing sorrow. It was as if I had actually lost a newborn baby. I didn't picture an unfertilized egg or a dead zygote. I pictured a fully-developed dead baby. But with Paul's support, I bounced back after each failure knowing that there were other options down the line.

After six years of trying to have a child, we felt that time was running out for me to have a biological child. My failure to produce a baby started to color every aspect of my life. I no longer enjoyed work and my family. I didn't want to have sex with Paul. I felt that I was a failure as a woman. Never before had I failed at anything, and I couldn't cope with it. But I was good at hiding my feelings and presenting a picture to the world of the same positive, optimistic Karen. But when Paul and I were alone in bed at night, I wailed with pain, not physical, but emotional. Paul held me tightly and murmured how much he loved me and how eventually there would be a happy ending to our quest for a child. I tried so hard to believe my beloved Paul, but I doubted his words. How the world was changing – from a place where I controlled my fate, to a place where outside factors beyond my control ruled.

Our next attempt at becoming parents involved hiring a surrogate mother who would carry a child conceived from Paul's sperm and the woman's egg. We felt that this was the closest we could come to having a biological child. Although it wouldn't be my biological child, it was okay with me because it would be my beloved Paul's biological child. We hired Mark Grossman, a well-known lawyer experienced in the field of surrogacy, to make the arrangements. After examining the backgrounds of a number of women, we settled on Ella McCue, a healthy 18 year old who lived outside Richmond. She had just graduated from high school and needed money for nursing school. Her cousin had served as a surrogate for one of Mark's clients the year before, and everything had gone smoothly. Ella was healthy and had had an abortion when she was 15 demonstrating that she could conceive. We analyzed her medical history and found no indication of genetic problems. A psychological assessment showed her to be well adjusted, although her IQ was in the lower end of the average range. We felt that Paul's high IQ could counterbalance her lower one. Overall, she appeared to be a good candidate.

We met Ella and her parents in Mark's office. Paul and I were so nervous to be meeting our baby's biological mother. Ella was a pretty, plump, blond girl who was shy and didn't make eye contact with us. I could understand her being ill-at-ease. We were too, and we were socially adept people. Her parents were extremely talkative. They were trying to "sell" Ella so they stressed her good points – friendly, hard-working, always wanting to help others, and easy going. Her father worked at Home Depot and her mother worked at a nursing home so they didn't have the money to support Ella in nursing school. They knew she would be a wonderful nurse because she cared about people and wasn't afraid of the sight of blood.

Mark had drawn up a contract that would pay Ella $10,000 when the contract was signed and another $15,000 after the baby was delivered, plus payment of all medical costs. Ella promised not to drink or smoke and to follow a healthy diet during the course of the pregnancy. When Mark asked Ella if she had a boyfriend, she said no. Still, Mark cautioned her about having sex during pregnancy. She promised to abstain. The contract clearly stated that we would be allowed at all prenatal doctor's visits as well as the delivery. The baby would be handed over to us as soon as it was released from the hospital and the adoption would be legally completed at the end of the baby's first year. Although Ella could back out of the contract at any time and keep the initial $10,000 payment, Mark assured us that he had never had a case where this had happened.

We were using a fertility specialist in the Richmond area so it would be convenient for Ella. We certainly didn't mind the drive down to Richmond because it gave us time to talk about our future baby, and to dream what he or she would look like and what he or she would grow up to be. We were especially excited after going to Ella's first consultation with the doctor who was confident that all would go smoothly. After that, she saw him several times for fertility drugs. Then we went to the all-important appointment when the doctor extracted her eggs and Paul contributed his sperm. After a very long trip to the bathroom with a stack of porno magazines, Paul was able to make his contribution.

Twenty days later, we were elated to learn that the IVF procedure had been successful. There was going to be a live baby after just one try! After that, we went to every doctor's visit with Ella. We were ecstatic when we saw the ultrasound showing that Ella was carrying a healthy baby girl. As soon as I got home, I arranged to decorate the baby's bedroom in pink. I bought a wardrobe of designer baby clothes and a menagerie of stuffed animals. I was ready to welcome our daughter to her new home.

Paul and I read books filled with girl names, and finally decided on the name Hope because of the hope this baby was giving us for our future. A perfect name for what we were sure was going to be a perfect baby. At each prenatal appointment, I put my face to Ella's stomach and talked to Hope. I was especially happy when Hope responded with vigorous kicks. I had read that fetuses recognized their mother's voices after they were born so I wanted Hope to hear my voice, and not just Ella's. I even recorded myself singing lullabies and asked Ella to play these songs at bedtime so Hope would recognize these songs and my voice when she actually heard me sing them months later in her pink bedroom.

On our visit when Ella was eight months pregnant, we had an unimaginable shock. After we left the doctor's office, Ella introduced us to her boyfriend Freddie who had been waiting at her car in the parking lot. I asked him how long he had been Ella's boyfriend. He said that they'd been going together for two years. Ella had lied when asked if she had a boyfriend. No wonder she didn't make eye contact with us at that first meeting. Paul asked if they had been having sex, and Freddie loudly told him to "fuck off" and got in the car. Ella got in the car too and refused to talk to us. We were stunned and hardly spoke on the ride home. We both had a sense of foreboding. We knew something bad was going to happen, and it did.

When we got home, Paul called Mark to tell him about Freddie. He told us not to worry, and that he would talk to Ella and her parents. We were certain that Ella was going to back out of the contract, but Mark reminded us that this had never happened in any of his cases, and he was sure it wouldn't happen now. Well there's always a first time and this was it. Two days later Mark called with the bad news we expected. Ella was indeed backing out of the contract. She and Freddie were going to get married and raise the baby as their child. Mark had driven to Richmond to meet face-to-face with Ella to persuade her to change her mind, but she was adamant. She wasn't giving up her baby. Her parents tried to get her to reverse her decision, but she told them to "fuck off." Obviously, this would be a favorite expression of the Ella and Freddie marriage. When I called Ella, she hung up. We drove to Richmond unannounced, but Ella slammed the door on us and screamed at us to go away. As we were walking away from the house, Ella opened the door and threw out the bedtime tapes I'd recorded. She yelled, "I never played those stupid tapes. She never heard your voice. She only heard mine because I'm her mother, her only mother. Now leave me alone you bitch. Don't come near me again or I'll call the police."

We walked away leaving the tapes and her cruel words behind.

We were devastated. This time Paul was as upset as I was. Up to this point, he'd been my cheerleader whenever I was down. Now we were both down. We didn't care about losing the $10,000. We only cared about losing our baby. Paul wanted to sue to get the baby since she was his, but Mark said there was nothing we could do because of the way the contract was written. If Paul wanted anything to do with the baby, he could arrange for visitation rights. That was not what we wanted. We wanted the baby to be ours, and ours alone.

On Ella's due date, I called to see if Ella had delivered. Mrs. McCue told me that she had delivered the week before and that Ella and Freddie had moved in together. Ella wasn't even letting her mother see the baby because she claimed that her parents wanted some of the $10,000. I asked her what they'd named the baby. When I heard she was called Amber, I knew she wasn't our baby. We decided to have no more contact with Ella or the McCues. We lost hope of ever having Hope.

After talking to Mrs. McCue, we went out on the patio and watched the beautiful pink, orange, and yellow streaked sky as the sun set. We held hands tightly. We wondered how the world could be so beautiful when our hearts were breaking.

I said, "Do you think that Ella knew from the start that she wasn't going to give us the baby?"

"Maybe. I think it might have been a plot between Ella and Freddie to get the money. We should consider ourselves lucky that they didn't tell us they were keeping the baby after she was born and they got the $15,000. I don't think her parents were in on it."

"I suppose there was no way we could have foreseen this. We were gullible. We wanted to believe. I think Mark was duped also. Maybe he could have written the contract differently so this couldn't have happened."

"Karen, maybe they didn't really plan it. Maybe she bonded with the baby and didn't want to give her up and Freddie was there to offer her marriage."

"You're being too nice. More likely, Freddie planned this from the start. I think he plotted this."

"We'll never know. We have to get on with our lives. And we can't hate Ella. If we do, it'll eat away at us. But we can hate Freddie. He's a piece of shit."

"Paul Benson, I never heard you say something like that before. You never swear."

"He infected me with his profanity."

"What's next?"

"Let's wait and talk about that in a little while. We have to take time to heal."

"I feel like I did when the IVFs failed. I feel like my baby died. I know Hope isn't dead, but to me, she is. Another dead baby. They keep piling up. We're starting to fill a cemetery."

I cried as I'd never cried before. The gallons of tears I produced couldn't drown my sorrows. And for the first time Paul cried, almost as much as I did. We clung to each other knowing that sharing this grief was bringing us closer than ever. And I loved Paul even more for never blaming me for not being able to conceive. It was my fault that we couldn't have a child, but Paul never said that.

The next day I asked our maid, Miranda, to take the baby furniture, clothes, and toys and do whatever she wanted with them. I called the painter and asked him to paint the bedroom yellow. For the next three days I stayed home from work and mourned. My family and our employees called and visited, trying to help me cope with this tragedy. They were returning the kindness that Paul and I had shown them in the past which made us bond with them even more.

A week later I got another unexpected surprise. Heather called saying that she wanted to talk to us about something important. That night, Heather came to our house. As soon as she came in the door, she started talking.

"I know the pain the two of you have suffered from this experience. Everyone is hurting for you. We know how important having a baby is to you. You should be parents. You have so much love to give a baby. I think of all the people who have no problem making babies and are terrible parents, especially the child abusers and the people who neglect their kids. They shouldn't have kids. People like you should. It's just not fair.

I want to do something to help you. I'm going to make an offer that will shock you. I want to be the surrogate for your child. I want to carry your baby. I don't know why we didn't think of this before you went to a stranger. If we had, we could have avoided all the heartbreak you've had."

Paul and I looked at each other as if we had been struck by lightning. Paul said, "Heather, to say that we're shocked is a mild understatement."

Heather looked at me intently, and said, "A baby conceived from my egg and Paul's sperm would be as close to you genetically as possible. The baby would be your niece or nephew as well as your husband's child."

We were silent for a while trying to digest the significance of what Heather was proposing.

"I'm stunned Heather. I don't know what to say. Paul and I have to think about this. There are so many potential problems with this. It's mind boggling."

Paul said, "Heather, are you sure you want to go through with this? You'd have to give up nine months of your life and everyone would know about this. Have you thought this through?  
"Yes, I have. There wouldn't be any problems we couldn't handle."

"Heather, that's not true. Remember you had problems at the end of your pregnancy with Brian. You had gestational diabetes and you were in bed for a while so you wouldn't go into premature labor. I don't know how you would fare with another pregnancy seven years later."

"Oh don't worry. Times have changed, and I'm sure I'd have a healthy pregnancy. I'm in really good shape. I work out three times a week."

"Heather, there are so many issues we have to think about. Let Karen and me discuss this and take the time to process this before we go any further."

"I'm disappointed. I thought you'd jump at the opportunity. It's your last chance to have your own baby. I so want to do something for you, to repay you for all the good things you've done for me and Brian. You are two of the kindest people in the world and more than anybody I know, you deserve to be parents."

Paul said, "Heather, my first reaction is to say yes, but I think that would be a mistake. Karen and I are hurting so much and we're not thinking rationally right now. We have to slow down and think this over."

"You're probably right. I can wait."  
Paul and I hugged Heather tightly.

"We appreciate this more than we can ever tell you. But Karen has gone through an especially painful experience and we have to consider whether she can go through this again. I'm not sure she could handle something going wrong."

"I understand, but nothing will go wrong. I just know it. Oh, and don't tell Mom and Dad about this in case you decide not to do this."

"Of course, we won't say anything to anybody until we've decided. And even then, we wouldn't tell anybody until the IVF worked and there was a viable baby. Let's get together Saturday night and talk again. Can you get a sitter for Brian?"

"Sure. I'll be over at 7."

"Heather, you're the best sister in the world. And you're one of the kindest, most caring people in the world. I love you to the moon and stars."

The three of us hugged and cried.

Paul and I talked about Heather's offer every free minute over the next three days. This would be our chance to have a child that was almost completely ours genetically. We wouldn't have to worry about a stranger controlling our lives. At first, we were ecstatic, but the more we talked, the more doubts we had. What would happen if the IVF didn't work? Could we handle another dead baby? Would Heather's past history with drugs have an impact, even though she only smoked pot? Would she have gestational diabetes again, and if so, how would that affect the baby? What would my parents think? What would Brian think? What would the world think? Would seeing Heather pregnant everyday make it worse for me and my feelings about being barren? What kind of relationship would Heather have with the baby after it was born? Would we eventually tell the child that Heather was its mother? What would happen to my relationship after the child found out I wasn't its biological mother? The more we talked, the more we realized that we didn't want to go through with this. We couldn't take any more pain. And I didn't want the sight of a pregnant Heather constantly reminding me of my infertility.

When we met with Heather on Saturday, we had a difficult time telling her although she knew our answer as soon as she came through the door and saw our faces.

I said, "Heather darling, I can't tell you how much we appreciate your offer, but we just can't do it. We know the sacrifices you're willing to make for us. We can't handle any more heartbreak. If anything went wrong, we might fall apart. We've had so much sorrow."

Paul held Heather's hands and said, "We're going to take the easy, heartbreak free route now. We're going to adopt. You're a kind, loving human being and we'll always treasure what you wanted to do for us."

"I'm disappointed. I'd mentally prepared myself for all the things I had to do. I wanted to repay both of you for all the good things you've done for me. This was my chance to do something really, really good for people I love and to make a difference in our family. I've always been the one everyone in the family had to help. Now I had a chance to be the one to do the helping."

"Heather, your offer is as important as the actual surrogacy would have been. We know what a good human being you are, and we will love you forever."

After that, my love for Heather was stronger than ever. What a sister! She volunteered to give me the gift she knew I wanted more than anything in the world. She was willing to make sacrifices in her life for me. After her offer, I knew I would do anything I possibly could for her and Brian.

So we were ready to move on to the final stage of having a child. We refocused, and started making plans to adopt. How I now regret not taking Heather up on her offer. At that time there seemed to be so many insurmountable problems associated with her surrogacy, but by comparison to what eventually happened, life would have been so much easier. We would have gone on being happy, loving people. We would not have been destroyed by the child we brought into our lives. Only in retrospect can we judge our decisions. Wouldn't it be great if we could travel back in time and reverse our decisions? But real life is not a Stephen King novel.

Mark referred us to Helen Miller, a well-respected lawyer specializing in adoption. At our first meeting with her, she told us about her three adopted children. This made us bond with her even more. One of our main criteria for adoption was speed. We didn't want to wait years for a child. We felt that we had lost so much time to fertility drugs, IVF, and surrogacy. We wanted a child and we wanted one soon.

In our discussions with Helen, we told her that we wanted a white child, one who looked like us. We knew that if we took a racially different child, we could get a baby sooner, but we didn't want the issues that came with inter-racial adoption. We didn't want people looking at us knowing that we had adopted this child. We didn't want to face the issue of bigotry that the child would bring into our lives. We didn't feel that we were prejudiced toward a non-white child, but we just wanted parenting to be as problem-free as possible. That is also why we didn't consider adopting a child with a disability. We knew it would be easy to get such a child, but we'd had so many problems becoming parents, we didn't want more after we became parents. And a disabled child would involve problems in getting medical and educational services. And people would wonder why our child was disabled, and had we somehow caused this to happen. We also wanted a baby, not an older child even though older children were more readily available. We wanted to be the only parents the child would ever know. So although an American adoption of a child who was racially different, disabled, or older would have been faster, it would have entailed potential problems. And we were too emotionally bruised to take on any more problems. In retrospect, I realize that the problems of any of these types of children would have been minor compared to what we eventually experienced.

After fully discussing what we wanted with Helen, we agreed that a foreign adoption would be best for us. We finally settled on adopting a child from Russia. I liked the idea of helping a child from another culture. Based on my experiences in Guatemala, I knew the problems of orphans in foreign countries. Although we could have readily adopted a child from Asia, Central America, or South America, we didn't want a child who looked different from us. So Russia it was. Ironically, the Russian baby we eventually adopted looked nothing like us. Helen put us in contact with WWA - World Wide Adoptions - to start the process of finally realizing our dream of becoming parents.
Chapter 3

The staff at WWA was caring and informative, but best of all was our case worker, Joan Rosen. Joan became a friend, a confidant, and at times, almost a family member. She fully explained every step in the adoption process and was there to guide us through the bureaucratic quagmire. We were in phone contact almost daily.

We had to prepare a family dossier which included a comprehensive study of our family to make sure we weren't sexual deviates, had no arrest records or legal problems, were mentally stable, healthy, financially solvent, and generally respectable people. We completed an endless number of forms, were interviewed, or more aptly interrogated, by different people as were our family, personal, and professional references. When we were finally approved by WWA, I felt like I'd been accepted to Harvard on a full scholarship. Were we to complete a family dossier today, it would probably show that we are different people, especially concerning our mental stability. We certainly wouldn't be approved for adopting a child. We'd be deemed too unstable, and rightly so.

Next, we had to apply to the Immigration and Naturalization Service, the INS, for approval to adopt a foreign-born child. We had to complete another set of documents required by the U.S. and Russian governments. Most of the information in these documents was the same as what we'd already provided to WWA. It took two months to complete the dossiers for WWA and the INS and another two months to get INS approval. Although this took a total of four months, we didn't mind because we were being proactive and the process was moving forward, albeit more slowly than we would have liked.

Next, the INS dossier was submitted to the Russian government. We waited three months for approval from the Russian Ministry of Education and notification that they had a child for us. Every day of those three months was pure hell, not knowing what obstacle might pop up. Surprisingly, none did. Finally, Joan called to tell us that we'd been approved, and we'd been offered a child. His name was Fyodor Gulin and he was born on June 1, 1990. Based solely on this information, his name and birth date, we had to accept or reject him. There was no information on his health, family background, or why he was up for adoption. There wasn't even a photo. This was like a high stakes bet in Las Vegas - all or nothing. But it didn't matter. We eagerly accepted him. I think we would have accepted him had his name been Joseph Stalin or Vladimir Lenin, or if a photo showed him to be ugly or have three ears.

We would meet Fyodor on our first trip to Russia. And after meeting him just once, we would have another opportunity to accept or reject him. There was no question in our minds that we would accept him. How could we turn down a baby, especially a baby who needed love when we had so much love to give? If we accepted him, we would have to go home, await final approval from the Russians, and then return to get our child and, at long last, bring him home.

As soon as Joan notified us about Fyodor, we made plans to fly to Russia. Fyodor was in an orphanage outside of Moscow so we were fortunate that we didn't have to spend extra time traveling to a less accessible area. Within 10 days of notification, we were on a plane to Moscow. That flight was so different from the many past flights Paul and I had taken. We were both seasoned travelers having gone to Europe and Central America a number of times. But this trip was life-altering. It was going to breathe life into our dream of becoming parents.

We began our trip at Washington Dulles Airport childless, and when we returned five days later we would be parents. Well not technically, because we still wouldn't have physical possession of Fyodor. We would only be part-way through the onerous process of adopting a foreign baby. It had been over seven months since we'd embarked on the trail of seemingly endless red tape and bureaucratic paperwork. We were on the first of two trips that would be necessary to get our baby. But after the second trip, we would have our Fyodor and I could channel the unconditional love bottled up inside me to my very own child. I thought that would be the start of a new glorious life. Little did I suspect what awaited me... a new life, but one like a living hell. And all that unconditional love would be rejected. It would be vomited back at me.

I couldn't sleep on the flight from Dulles to Frankfort. My beloved Paul slept soundly. Although he had flown a lot, he hated it and took a cornucopia of drugs to sedate himself. They put him into an impenetrable sleep so I couldn't share my anticipation with him. He was going to be a father, a loving father, but the type who slept through almost everything. But that was okay because there was nothing I couldn't handle myself. I was certain that I could face life's challenges and achieve my goals through perseverance, planning, hard work, and total confidence in myself. That was my attitude in the first part of my life, in the pre-Fyodor stage.

When we reached Frankfort to change planes, I had difficulty waking Paul. I guided him like a blind person through the airport from the United gate to the Aeroflot gate. As we boarded the Aeroflot flight, I tensed because we were getting closer to our baby and because we were leaving the known comfort zone of the Western World for the fearful unknown of the evil empire of Russia.

With the impending trip and the excitement over the adoption, we hadn't paid much attention to what was happening in Russia. We were only vaguely aware that there were monumental changes taking place there. The Soviet Union was in the process of collapsing. Suddenly there were independent states like Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, and Ukraine. I'd heard of them before, but there were also a number of states that I'd never heard of, like Uzbekistan, Moldova, Turkmenistan, and Georgia, which I thought was only a southern state in the U.S. And there was a change in leadership from Gorbachev, who everyone at home thought was doing a good job of trying to make Russia democratic, to Yeltsin who we didn't know much about. We were going to be in Moscow three weeks before December 25, the historic day when the Soviet flag would fly over the Kremlin for the last time. But we were oblivious to all that was happening. We had tunnel vision; we were focusing on only one thing – Fyodor Gulin.

Everything about the Aeroflot plane was different from the United plane. The cabin was dingier and the seats were less comfortable and more worn. The unattractive stewardesses were only interested in herding the passengers, like cattle, to their seats and keeping them quiet. I'm always friendly so I tried to engage them in small talk, but they ignored me. They responded to my smiles with glares. It was apparent that I had left the friendly skies of United, but that didn't deter me from smiling at everyone. I found that I could tell people's nationalities by their responses to me. Westerners responded to my smiles with smiles; non-Westerners responded with sneers, as if to say, "What are you smiling about lady? The world is not a happy place."

As soon as Paul buckled up, he went back to sleep and didn't even rouse when food was served. I picked at the mystery food begrudgingly plunked down by the stewardess. I opened my briefcase and leafed through the hundreds of pages of adoption paperwork that I had almost memorized from repeated reading. I tired of looking at the same documents over and over so I took out the picture of the Russian contact employed by WWA. I asked myself why they sent us a photo of our contact, but not of our baby. Marina Kozar would meet us at the airport and guide us through the steps we had to follow over the next five days in Moscow. Her photo showed a middle aged, plump woman with dyed red, tightly permed hair. Unlike the few Russians I'd seen so far, Marina was smiling. In fact, she was glowing. I hoped that this reflected Marina's real personality, and not just a pose for the camera.

As I sensed the plane descending, I woke Paul who became surprisingly alert and chipper. After going through immigration and being interrogated as if we were terrorists, we entered the vast hall of Sheremetyevo Airport. At the front of the crowd awaiting deplaning passengers was Marina holding a sign with the name "Benson" in large black letters. She immediately recognized us from photos of ourselves that we'd sent her. We hugged like long-lost relatives. Marina was true to her photo – warm and happy. She even wore the same suit from the photo and which she also wore over the entire time we were there. She spoke English, which despite being heavily accented was understandable. She led us to the baggage claim area where we waited almost an hour for our luggage. Marina told us to get used to waiting since Russians weren't as concerned about time as Americans. This proved to be an understatement. Once we retrieved our baggage, she took us outside to a waiting van where she introduced us to Boris, our driver for the next five days. He didn't speak English, but he smiled and bowed a lot. As soon as we stepped outside, we were assaulted by the cold. It quickly permeated the warm outer clothing we'd brought. Joan had warned us that going to Russia at the beginning of December meant that we were there during the start of Russia's cruel, unrelenting winter. We could probably have delayed our visit until early spring, but there was no way we were going to put off the adoption one second longer than we had to. Snow, ice, and freezing temperatures could not deter us from getting our baby.

It was snowing heavily as we drove to Hotel National next to Red Square. With 200 rooms and 50 suites, it was huge. But what was most distinctive about it was its baroque architecture and ornate decor. It looked like the tsars might have stayed there in the past. I felt like a Lilliputian as I stood at the entrance to the hotel. Marina led us through the lobby swarming with people. There seemed to be more heavily armed soldiers than ordinary people. I was sure this was due to the political situation and also the war with Chechnya as well as recent terrorist attacks in Moscow. As I looked at the guns held by the soldiers, I realized that we might not be safe. Their guns didn't make me feel protected. On the contrary, they made me feel vulnerable and in danger. I quickly put that thought out of my mind. WWA wouldn't have allowed us travel to Russia if it weren't safe. I tried to ignore the soldiers, but it was hard since I'd never seen such heavy armor before.

After we registered, Marina escorted us down labyrinthine corridors to our room on the fifth floor with a magnificent view of St. Basil's Cathedral and the Kremlin. The room was very expensive, but the view made it worth every penny. Marina told us to unpack and relax, and that she would meet us for dinner at 8:00.

We showered and changed and laid down, but both of us were too keyed up to unwind. Promptly at 8:00, we met Marina. The maitre d' showed us to a table with white linen, a red rose, and a flickering candle. All quite elegant. Not at all like I expected.

We started our meal with a toast to our future son. Marina raised a glass of vodka, and said, "To Fyodor, Paul, and Karen. May you have a long happy life together. Na Zdorovie."

Paul and I loudly toasted, "Na Zdorovie. To your health."

I felt so sophisticated toasting in Russian, although I'm sure I'm mispronounced my first attempt at this challenging language.

Because neither Paul nor I was used to drinking, we refrained from the wine Marina ordered with dinner. Just the one shot of vodka combined with the jet lag from the trip made it hard for us to stay awake. The menu was only in Russian so Marina helped us order Russian specialties, borsht and shashlik for Paul and caviar and stroganoff for me. We ate every morsel of the food because we were famished and because the food was delicious.

After dinner, Marina shared the itinerary for the next four days. On our first day we would meet with people at the Ministry of Education to make the official request for adoption. On the next day we would go to the orphanage to meet Fyodor. On the third day we would go to a notary to present the final signed adoption papers for processing. On our fourth day we would go sightseeing. When I asked if we could spend more time with Fyodor, Marina responded, "Not possible." This was how all adoption visits were scheduled, and no changes were permissible. Paul and I weren't interested in seeing the sights. We were only interested in seeing Fyodor. We tried to persuade Marina to arrange for a second visit with Fyodor, but we realized it was useless. We had no choice but to accept Marina's firm response to our suggestions for changes. "This is the way things are done. No changes are possible."
Chapter 4

The next day we went to the Ministry of Education to officially sign papers initiating the adoption. We drove through endless streets with office buildings that all looked alike. I felt like we were in a ratmobile running a maze. When we arrived at the Ministry, Boris dropped us off because there was no nearby parking. The snow was piled high along the streets making parking impossible. Marina took us to an office where we waited for an hour for a secretary to take us to the official in charge who spoke to Marina at length while ignoring us. Marina didn't translate so we had no idea what they were discussing, but we had the impression that they were discussing political matters because we heard the name Yeltsin spoken repeatedly. Finally, Marina presented us with papers for signing. After the one hour wait, the actual process took two minutes. Then we went to another office to repeat the process. I couldn't understand why all the papers couldn't be signed at the same time, but of course, I didn't ask about this. I knew the answer would be, "This is the way things are done."

We went out to wait for Boris who was to drive around until he spotted us outside. We waited for almost an hour for him to return. We were freezing so we went inside while Marina watched for him. He said that he couldn't get back sooner because there had been a major accident nearby. I thought I smelled alcohol on him so perhaps he stopped to warm up with some vodka.

Although we knew we were one day closer to meeting Fyodor, we felt as if our first day had been wasted. We were also affected by the coldness of the people we met. No one smiled or seemed interested in us. People spoke to Marina and ignored us. We felt invisible.

We hadn't had lunch so we arranged to meet Marina for an early dinner at a nearby restaurant. Since Boris had to drive us, we asked him to join us. Much of our conversation focused on Marina who was unmarried and Boris who had four children. When Paul asked about the political situation, they both sent clear messages that this was a forbidden topic. They painted life in Russia as wonderful. It was especially wonderful if you were eating expensive meals paid for by rich foreigners. I'm sure they feared being arrested if they conveyed any dissatisfaction with life in Russia, or perhaps they might lose their jobs.

Neither Paul nor I slept well that night despite being exhausted. We were up and showered by 5:00 and went to the hotel restaurant that served a breakfast buffet so we would be ready for the 7:00 pick-up. We both had a hearty breakfast because we doubted that we'd eat lunch.

Marina arranged for an early pick-up because it was a two hour drive to the distant suburb where the orphanage was located. We were going to Baby House Number 38. Russia divided their orphanages into those for babies from birth to three and those for children above three. Most of the orphanages were identified with numbers, not personalized with names. The few names used for public purposes were Stalin, Lenin, and Pushkin. Obviously, czarist names couldn't be used. That's why St. Petersburg was renamed Leningrad. Also, the many political upheavals and killings of out-of-favor officials led to repeated name changes. You couldn't have Trotsky Square, could you?

I had no idea of the lay-out of Moscow or where we were headed. At first, I didn't even pay attention to the neighborhoods we passed through because I was preoccupied with thoughts of Fyodor. Finally, I took notice of the continuous barrage of ugly concrete high rises, remnants of the Khrushchev era building boom. There were few trees or shrubs. Everything was gray and concrete. Garbage mingled with dirty snow littered the sidewalks. The air was blackened with diesel smoke belching from the buses and the few cars on the streets. The people we saw were poorly dressed and dour looking. No one ambled, everyone hurried. I'm sure that was because the weather was not conducive to leisurely walks. Even during the few seconds when I got out of the car to go into a building, I shivered from the cold.

There were no smiles in Russia, not on the people we saw on the streets nor the people we had seen in the hotel or the Ministry offices. Russia was a country oozing sadness, unhappiness, anger, and bitterness despite the rosy picture Marina tried to portray. I didn't know if this was because of the political and economic problems in Russia, or the basic temperament of the Russian people. Probably both.

After the two hour ride, we arrived at Baby House Number 38. The building looked like an army barracks. Most puzzling were the bars on the windows. Why bars? The babies couldn't escape, and I couldn't imagine anyone, except me, wanting to break in to steal an orphan. The driveway had water-filled potholes from melted ice so we had to carefully negotiate our walk from the van to the front door. I was beginning to feel like I was entering a Dickens novel, notably Oliver Twist.

Marina had told us that we would first meet the director of the orphanage, then Fyodor, and lastly the orphanage doctor. We entered a long, dark, dank hallway and headed for the director's office which was empty. We sat on a hard bench in the hall and waited for Marina to find someone. They knew we were coming so why wasn't someone around to greet us? After 10 minutes, Marina returned with a plain, young woman named Olga who was to serve as our interpreter. Her English was quite good and she was cordial, even giving occasional glimpses of a smile. After introductions, Olga went into the private office of the director, Madame Ivanov. We waited another 10 minutes. How right Marina had been when she said that the Russians were not concerned about time. I wondered if there was an ulterior motive behind all this waiting. Maybe it was designed to heighten the anxiety of prospective parents. If so, it was working with us.

The door to the director's office opened and out came Madame Ivanov. What a sight she was to behold – short, stout, shaped like a fire hydrant, and two gold front teeth that glistened when she spoke. Madame Ivanov exuded sternness making me feel like I had to stand at attention in her presence. I couldn't understand how such a cold person could hold a job that required warmth and empathy. Or at least, that was my perception of the job requirements. The director of an orphanage should be like Mary Poppins, not Dr. Mengele. Maybe Madame Ivanov personified the attitude of Russians toward their throw-away babies, an attitude of wanting to profit from Americans like us who were willing and able to pay for their unwanted children.

We entered Madame Ivanov's office and stood in front of her desk while she sat. Marina gave her our paperwork to peruse. After looking at the paperwork for a few minutes, she looked up at Paul and spoke in Russian which Olga translated into English.

"Do you want to adopt Fyodor Gulin?"  
Paul enthusiastically replied, "Yes, definitely."

She nodded her approval and instructed Olga to take us to meet Fyodor. She never once looked at me. She didn't even say good-bye to us. At another time, I would have been insulted by her rudeness, but now all I cared about was meeting Fyodor.

My heart thumped to the rhythm of my footsteps as I walked down a series of halls past closed doors behind which we heard crying children. Then Olga stopped at an open door and entered. The room was lined with two rows of eight cribs on each side. We walked past the children, some crying, some lying quietly with vacant stares, and others reaching out to us as they uttered unknown words. Half-way down, Olga stopped at a crib with a beautiful blond boy.

"This is Fyodor."

I fell in love instantly. The world stopped turning and time stood still. Here was the child I was destined to mother. I was smittened.

Fyodor was standing in his crib. He looked at us, unaware that we were about to change his life in unimaginable ways. Eighteen-month old Fyodor had curly blond hair, pale white skin with round red patches on his cheeks, and bright blue eyes. To me, he looked like a miniature Michael Baryshnikov. Throughout the whole time since the adoption proceedings had started, I never imagined how Fyodor might look. If I had, I would have probably pictured him like a miniature Paul or me. Looks had never been important to me, but now I realized that it would be easier to love a cute baby than an ugly baby. And Fyodor was certainly cute. I was certain that it would be very easy to love this precious child. And if only looks were important, I would have loved Fyodor. But looks aren't important in the long-run. Who you are as a person is important. Later, I learned that Fyodor's outside was beautiful, but his inside was rotten and ugly. Sometimes I wonder if we would have taken him if he'd been ugly. Oh how I wish he had been ugly.

There was only one attendant caring for the 16 babies in the room. She wore a white coat and a white circular hat like those worn by people who worked at a donut shop I frequented at home. She looked overworked and hassled. When Olga told her that we would be taking Fyodor out for a while, she was visibly relieved.

Olga picked Fyodor up and handed him to me. I felt my arms tingle as I touched his skin. Although he reeked of urine, I was able to pick up his baby scent that activated a certain receptor in my brain causing me to want to snuggle into his neck to inhale as much of his smell as I could.

Olga led us down the hall to a small room with a sofa, two chairs, and a table. I sat down on the sofa holding Fyodor. I had fallen in love with this baby at first sight and now I had to make him fall in love with me. I'd come well prepared for winning him over. From my new blue baby bag, I pulled out a toy truck and a teddy bear. Paul took the truck and moved it back and forth on the table as he said, "This is a truck. Vroom. Vroom." He put the truck in Fyodor's hand and moved it back and forth. Fyodor looked bewildered. Paul did this several times, and then gave up when Fyodor refused to hold the truck on his own. Paul looked helplessly at me, silently asking what to do next. We hadn't considered that Fyodor had never seen a truck before. He had no concept of a truck. He had never been out of the orphanage. He hadn't even looked out of the window at the outside world. His experiences were limited to several rooms in the orphanage, his fellow orphans, and the orphanage staff. He lived in a tiny, bleak world, a world that was starving his brain cells making it harder for him to become "normal" unless there was a drastic change in his surroundings.

From the bag, I took out a box of animal crackers that I'd brought from home. I chose a cookie in the shape of a lion and plopped it in my mouth and said, "Cookie. Mmmm." Then I held out a cookie in the shape of a monkey. Fyodor didn't take it so Paul fed it to him. Fyodor's expression changed as he tasted the cookie. This was his first cookie, and it gave him entry into a new realm of experience – pleasure. He reached into the box and stuffed several cookies into his mouth. We laughed at Fyodor's obvious enjoyment, something that was totally unknown to him just a few minutes earlier. Life was beginning to change in a delicious way.

Next I showed him a teddy bear with yellow fur, almost the color of his hair. I hugged it to me and said, "bear" over and over. Then I gave it to Fyodor. He held it, but said nothing. There were no stuffed animals in the orphanage. He had never seen a bear before so he was confused about this too. His knowledge of animals was limited to the animals he'd seen in his environment – cats, rats, and bugs.

When we learned that our baby was named Fyodor, we decided to name him Theodore which is the English equivalent. We planned on calling him Teddy. I pointed to Fyodor and repeated his new name, "Teddy" as I touched his chest. Then I touched my chest as I said, "Momma." After doing this several times, I touched Paul's chest and said, "Daddy." I couldn't tell if he understood what I was trying to do. His face was blank, not confused, just blank. I realized that this was not due to his lack of understanding of a foreign language, but rather his not understanding that words represented things and people. He had no concept of language. How could an 18 month old not have the concept of language?

Paul put Fyodor on the floor so he could walk. He just stood in place balancing himself. We were hit with another realization – he couldn't walk even though he was 18 months old. Paul took Fyodor's hands and tried to move him along in a walking motion, but he just dragged his feet. Paul put him on all fours, but he didn't crawl. He just laid there. We were shocked by his lack of mobility. We didn't know what to do. Based on our limited knowledge of babies from popular child rearing books we'd recently read, we expected that Fyodor would walk and maybe say a few words. He couldn't do anything.

We'd brought cameras so we could bring home pictures of Fyodor. I had a Polaroid and Paul had a Canon. We took pictures in all possible combinations – me holding Fyodor, Paul holding Fyodor, Fyodor sitting by himself on the sofa, and Fyodor with his teddy bear. We couldn't get him to smile even though we made funny faces and funny sounds. His facial expression remained the same – blank. We showed him the Polaroid photos of himself and said, "Here's Teddy." Again, his face showed no expression.

At 12:30, an attendant brought Fyodor's lunch. It was a bowl of soup with meat and vegetables along with a chunk of heavily buttered black bread and a baby bottle of milk. Although Fyodor had just wolfed down eight cookies, he hungrily ate the food I fed him. Fyodor was still at the most basic stage of survival. He needed food, even unappetizing, institutional food.

After lunch, I picked him up and found that he was soaking wet. In fact, he had gotten me wet when I held him. I didn't mind. This was what happened to mothers, and now I was a mother. We took him to his room where the attendant gave me a gray, thin piece of cloth that was a Russian version of a diaper. When I undressed him, I saw that the bottom half of his body was flaming red from a diaper rash. I asked Olga to find out if there was a soothing cream I could put on him, but the attendant didn't seem to understand what Olga wanted because there was no such cream in the orphanage. There was probably no such cream in all of Russia.

At 1:30, Olga announced that it was time for us to leave. We wanted to leave the teddy bear and truck with Fyodor as reminders of us, but Olga said that they would be stolen if they were left. I hadn't looked around the room carefully before, but now as I did, I noticed the starkness; there were no toys or decorations of any kind. There was nothing to look at and nothing for Fyodor to do. Nothing to stimulate his mind. Nothing to develop his brain cells.

I held Fyodor tightly and kissed him, not wanting to leave. I waved my hand and said, "Bye bye." I took his hand and did the same. Again, he did nothing. Reluctantly, I laid him in his crib, and he immediately fell asleep. I drew light circles on his back as he slept. With each circle, I wept a fresh tear. I foolishly wished that I could steal him and put him in my suitcase and take him home. When Olga said that it was time to meet the doctor, I had to fight against the magnet in Fyodor's body pulling me to him.
Chapter 5

If we thought that Madame Ivanov was a Russian character, Dr. Zaretsky was even more so. He was short, fat, totally hairless and wore coke-bottle glasses. He was unkempt and smelled of unwashed clothes. He chain smoked, ignoring the ashes of his pungent cigarette as they dropped onto his shirt. Obviously, good hygiene was not important to him nor were the health hazards of smoking. Other than a stethoscope around his neck, there were no indications that he even was a doctor.

Dr. Zaretsky exuded more warmth than Madame Ivanov, but even a stone would have. He shook our hands as he smiled. Olga translated his words.

"I'm happy you are going to adopt Fyodor and give him a good home."

After he took a few minutes to review Fyodor's file, he said, "Fyodor is relatively healthy, although he is significantly below average in height. The health of most of the children in this orphanage is poor. Some are HIV Positive. Some have hepatitis, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, neurological disorders, or developmental delays. Right now, the only major health problem I see with Fyodor is developmental delay. He might show signs of other problems like Fetal Alcohol Syndrome later. It's too early for me to tell yet. I'm most worried about his lack of responsiveness to language. He doesn't respond to his name or conversations."

I interrupted him to ask, "Could he have a hearing loss?"

"No, because he responds to loud noises and the meowing of the cats we keep around to catch the rats. I'm optimistic that his language will develop once he is in a parent-child relationship. I'm also concerned that he's not responsive to physical contact and sometimes even cringes when he's touched. But again, I hope this will change once he receives attention and affection from people who care about him."

I eagerly said, "He didn't cringe when we held him or touched him. Is that good?"

"Yes."

Paul asked, "What about his trouble walking?"

"I don't see this as a problem. Like most of the orphans here, he's slow to develop walking because he spends most of his time in his crib and he doesn't have a chance to walk or crawl. I think this will develop when he's in a less restricted situation."

"What do you know about Fyodor's mother and his family and his birth?"

It was obvious that this was something he was reticent to discuss. He looked at us intently and hesitated for some seconds, deciding how much to tell us. Finally, he chose to tell us everything he knew, and not censor anything.

"Fyodor was found by the police in a metro station on August 12, 1990. The medical staff at the hospital where he was taken estimated that he was about two months old. They had no way of knowing his exact date of birth so June 1st was arbitrarily selected. When they found him, he was wrapped in a bug-infested blanket wearing no clothes or diaper. His body was coated with feces and urine and bug bites. Fortunately, it was August and an especially hot summer so he hadn't suffered from hypothermia. He seemed to have been breast fed because he wasn't anemic or dehydrated.

He was found next to his mother who was dead. She had died of a drug overdose. There was a needle sticking out of her arm. She had been dead for about a day. There was no ID on her. Everything she had was stolen, even her shoes. She'd been living with a group of homeless, drug-addicted kids who slept in the metro station at night and begged on the streets during the day. The police talked to some of these kids, but they denied knowing anything about her. They said that she and the baby just turned up the day she died. The police knew they were lying, but they couldn't get any information out of them. She had been a pretty blond at one time so they figured that she must have been selling herself and gotten pregnant. They checked birth records for hospitals in the area for June, but couldn't find any record of someone like her having a baby in a hospital. He could have been born in a house somewhere or in the subway station. If the police hadn't found Fyodor so soon after she died or if it had been cold out, he would have died."

He paused to let us digest what he'd just told us. Paul and I just stared off into space reflecting on the story over and over. Here was this beautiful baby who was born in a subway station to a drug addicted girl who loved him enough to breast feed him. She could have deserted him, but she didn't. She had no help. She was all alone in the world. No family, no friends, no services to help her overcome her addiction. She was living in a dangerous, filthy subway station with deafening cars speeding by, and hundreds if not thousands of rushing people ignoring her. She needed money for her addiction and got it by selling herself. That's the lowest a woman can stoop. But she had no choice. Where did she have sex? What did she do with the baby when she was having sex? I couldn't begin to imagine all the problems she had to face every minute of the day. Where did she get food? I knew that if I found myself in the situation she was in, I would probably have done what she did. I couldn't blame her. I blamed society for allowing the tragic waste of a beautiful young woman's life.

I pictured the death scene in my head...a filthy, blond, beautiful girl looking much like Fyodor with her eyes wide open and a hypodermic needle protruding from her arm. I saw an infant version of Fyodor nestled close to her side, feebly crying out to be saved. The scene I pictured filled me with a strangling sadness, but even more with a passion to rescue the baby. Now the do-gooder in me was coming out. This was why I was here. This was why I was adopting a foreign baby. Paul and I would swoop down in our capes and rescue this baby and fly him off to the safety and security of America. I didn't blame his mother. She was an addict who couldn't stop her addiction which ended up killing her. She did the best she could since she breast fed the baby. She could have left him to die, but she didn't. She wanted him to live. I silently vowed to her that I would take care of her son and protect him and he would live. I'd always wanted to make a difference in the world and here was my chance. I would make the world a better place by saving this one child.

After a few minutes, Dr. Zaretsky said, "There's more." His face grew even more somber as he continued.

"I'm going to tell you something that will be hard for you to accept because of the cruelty this baby was subjected to. It's hard for me to talk about this, and I'm an old doctor who has seen almost everything in 35 years of practicing medicine. But you have to know this.

When Fyodor was examined by doctors, there was evidence of sexual and physical abuse. There was scarring and stretching of Fyodor's anus along with dried blood indicating that there has been some type of penetration. Most of us have heard of sexual abuse of a child, but we never consider such abuse of an infant, especially a newborn. To me, this is depravity in its worst form. It is evil. It is vile. People who do such things should be executed by a firing squad."

He took his glasses off and wiped his eyes. He was crying. This hardened doctor was crying for Fyodor.

Paul and I looked at each other, at a loss for words. We had just been told about one of the most despicable acts imaginable. And our baby had been the victim. I controlled an urge to vomit. I had to maintain control of myself. I had worked in the inner city and developing countries, but had never heard of anything so depraved.

"There's more. There were cigarette burns on Fyodor's legs and buttocks. Some of them were in a circular pattern showing that whoever did this was using a cigarette to make a pattern, to doodle. Although it's been more than a year, we can still see some faint remnants of the cigarette burns on his thighs."

I interjected, "Couldn't they find out who did this? It must have been the kids who lived in the subway station or some sadistic gang."

"Of course the police tried to find out who did this, but as you can imagine, that was impossible. No one is going to admit to such behavior. And I'm afraid the police have seen worse than this."

"Do you think Fyodor's mother knew about this? Was she even involved in this?"

"There's no way of knowing. I suspect she may have let people pay her to do this to her baby. This may have been a way for her to get money."

Suddenly my view of the mother changed. She may have been complicit in the abuse of her baby. How could any mother do that? I was filled with hatred for her. And my resolve to save Fyodor grew even greater. More than ever, he needed to be saved, and Paul and I would be his saviors.

Dr. Zaretsky continued, "I cannot say for certain if there are any psychological scars from the sexual and physical abuse. I suspect these experiences may be buried deep in Fyodor's psyche. He may forever have repressed memories of the pain of the abuse and images of the people inflicting the abuse. He may see the maniacal eyes of the sadistic abusers enjoying the pain they're inflicting. I believe in Freud's theory about the importance of infant experiences. I think those memories will always be there. Nothing can erase them from his unconscious. In some way, those memories will haunt him throughout his life."

I frequently think about the sexual and physical abuse Fyodor suffered and wonder if they caused his problems later in life. I'm sure they were contributing factors, but abuse alone could not cause the depths of evil that Fyodor showed later. He was a victim of evil as a baby, and he became a perpetrator of evil as an adult. Did one cause the other? I don't know. Possibly. Or was he inherently evil? Are some people just born that way?

I couldn't talk to Dr. Zaretsky anymore. I was afraid of what else he might tell me. The pain of thinking about this was overwhelming me. I was having a hard time erasing the image of the maniacal eyes of a man staring at an infant as he lit a cigarette and brought it closer to Fyodor's thigh. When I erased that image, a vision of Fyodor lying on a subway platform crying popped up. I wanted to run out of the room. Dr. Zaretsky sensed my panic and took my hand. Paul took my other hand. They tried to calm me. After a few minutes, Dr. Zaretsky gave us more bad news. He had decided to hold nothing back.

"There's also concerns about Fyodor being exposed to drugs through his mother's breast milk as well as when he was in her womb. During his first three months at the orphanage, he showed withdrawal symptoms, constant crying, sleeplessness, jerky movements, and strange sucking mouth movements. The physical effects of the drugs are no longer in his body, but I think they may also be in his brain. I think the heroin permanently changed his brain. So the drugs along with the abuse have probably scarred him for life. This poor child started life with everything against him."

Dr. Zaretsky went on, "We have to look at the positive side also. I'm pleased that Fyodor hasn't shown any signs of HIV or VD or hepatitis which is rampant in the homeless, drug-addicted population and prostitutes."

Paul said, "I know the police don't know who Fyodor's mother was. Is there any possible way of finding out about his father?"

"No. No. Impossible."

I asked, "If you don't know anything about Fyodor, where did his name come from?"

"The authorities picked it. The policeman in charge of the investigation was named Gulin so he was named after him and Fyodor was a favorite name of one of the nurses who took care of him at the hospital where he was brought."

We were silent for a few minutes overwhelmed by everything Dr. Zaretsky had told us. He looked intently at us and tried to end on a more positive note. He wanted us to adopt Fyodor, but he also wanted us to be fully informed about what that poor baby had experienced.

"Mr. and Mrs. Benson, I didn't hold anything back. I told you everything we know about Fyodor because I think you are special people who can overcome what Fyodor suffered. I'd like to say that I'm optimistic that with a loving home where Fyodor will be well cared for, I think that he can eventually lead a good life. I think you can give him such a home. It will be a challenge compensating for what he has experienced, but you are up for the challenge. I know. I can see that you are strong, good people. Very special people."

This was all we needed to hear. We blotted out all the information on the abuse and exposure to drugs. We filtered the information so that we only heard Dr. Zaretsky's words of support. And we did feel like we were strong, special people who could overcome anything. We had our invisible Superman and Superwoman capes that we were sure could propel us into a rosy future with our son. We could overcome the gargantuan problems of drug abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, environmental deprivation, and emotional deprivation.

"Dr. Zaretsky, Paul and I will do everything we can to give him a good home and make him a happy, healthy child."

Dr. Zaretsky smiled warmly and lit another cigarette from the one that he was still smoking.

Then I became aware of Olga. Although she'd translated everything that Dr. Zaretsky had said, I'd never looked at her. It was as if the English words had come from his lips. Now as I looked at her, I saw that her face was soaked with tears. She had done more than translate. She had experienced what we'd experienced.

As we were leaving, Paul pressed a fifty dollar American bill into Dr. Zaretsky's hand as they shook hands. Before leaving home, Joan told us how much to tip each person we dealt with to ensure "good service." This was an expected part of the adoption process in Russia. This was the way to ensure that forms were correctly completed and promptly submitted. The process could be held up at any point by Dr. Zaretsky or Madame Ivanov, if they weren't satisfied. Dr Zaretsky thanked Paul and he kissed me on both checks. The ashes from his shirt rubbed off on me leaving me with a lingering smell of pungent cigarette smoke. Even his unwashed smell stayed with me for a while. Every time I became aware of his smell, I recalled the details of what he had told me. And interestingly even years later, whenever I smell strong, foreign smelling cigarette smoke, I'm reminded of Dr. Zaretsky and what he told us.

Olga took us back to Madame Ivanov's office so we could say good-bye and tip her. Now her behavior was quite different. She greeted us with a golden smile because she knew what awaited her. She even deigned to look at me. She asked about our visit with Fyodor, and when Olga said that we were eager to adopt him, she shook our hands and happily took the $50 tip from Paul. She must have been happy to be getting rid of a child with so many problems who was extremely hard to place once his background was revealed. I wondered if Fyodor had been offered to other potential parents who rejected him once they learned about his background. Obviously, we would never know if this happened.

Olga then escorted us to the front door where Boris waited in the van. Before Paul tipped Olga, I hugged her and thanked her for all she had done for us. We both cried. Paul gave Olga her $50, which we felt she had earned. Thanks to her, our first visit with Fyodor had been good. In fact, it had been more than good. I thought it had been wonderful as long as I could block out thoughts about the abuse Fyodor had suffered and focus on Fyodor's adorable face and our time with him.
Chapter 6

Paul and I were bursting to talk as soon as we got into the van, but we didn't want to talk in front of Marina. The two hour ride back to the hotel seemed endless. Marina had arranged for us to have dinner with her at a French restaurant, but we begged off telling her that we were tired and would order room service instead.

As soon as we entered our room, we spread the Polaroids of Fyodor around the bed. We examined each one as we erupted with conversation. First, we talked about how cute he was...his blond curls, his blue eyes, his rosy cheeks, his white skin. We talked about the good things...how he stuffed his mouth with the cookies, how he held his bottle, how he fell right asleep. Then we could no longer avoid the bad things... his lack of language, mobility, and responsiveness to people. We finally we got to the topic we dreaded most, his background...born addicted to drugs, the possibility of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, sexual and physical abuse, and lack of stimulation and love at the most critical stage in a child's development. We had read enough in child rearing books to realize the critical importance of love and stimulation in the first few years of life and how this lack could have irreversible, life-long effects.

After an hour of talking, we could no longer avoid the basic question confronting us. "Paul, do we really want to take Fyodor? Should we adopt Fyodor? What should we do?"

I listened to my voice. It had never sounded like it did now. It was dripping with anguish, reflecting the emotions I'd pent up throughout the day. My voice conveyed the horror I felt where words were too weak, too inconsequential.

"I don't know. There are so many risks for the future. I can't decide. I'm so conflicted."

"You know we'd do everything for him. We'd get him the best medical, educational, and psychological services. And of course, we'd give him the love and stimulation that he so desperately needs. I know we could love him no matter what."

"Karen, are you sure?"

"Yes. Definitely. No. Yes. No. I don't know! I can't make up my mind. I don't know if our love could be enough to overcome what he's been through. Can love erase the effects of drugs? Can love erase the effects of abuse? Can love make up for lack of stimulation?"

Over and over, I screamed, "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

"If we don't accept him, we probably won't get another child from Russia, and we'll have to start the process all over with WWA and get a child from another country. That could take a long time. When we tell Joan why we don't want Fyodor, she'll ask if we really thought we'd be getting a problem-free child. All children who up for adoption are up for adoption precisely because they had problems in their short lives. There's no guarantee that even if we had a biological child, it wouldn't have problems."

"I don't know if I can wait anymore. Maybe we could get an older non-white kid from home, but I don't really want to do that. Oh Paul, let's take Fyodor. We have to. I can't go through this again. I just know everything will work out. We're strong people who know how to make things happen. We'll make this happen. We have to make this happen. If anyone can save this child, it's us. We're the only ones who can do it."

In retrospect, I think that if we hadn't felt the pressure of not getting another child, we wouldn't have taken Fyodor. We were blinded to the likely consequences of Fyodor's background by the pressure to be parents no matter what. And we pompously thought that we could do what no one else could do. So the pressure to adopt a child as soon as possible, our passion to do good in the world, and our belief in our invincibility determined our decision. We couldn't and wouldn't turn down Fyodor.

While we ate the cold food that had been delivered hours earlier, we talked about our impressions of Russia. I said, "Moscow is so much poorer, uglier, and more intimidating than I thought it would be. And the people are so unfriendly. They seem afraid. It's like they're constantly looking over their shoulders. I can definitely see how this was a totalitarian state because it still is to a degree. They talk about freedom, but I don't feel free and I don't think the Russians feel free either. Maybe things are like this because of the break-up of the Soviet Union and they're in a transitional period. People may be frightened because of the uncertain future. You'd think there would be some optimism about the coming changes, but I don't feel it.

If this is what cosmopolitan Moscow is like, can you imagine what the rest of the country is like, especially the countryside? It must be like the Middle Ages in the rural areas. Or think of Siberia. It's so cold here. Can you imagine what it's like in Siberia in December? No wonder people have been exiled there over the ages. For me, it would be punishment enough to be exiled to Moscow in the winter."

Paul said, "I think Madame Ivanov and Dr. Zaretsky are characters you can only find in Russia. Can you imagine a doctor at home chain-smoking while he talked to you? And that Ivanov woman would never make it in any agency at home. She was scary. I felt like we were in a Russian novel even though neither of us has ever read a Russian novel. Remember when everyone was reading Dr. Zhivago? Well, I never read it. I didn't even see the movie."

As we got into bed, Paul said, "Karen, we have no choice. We have to take Fyodor. I don't think either of us can go through this again."

"Yes, I know. We'll make everything work. We'll have a happy ending. It'll be even sweeter because of all the obstacles we'll overcome. We'll prove that the effects of abuse and deprivation can be reversed. Others have done it, and so will we. We've never been defeatists. We've always prided ourselves on our strength. We've always felt that we could accomplish anything we set our hearts and minds on, and we will. We will."

The next morning we met Marina and Boris and returned to the neighborhood of Baby Home Number 38 to a notary who signed off on the additional paperwork that Marina had received from Madame Ivanov. The traffic was especially heavy so it took us two and a half hours to get to the notary. I foolishly asked why we couldn't use a closer notary. Of course Marina said, "This is the way it has to be." I felt that I would strangle her if she said that one more time.

It took 10 minutes to sign the forms and a total of five hours of travel time. I felt that this was a partial cause for why Russia would always be a backward nation, no matter what political changes were made. It was bogged down with a crippling bureaucracy; it was paralyzed when it came to change, at least positive change. Maybe the constant waiting played a role in our decision. We just wanted to get things over with.

That evening we decided to celebrate becoming parents. We went to a nightclub in the hotel to see a show of Russian folk music. The men were dressed like Cossacks in white tunics and pants tucked into shiny, black boots. They did traditional Cossack dancing with their arms crossed on their chests and their legs kicking high as they squatted. Part of the show involved dancing with swords and sword fighting. The audience wildly applauded and shouted so loudly that my ears tingled. Intense emotion electrified the room. People were in a frenzy. The atmosphere was so different from the depressed mood we'd experienced everywhere we'd been so far. Paul and I agreed that Russians were a people of highs and lows. We, too, were going through a period of highs and lows. Highs at the prospect of parenthood and lows at the trepidation about Fyodor future.

For the last day of our visit to Moscow, WWA arranged for sightseeing. Although we weren't interested, we didn't want to make waves so we went. We were taken on a bus with three other American couples who were also adopting children through WWA. One of the couples was Lauren and Jeffrey Bradley from Bethesda, Maryland, a Washington suburb. We were practically neighbors. We liked them instantly. Lauren was an accountant and Jeffrey worked for a non-profit association. They were both attractive, tall, and with the type of leanness produced by obsessive exercising. Their clothes looked like they came straight from Saks or Nordstrom. You'd expect to see their plaid Burberry scarves in London or D.C., not Moscow.

During the bus ride, I learned a lot about their lives. Jeffrey had been married before and had a daughter who lived with his ex-wife in California. Lauren and Jeffrey couldn't have a child because Jeffrey had had testicular cancer before he met Lauren. Unfortunately, he hadn't stored sperm before his testicles were removed. I got the impression that Lauren was more motivated to adopt a child than Jeffrey, maybe because she was 43 and didn't want to be too "old" for motherhood. I think Jeffrey was very much in love with Lauren and would do whatever she wanted, even adopt a Russian orphan.

They were adopting a boy named Vladimir who was four. They were even more uncertain than we were about the adoption because their visit with him had not gone well at all. They shared a photo they'd taken of Vladimir. He had a mop of thick black hair and a flat Slavic face. Lauren and Jeffrey who were blond, looked dramatically different from Vladimir. Perhaps the picture didn't do him justice because he was crying hysterically and his face was all scrunched up. I didn't think he was cute, but of course I didn't say that. During their visit, Vladimir was hyperactive, constantly running around and refusing to even look at the Bradleys. He didn't want to be held or even touched. The doctor said that he had excellent language and was highly intelligent, but they hadn't seen any behavior to support these claims.

Vladimir's family came from the Moscow area. His father had died in the war in Afghanistan. His mother had breast cancer so she had moved from Kiev where she was living to be close to her mother in Moscow. She'd died, and the grandmother couldn't care for Vladimir because she was showing signs of dementia. Vladimir exhibited violent, acting-out behavior because he had been wrenched from the loving, close relationship with his mother and because he had witnessed her painfully dying as well as her actual death. When she died, he clung to her body and had to be forcibly taken away. At her funeral, he tried to get in the coffin so he could be buried with her. He had only been in the orphanage for three months and kept saying he wanted to go home to his mother. He constantly tried to run out of the building so he was tied to his bed at night. Every time Lauren tried to pick him up, he ran away crying, "Momma. I want my Momma." The doctor said that he would be fine once he was taken to America where he would eventually forget his mother and adjust to his new parents. Despite their reservations, they decided to accept him. Like Paul and me, they wanted to believe they could change him. They, too, would be proven wrong. Vladimir never forgot his mother and he never accepted the Bradleys as his parents.

The four of us shared our apprehension about going through with the adoptions with so little information and such limited experience with the children. I had some reservations about adopting Fyodor, but I knew that if I'd been offered Vladimir, I wouldn't have taken him primarily because he'd had a loving mother who he'd never forget. No woman would ever take her place. Fyodor had never known a mother so I had no competition. I would be the center of his life. I would fill his need for a mother, and he would fill my need for a child. Little did I foresee that Fyodor wouldn't feel a need for a mother. He had no capacity to love anyone. This was his innate disability.

Neither the Bradleys nor we paid any attention to the tours of Lenin's Mausoleum, the Pushkin Museum, or the Bolshoi Ballet. We were more interested in sharing our experiences than seeing the Moscow sites. In the evening, we went out for dinner together. We found that we had similar interests, especially the Washington Redskins. Like us, they had season tickets to their games. We even sat in nearby sections in the stadium. Both Paul and Jeffrey talked about how they would bring their sons up to be Skins fans. Oddly, this was the one thing that actually did happen.

The conversation kept returning to Lauren and Jeffrey's apprehension about the adoption. Should they, or shouldn't they? They kept asking Paul and me what we would do. We couldn't and we wouldn't answer. At the end of the evening, we promised to keep in touch when we got home, and we did. Little did we know that our fates would be intertwined for the rest of our lives. Both our children failed to bond with us, but ironically, they bonded with each other. They became brothers, even blood brothers.

On our final day, Boris and Marina drove us back to the airport. Paul tipped each of them $100. They had been dependable guides so the money was well spent. We would also be working with them again on our return trip so we wanted to make sure they continued to provide good service.
Chapter 7

The Aeroflot flight from Moscow to Frankfort was much like the flight that we'd taken five days earlier – uncomfortable and tense. When we boarded the connecting United flight in Frankfort, my body relaxed and the anxiety I felt in Russia dissipated. The other passengers also seemed to visibly relax. When I heard laughter from some passengers, I was struck by the realization that I hadn't heard laughter on the previous leg of the trip, or other than at the Cossack show, for the whole time I was in Russia. You would have thought that I would have heard laughter in the orphanage because laughter and children just go together. But I never heard laughter there, or, come to think of it, did I see smiles. Authoritarian governments squash many things, perhaps the most tragic being laughter. Laughter is music we play to entertain our souls. With dictatorships, people aren't free to speak their minds or practice their religion or associate with whomever they want, and they're not free to laugh, even if they can find something to laugh about, which is doubtful.

I reflected on our conversations with the Bradleys about whether we should adopt the children we were being offered. The more I thought about Fyodor, the more certain I felt that I wanted to adopt him. I banished any doubts that Paul and I could overcome problems we would have to face. I was determined to transform Fyodor into a normal American child, a child who laughed heartily. I would do everything in my power to make sure that there was a happy ending for the Benson family. But our lives were not to prove to be a Hollywood movie with a happy ending. Rather, our lives would prove to be a Greek tragedy.

As the plane approached Washington, I felt like I was in the Wizard of Oz movie. Just like when the world of gray Kansas was transformed into vibrant Technicolor when Dorothy entered Oz, I felt the world change from muted grays to bright hues. The sky was blue without a trace of a cloud, and the ground below was green even though it was December. What a welcoming homecoming from nature.

I felt love for my country surge up within me. It was as if I were a cheerleader waving a miniature American flag in each hand. I hadn't fully realized how fearful I felt in Russia. Although Russia was supposedly changing, it still was a repressive society. The armed soldiers posted in the hotel lobby and public buildings didn't make me feel safer. In fact, they frightened and intimidated me. If there were armed guards, then there was something to be guarded against, something to be feared. I couldn't recall ever seeing automatic weapons on soldiers or guards at hotels or public places at home. Most U.S. hotels were guarded by doormen armed only with whistles to call cabs.

I never felt totally comfortable in Russia even when Paul and I were alone in our hotel room. Foolishly, I even entertained the notion that our hotel room was bugged, even though I knew this was highly unlikely. Why would anyone want to know what was being said by an apolitical American couple whose sole purpose for being in Russia was adopting a baby? But rationality was in short supply when I was in Russia. And maybe if it had been in greater supply, we wouldn't have adopted Fyodor.

As I mentally replayed my experiences in Russia, I realized that I didn't fully trust Marina. I didn't know why, but I felt that we'd been manipulated by her. We were customers in the commerce of selling orphans. The Russians didn't care about the babies they were selling or the parents who were buying. In, fact, I didn't trust anyone there. This was unlike me. I wasn't cynical, or maybe only when I was in Russia was I cynical. I usually trusted people because in America people were trustworthy, except maybe used car salesmen and politicians. I couldn't run my business if I didn't trust my staff and my clients. Trust was the basis of American commerce. It was the basis of all interactions among Americans.

Suddenly, I realized that my pre-occupation with Fyodor had erased the painful memories of the years of trying to have a child. He made up for the deaths of my IVF babies and of Hope. Fyodor would give me a new identity as a mother as well as a wife and professional. I couldn't have imagined then that he would also give me a secret identity as a person who commits filicide – a parent who kills her own child. I still can't believe that I was responsible for Fyodor's death. No matter how I rationalize why it was necessary, I still caused it. I know it was the right thing. I had to do it. Now I sometimes picture myself as Medea, with blood dripping from my hands after killing my child.

On the ride from Dulles to our house, I observed everything we passed as if seeing things for the first time. Every store and building and person we passed seemed to be greeting me. "Welcome home mother." When we arrived home, we were filled with joy at the sight of our beautiful home. Miranda had fully stocked the refrigerator and shelves with our favorite foods. She'd placed fresh flowers in vases throughout the house. How they brightened my spirits. Their vivid colors seemed more pronounced whenever I thought of Russia and its bleak blandness. The flower fragrances blocked out olfactory memories of diesel fumes, cigarette smoke, and mustiness that permeated Russia, even at the luxury hotel where we stayed. And most disgusting of all were the smells of Baby House Number 38 – urine, feces, vomit, cigarettes, staleness. There was a smell of sadness that permeated all of Russia. Don't ask me how sadness smells. Once you smell it, you'll know what I mean. It's a smell that makes your heart cry.

Paul and I were exhausted so we went straight to bed. Somehow we found a reserve of energy to make love to celebrate our homecoming and our future status as parents. Our love making was like it had been before our attempts to create a baby – comforting, affectionate, and fulfilling. It bound us together physically and emotionally. After we made love, I often felt a calmness and a sense that all was right with the world.

First thing the next morning, I called my parents and Heather. Thankfully, they had survived without any problems while we were gone. Then Paul and I visited our stores. We hugged each employee and repeatedly told the story of our adventures in Russia, and of course, showed the photos of Fyodor. Everyone oohed and aahed at what a beautiful baby he was. We felt like proud parents despite having spent only a few hours with our son. We hid any reservations about the adoption that we felt.

After work, we stopped at our favorite Chinese restaurant and got take-out to dine with my parents, Heather, and Brian. Again, we chronicled our adventures in Russia and showed Fyodor's pictures which were starting to crumple from repeated handling. We were so happy to be re-united with our family and couldn't wait to add Teddy to the group. We were especially pleased at seven-year old Brian's response to Teddy's pictures, "I'm going to be his big brother. I'll take care of him and I'll teach him American things." And he tried so hard to help Teddy, but to no avail. No one could help him. Teddy didn't want Brian as his big brother. Instead, he would find a brother that shared his Russian heritage – Vladimir.

The next day, I started mobilizing for Teddy's trip home. In my usual manner, I methodically made to-do lists. In the past, I had met Brian's pediatrician, Gail West, and was impressed by her expertise and caring manner. I called her and told her a bit about Teddy and asked if she would be his pediatrician. She agreed, and further garnered my support for choosing her by telling me that she had several patients who had been adopted from foreign countries.

When Paul and I met with Gail the following week, we laid out plans for her to contact the best child psychiatrist, speech therapist, dietician, and physical therapist she knew. She suggested that we contact a doctor at Children's Hospital who worked with drug addicted babies and another who specialized in children with developmental delays. We left Gail's office confident that the team of professionals we were assembling was going to transform Teddy into the happy, healthy child we were certain he could become. We were going to eradicate the effects of his first nine months in a womb awash with drugs, alcohol, and unhealthy food; and the first two months of his life filled with sexual and physical abuse; and the 15 months of his life suffering from social and emotional deprivation caused by lack of bonding with a significant adult and psychological deprivation caused by living in a bleak orphanage. Any one of these factors alone would have been a formidable enemy in the fight to make Teddy normal, but all of these combined would prove to be impossible to overcome. We really thought he was going to be re-born with a tabula rasa, a clean slate, as soon as he landed on American soil.

Four weeks after our return from Russia, I got a call from Lauren saying that their paperwork had been approved by the Russian authorities and they were going to Russia the next week to bring Vladimir home. She sounded totally committed to the adoption. The doubts she and Jeffrey expressed when we were in Russia seemed to have disappeared. We promised to get together after we got Teddy so the boys could eventually become friends. They eventually became a lot more than friends; they became brothers and co-conspirators in crime.

Six weeks later, we got the call from Joan West. Everything had been approved in Russia. We were ready to travel to Russia to pick up a Russian baby named Fyodor, and return home with our American son named Teddy.
Chapter 8

Our second trip to Moscow was longer and more involved. We could only book a one-way ticket because we didn't know when we would be returning home. We had to have a court hearing, get a passport for Fyodor from the OVIR (Visa and Registration Department) as well as an immigrant visa from the U.S. Embassy, and finally, we had to register him with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. And of course, all these involved the uncertainties of dealing with medieval Russian bureaucracies.

This trip was also a lot more expensive than our earlier one because we were booking the flight at the last minute, the return flight was open ended, and we were buying a one way ticket for Teddy. We ended up staying 16 days which also added up for the hotel and meals. But of course, we felt it was worth every penny because when we returned to the states we would have our child. There was no monetary value we could put on parenthood.

When we arrived in Moscow, we were again met by Marina and Boris. This time I was able to confirm my suspicion that Marina's smile was a bit too forced. Only her mouth smiled while the rest of her face remained expressionless, like a woman with a frozen face following plastic surgery. We returned to the National Hotel, and had a room with the same magnificent view although on a lower floor. We met Marina for dinner and reviewed the upcoming schedule of activities. She prepared us for each day so there would be no surprises. I was happy to see that on this visit we had lots of time with Teddy. We would be able to start the parent-child bonding process.

The next day we were scheduled to return to Baby House Number 38 for the orphanage release documents and, of course, our much anticipated visit with Fyodor. We eagerly awaited Marina and Boris when they arrived at 8:00. Although it was March, the weather was much like it had been in December – cold and snowy, but now the snow on the ground was blackened from the polluted air. I fidgeted throughout the two hour ride eagerly anticipating the moment when I would see Fyodor. I kept looking at the photos wondering how he had changed since our last visit over two months ago.

When we arrived at the orphanage, we were greeted by Olga. She seemed truly happy to see us, the only person we'd met like this in Russia. She took us to Madame Ivanov who was her usual impersonal self. She presented us with the orphanage release papers which Paul gladly signed. Only Paul signed documents because, as the man, he was most important in all dealings. She gave us two copies, one for presentation at the final hearing and one for our files. I inserted them into the correct folder in my bulging briefcase. We shook hands, and Paul tipped her the necessary $50 even though she had done nothing more than ready the documents, but documents that were essential for getting Fyodor. This time, she made no pretense at being grateful for the tip. She coldly wished us good luck and said good-bye. I wondered if she was like this with everyone, or just Americans, or just us. It didn't matter. We would never see her again.

My heart was pounding double time as I anticipated seeing Fyodor. When we reached his room, I ran to his crib and scooped him up. I smothered him with kisses as I said, "Mommy and Daddy are here. We're going to take you to your new home." Fyodor stared at me showing no trace of emotion, but I was sure he recognized me. Then I handed him to Paul for more kissing and hugging and chatter.

We took him to the room where we had previously met. Paul took out a box of animal crackers. As soon as he opened it, Fyodor grabbed a handful, stuffing it in his mouth. He clearly remembered them. Paul and I glowed with happiness. Then we took out the truck and toy bear. After playing with them, we took out a baby book about animals. I went through each page as I pointed to the dog and barked. "Dog. A dog says woof-woof." Then the cat. "Cat. A cat says meow-meow." Paul showed the pictures of the cow and the lamb with accompanying sound effects.

Next Paul fed Fyodor a bottle of apple juice. He got more on his shirt than in his mouth, but he enjoyed what he did manage to gulp down. He puckered his lips at the sweetness. We again practiced naming ourselves and trying to get him to repeat after us. It didn't work, but we knew this was what we had to do over and over until he got the idea of language and names. Then we sang songs and did finger plays. We sang "Old McDonald Had a Farm," and recited "The Eensy Weensy Spider." Fyodor responded to the songs differently than to speech. He swayed back and forth as we sang. Paul held him and danced as I sang more songs. We were elated at his responsiveness to rhythm. We hoped that we had found a way to get to him through music.

At 12:30, the attendant brought a lunch of bread, cheese, some type of gray meat, and milk. After we fed him, I changed him. His bottom was redder and more inflamed than the previous time, but I had come prepared with a diaper rash ointment from home. As I smeared it on him, he responded as if he were being soothed. As I spread the cream on him, I looked for signs of cigarette burns, but didn't see any. Hopefully, they were gone forever, both from his skin and his psyche.

At naptime, we put him to sleep with more songs and promised to see him soon. When we left, we were so upbeat that we didn't even mind the two hour ride back to the hotel. We told Marina that we preferred to get room service for our dinners for this trip. We didn't want to have to make conversation with her during dinner. I think she was disappointed that she wouldn't be getting any more free meals from us.

On the following day, Marina took us to the Civil Registration Office where Fyodor was issued a new birth certificate as well as an adoption certificate. On both, his Russian and American names were written in the Cyrillic and English alphabets. Fyodor Gulin and Theodore Benson. It was 2:00 when we finished so we wanted to see Fyodor. Because it was sleeting heavily, Boris said it would take more than two hours to get to the orphanage so we put off seeing him, knowing that we would be seeing him for the rest of his life.

The following day, we went to the Visa and Registration Department to get Fyodor's passport. We had to wait two hours in line and were far from the orphanage so we couldn't visit Fyodor again. We were so close, and yet so far from him.

Next we had to make an appointment at the U.S. Embassy for Fyodor's immigrant visa, but we couldn't get one for two days. That was okay because we had a free day to spend with Fyodor. We had hoped to take him for a walk outside the orphanage, but the weather was too nasty. We wanted him to start seeing the outside world. We were glad that he seemed to recognize us and anticipate the cookies, apple juice, and songs. He still hadn't smiled at us or responded to our kisses and hugs. I was concerned about a stiffness when I hugged him. He held his body erect and pulled away from me. It was different from how babies I had held in the past responded. They molded their bodies to mine, but not Fyodor. I should have realized that this was how he would always react to me. He would be both physically and emotionally withdrawn. But there was no way for me to know that this was not just a temporary response, but rather permanent.

At our appointment at the Embassy, we found that American bureaucracy was as bad as Russian bureaucracy. We waited for over an hour for our appointment, and then met with a rude bureaucrat who seemed to hate her job. We had hoped to find an oasis of American friendliness at the embassy, but unfortunately the glumness of Russia had permeated the embassy walls along with hidden microphones to pick up conversations.

We were coming down the homestretch. We had two more meetings at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. At the first, there was an intake where we presented all the paperwork we had amassed: Fyodor's passport, our passports, letters of release from the orphanage, letters from the Ministry of Education, the court decision relative to the adoption, the adoption certificate, and Fyodor's immigrant visa. After presenting all this documentation, we had to return for the Office for Issuance which was closed so we had to wait until the next day. More waiting...eternal waiting.

At last, there was the court hearing where the adoption was finalized. In addition to all the documents we needed for registration, we also needed the results of the home study that had been conducted by the adoption agency, our marriage certificate, police certification that we had no criminal records, the results of medical exams stating that we were healthy enough to be parents and had no communicable diseases, financial documentation showing that we could support a child (our income tax returns for the previous three years), and evidence of a place of residence for Fyodor to live in (the deed to our house). We thought a letter from the president might have helped too.

After 13 grueling days of waiting in seemingly endless lines and subjecting ourselves to interviews with rude bureaucrats, we were finished. We went to the orphanage to get our son. He was no longer Fyodor. Now he was Teddy. We changed him into clothes we'd brought from home. He looked adorable in a navy blue sweat shirt with the American flag on the front. We took photos of him with ourselves, Marina, Olga, and the attendant. Then we put a warm snowsuit on him to protect him from the Russian cold. We placed him in a car seat that fastened into his new stroller. He looked like a prince sitting on his throne. He gazed around as if he knew that he was being taken away from the horrible place where he had lived for the past 19 months. He was being freed from the stultifying prison that was preventing him from developing into the human being we knew he could become.

When I walked out of the orphanage holding Teddy, I was filled with elation. I felt that all my prayers had been answered, and that at last, Paul and I would be able to fulfill one of our purposes in life – to be loving parents. I felt like holding Teddy over my head like an Olympian holds up a gold medal.

On the ride to the hotel, Teddy's eyes were glued to the road. He was seeing the outside world for the first time and he seemed to find it exhilarating. His face showed more emotion than we'd ever seen before. At the hotel, we'd arranged to have a crib for our room. We had a suitcase packed with clothes and toys for Teddy. This was Teddy's first day of his real life.

Teddy was overwhelmed by everything that was happening to him. What he seemed to enjoy most though was eating in the restaurant. He never seemed to get full. His appetite was insatiable. Whenever we went to the restaurant, he was the center of attention. The wait staff and the other diners delighted in watching him devour food like a starving African child. And of course, everyone commented on how adorable he was. When a fellow American dining at a nearby table said to me, "You have the cutest kid I've ever seen," I glowed. I was officially a mother.

Teddy seldom cried, and by the last day he wanted to be held by Paul and me. We took this as a positive sign that he was starting to bond with us. We were wrong. He bonded with us physically, relying on us to meet his physical needs. He never bonded with us emotionally. He never loved us or wanted us to love him. From the start, he learned how to use us, to manipulate us to his own ends.

We had two free days before we were due to fly home. It was too cold to take walks outside so we took walks around the massive hotel. Many people (mostly women) stopped to admire our beautiful baby. We glowed with parental pride. When someone asked, "What's your son's name?" I felt like bursting with happiness...my son. Yes, I had what a wished for, but remember to be careful what you wish for.
Chapter 9

The flight home seemed to go fast because I was entirely focused on Teddy. Aside from the times he ate, Teddy slept in my arms most of the way. It felt so good to hold him. I never wanted to put him down. I wanted him to stay a baby forever, a baby who was dependent on me for everything. And I would give him everything. This is what I dreamed motherhood would be like. While he was nestled in my arms, I felt fulfilled as a woman. I know it's hard to accept, but there are some women who can only feel complete if they have a child. It's like a basic need that can only be satisfied when they physically bond with a baby. I was one of those women.

When we got to the house, we were greeted by glittery balloons with "baby" and "congratulations" emblazoned on them. Over the fireplace mantel, Heather had hung a sign reading "Welcome home Teddy." The refrigerator was stocked with milk bottles and the cabinets with jars of toddler level baby food. Gail had suggested that I feed him this to ensure that he got all the nutrients he needed. I also gave him solid food which he much preferred.

I carried Teddy on a tour of his new home as Paul gave a running commentary. "This is the kitchen, the place where you'll get all the food you'll love to eat...This is the laundry room where Mom will make your clothes sparkly clean...This is the family room with lots of toys for you to play with and a TV for you to watch Sesame Street and other hit baby shows." Paul hummed the Sesame Street theme. By Teddy's age most children have been exposed to TV, but Teddy hadn't seen TV until we put it on in the hotel room in Russia. There were no TVs, books, or other stimulating materials in the orphanage. Teddy was mesmerized by TV from the very first time he saw it. He would stare at the screen as if hypnotized. At first, he would watch anything, even the news, but then he became fascinated with cartoons. Eventually his tastes changed to violent and erotic programs.

As we walked around the house, Paul was as immersed in the father role as I was in the mother role. I know I'm focusing on my hardship and pain, but Paul's was no less than mine. He wanted to be a nurturing, protective father who was a source of strength and wisdom to his son. There is a unique bond between mother and son, but also between father and son. Paul wanted that so much, but he was never to have it.

Then we took Teddy to his room. I put him on the changing table and removed his diaper. After 16 days of using the ointment and Pampers instead of washed-out rags masquerading as diapers, his rash was almost gone. I put on his pajamas and took him to the rocking chair where I gently rocked him as I sang lullabies. When he dozed off, I put him in his new crib in his new home in his new country. He fell into a deep sleep, snoring softly the way only babies do. Another good thing about Teddy was that he was a good sleeper. Whenever we put him to bed, he slept soundly through the night. He wasn't haunted by nightmares from his past. Maybe the visions of his abusers were buried deeper than in his sleep; they were rooted in his unconscious.

The next day was the start of introducing Teddy to his new family and our employees. We took him to meet his "Nana" and "Poppa," who eagerly welcomed their beautiful grandson. Dad's dogs crowded around Teddy to greet him, licking his face as if he were coated with sugar. Teddy cried hysterically. It wasn't a normal cry; it was a cry of terror. Dad pulled the dogs away, and locked them in the basement. They weren't used to being penned up so they barked loudly the whole time we were there. Gradually, Teddy overcame his fear of the dogs, although he never petted or played with them. The dogs reacted differently to him than to anyone else. Like most Labs, they loved everyone, everyone except Teddy. They stayed away from him. Some people say that dogs have a sixth sense. Supposedly, some dogs can sense impending earthquakes or cancer in people or something dangerous about a person. Dad's dogs sensed something sinister in Teddy even at such a young age.

After introducing Teddy to my parents, we took him to meet our employees at the three stores. They all oohed and aahed over him, but he didn't smile or respond positively. He didn't even laugh when he was tickled, but he didn't cry either. Everyone kept commenting on how cute Teddy was, and for a while that was his saving grace. People accepted him because he was good looking, and they ignored his behavior. He passively accepted the attention from our employees and even some of the customers in the stores. We attributed this to his feeling overwhelmed by everything and everyone he was encountering. His new life was quickly enveloping him. Less than a month ago, he was penned up in a bleak orphanage. Now he was immersed in a stimulating environment alive with people and things.

We returned to my parents' house for dinner and for Heather and Brian to meet Teddy. Although I had brought some baby food, Teddy wanted to eat the spaghetti we were all eating. He stuffed handfuls into his mouth as if he were starving. Brian thought this was funny and imitated him. We didn't think the mess he made was funny. After dinner, Brian tried unsuccessfully to interest Teddy in his toy cars. Teddy wouldn't look at the cars even when Brian zoomed them up and down Teddy's body and head.

When we got home, we gave Teddy a bath. He loved being bathed. He relaxed in the warm water. When I took him out, he cried. At bedtime, I began our nightly ritual of singing to him. He seemed to like this, but when I tried to kiss him, he turned his face away. When Paul hugged him, he stiffened his body. We were learning more about Teddy every minute. He liked baths, eating, and music. He disliked animals, kissing, and hugging. We knew that he'd never been kissed or hugged in the orphanage, but we thought that it was innate for everyone to respond to physical affection. We learned that it was innate for almost all people, but not everyone. If you start life without affection, you may not want it later when it's offered. There's a critical period when the brain craves it. If it's not provided then, the brain shuts down that receptivity. That's my explanation for why Teddy never responded to affection. When his brain was thirsting for affection, there was no one to water it so it withered and died. We were too late. But at times I think that there's another explanation which I find harder to accept, but still plausible. Teddy was innately immune to affection. It was not programmed into him genetically. He was an emotional robot.

The next day we took Teddy for his first appointment with Gail. Earlier, we'd given her all the medical paperwork from Russia so she was fully aware of his prenatal and early life history. Gail was very warm toward Teddy, but when she went to examine him with her stethoscope, he recoiled and pushed her away. We were surprised at the vehemence with which he did this. He looked angry. When she tried to look into his ears, he again pushed her away, even more vigorously than before. She asked Paul to hold him down so she could examine him. Teddy screamed and kicked and hit at Paul and Gail until they gave up.

"I'll have to examine him at another time. Obviously, he's strong. From just looking at him, I'd say he looks healthy. Maybe, I could come to your house and try to examine him in less intimidating surroundings."

I was surprised at her suggestion. How kind of her to volunteer examining Teddy in our home. She proved to be the most supportive physician I've ever met. She taught us to understand Teddy to the degree that anyone can understand a child with Reactive Attachment Disorder, or RAD. That label explained his behavior when he was a child, but not as he got older. Then the label psychopath was more appropriate.

I said, "I'm a little concerned about taking him to all these specialists. They may not be able to get through to him."

"I wouldn't worry about that. Most of them are used to this type of response. Have you seen any changes in Teddy since you've had him home?"

Paul said, "Yes. He's starting to walk. He has that cute drunken walk of babies and looks like he'll fall over, but he doesn't."

"That's great. I think we'll see a lot of developmental progress as he gets more comfortable with you and his new surroundings."

"I don't think we need to see a dietician. He eats everything."

"I'll have my nurse weigh and measure him. She'll be able to sit him on the baby scale so we can get his weight, and I'll have her put a tape measure next to him when he stands so we can get an approximate height.

I know you haven't had Teddy long, but what are your major concerns?"

"Probably, the most worrisome is his lack of responsiveness to our kissing and hugging. He recoils from physical contact. It's so painful to have our love rejected. We don't know how to get our feelings through to him. And of course, there's his lack of language. I'd say those are our two major concerns right now. Not being able to get through to him through our actions or our words. It's so frustrating."

"I'd like you to take Teddy to see Dr. Ajay Singh at Children's Hospital. He's an expert on developmental delays. And then he'll have a full speech and language assessment also by the folks at Children's."

"That sounds good. Is there anything you can say about what's wrong with him, or is it too early?"

"Oh, I can't really say anything definitively. Considering all he's been through, it'll be a while before we can determine what's right and wrong with him. There certainly is a lot right with him. I think we'll see progress very soon. I'm very optimistic that with the love and support you're giving him, he'll come a long way. It'll take a while, but it'll happen."

In the early days, everyone was optimistic, especially us. With time, our optimism died. It was replaced with a feeling of helplessness about what to do and a feeling of hopelessness as our attempts to help him failed. And with time these feelings of helplessness and hopelessness mingled with our growing dislike, even hatred of Teddy, and then feelings of guilt over these reactions. Parents aren't supposed to hate their child, but eventually we did. We hated him for what he was and for the people he turned us into. We had always been positive, but he made us negative. We had always felt love, but he filled us with hate. We had always been optimistic, but with him in our lives, we felt gloom and doom. Teddy molded us into people we could never have foreseen ourselves becoming. The person I became in Part Two of my life had little in common with the person I was in Part One. We thought we would change him, but he changed us.

Joan from WWA called us periodically and was encouraging in all that we were doing for Teddy, but with time, she changed. First, she called us less frequently. I suppose that's to be expected since her job and WWA's job were finished. But we also sensed a change in her attitude toward us. Initially, she was supportive of what we were doing for Teddy, but as we experienced more problems, she stepped back. It was as if she feared that we might blame WWA, or we might want to return Teddy to Russia. We knew of cases of foreign adoptions, especially those from Eastern Europe and Russia, where parents tried to return the children because of insurmountable problems they had encountered. Ironically, we didn't want to return Teddy to Russia; but years later, he wanted to return there. He wanted to be repatriated.

Three weeks after we saw Gail, we took Teddy to see Dr. Singh at Children's Hospital. He was a tall, muscular man who exuded confidence. Although Teddy was leery of him, he let him examine him. Maybe because of his size. Dr. Singh recommended intensive speech/language services and play therapy with a child psychologist. He, too, predicted a positive outcome for Teddy.

We made appointments with Nancy Warner, a speech pathologist, and Patty O'Hare, a child psychologist. I was now filling my days with taking Teddy to his appointments, and no longer working. We'd hired a new graduate from IOC to take over my responsibilities at the stores. Paul and I agreed that Teddy had priority over everything else in our lives. At first, I enjoyed the new role I had been wanting for so long - motherhood. Mothers spent much of their time being chauffeurs and taking their children places, and that was what I was doing. Gradually, I enjoyed this role less and less because of the lack of reinforcement I got from Teddy. Mothers will do anything for their children, especially when they get a smile or a kiss or a touch, but I didn't get any of these from Teddy. He did not reward me in the slightest way for what I did for him. From psychology, I know that when a behavior is not rewarded, that behavior is extinguished. That's what happened to my mothering behavior. Teddy extinguished it.

Even before his first appointment with Nancy, Teddy said his first word, "cookie." He said it remarkably clearly. Of course, it was a reference to his favorite thing in the world. He finally said "Moma" and "Dada." These were the 8th and 9th words he spoke. Overall, Teddy learned people words later than object words. Even these object words were focused on things such as "car" and "bed," and not his toys. He never bonded with a stuffed animal, even the yellow teddy bear we gave him in Russia. He ignored the stuffed animals that filled the shelves of his room. He wasn't interested in toys, not even the cars and trucks that Brian tried to share with him. Well, that's not true. Later he became interested in, even obsessed with, the toy guns that he and Vladimir played with. Then the obsession with toy guns morphed into an obsession with real guns.

Teddy made great progress with speech therapy, but I think it was also because he was ready to learn language, and it all came spilling out quickly. Like everyone else, Nancy was optimistic about his future based on his rapid mastery of language.

From the start, Patty had a difficult time with Teddy in play therapy, primarily because he wasn't interested in playing with toys. He refused to engage in role playing with toy dolls. When Patty used toy animals, he became aggressive and had the animals attacking and eating each other. She did some simple cooking with him because of his love of food. She tried to have him use cut-outs with cookie dough, but he just scrunched up the dough and tried to eat it raw. When Patty read books to him, he walked around the room, although he did listen and understand. He didn't make eye contact with her when she spoke or sang to him. He was somewhat responsive to songs and finger plays. She was able to get him to dance with her when she played music, but he wouldn't let her touch him. After six months of working together, Patty was the first professional to voice concerns about Teddy's prognosis. She felt that he had significant psychological problems and suggested family therapy as well as continuation of the individual play therapy. She was troubled by his total lack of progress in relating to people after six months of being exposed to a loving home environment and therapy.

So Paul, Teddy, and I started family therapy with Steve Fairchild, a child psychiatrist. Steve was one of the most supportive, gentlest people I've ever met. He, too, used a play therapy approach. He found that Teddy became more engaged in play when we played doctor. He liked putting band-aids on dolls that supposedly had boo-boos. He liked scratching the dolls and making the boo-boos even more. Steve tried to get Teddy to kiss or hug a doll or an animal, but he refused. He tried to engage him in drawing, but Teddy only scribbled wildly with dark crayons, and then tore the paper to shreds. When I tried to draw pictures with him, he scribbled over them. With time, he became more destructive, and when he and Paul played with cars or trucks, he smashed them. He tried to break arms and legs off of dolls. He became resistant to Steve and when he tried to dance with him, Teddy kicked him.

To say the least, family therapy did not go well. Like Patty, Steve was candid in his appraisal of Teddy's psychological status. He felt that Teddy had significant psychological problems in that he was not physically responsive, would not engage in constructive play, and was violent. He strongly suggested the use of drugs, but we were adamant in not wanting to medicate him in any way. We couldn't see how anti-anxiety or anti-depressant or anti-psychotic drugs or meds for attention deficits or hyperactivity would help him. There didn't seem to be a drug for what he needed - to become human. We continued with the individual and family therapy, but didn't make any progress. In fact, we became more disillusioned after every session. And with time, Teddy refused to go to the therapy sessions. He knew what we all knew – therapy wasn't working.

Brian tried to help by being Teddy's big brother. He attempted to play with him, especially in the back yard where Teddy liked to play on the swings and in the sand box. Teddy was able to get Brian to swing him endlessly. When I would look out the kitchen window, I would see Teddy swinging too high for my liking so I told Brian not to swing him so high. Two minutes later, Teddy was again swinging high in the sky. Teddy got Brian to build castles in the sand box, and then stomped on them.

Teddy found creative ways to manipulate Brian. He'd have Brian sneak a box of cookies out of the house so he could eat the whole box and then lie, and say that Brian had eaten them. Brian even let him color on his books and break his beloved cars and trucks. In his need to be the big brother and be loved, he let Teddy control him, even if this included eating sand or peeing in his shoes. As Brian got older and became aware of Teddy's psychological problems, he became our ally in our attempts to help Teddy. When he stopped letting Teddy manipulate him, Teddy no longer wanted to play with him. When he grew up, Brian became a police officer who worked with juveniles. I think he chose this career partly because of his experiences with Teddy.

The one thing that Teddy liked more than anything else was TV. He watched whatever we put on, usually Sesame Street and the Disney channel. As he got older, he learned to switch channels to violent cartoons which were his favorites. He got excited whenever he saw any type of violence, jumping up and down and yelling encouragement, such as, "make him bleed" or "kill him." Sometimes we found him excitedly masturbating as he watched particularly violent scenes. We stopped him and told him he couldn't watch any more T.V. if he did that. We didn't know how to handle the sexuality he was starting to show at this young age. We were intimidated by it and wanted to make it disappear, but didn't know how. When we brought this up with Patty and Steve, they told us we were doing the right thing, but to let him masturbate in bed or in other private situations. They said that this was normal, but it wasn't to us. We didn't know what normal was. As Teddy got older, we found semen on his pajamas and sheets almost every night so we knew that he masturbated at night. We never talked about it.
Chapter 10

When Teddy was three, we placed him in a preschool for two mornings a week. We asked Gail if she knew of a preschool that would be able to meet his needs. She recommended one at a local church that worked effectively with some of her patients with disabilities. The head teacher, Cheryl Anderson, was understanding and supportive. For the first month, Teddy sat quietly, refusing to participate in any activities. As he became more familiar with the school, he played with some of the toys. He didn't play with the other children or the teachers. He always participated in snack time and musical activities.

Children from his preschool class frequently socialized for play dates. Teddy was never invited to a play date. He was invited to birthday parties because of the school rule that all children in a class had to be invited to birthday parties. So we went to his classmates' parties. Teddy enjoyed these because he ate as many pieces of cake as the birthday child's mother would give him. Sometimes three pieces. We had birthday parties for Teddy too, and although we invited all the children in his class, a number wouldn't come. The mothers would call with excuses that the child was sick or they had other plans, but I knew the child didn't want to come to Teddy's party. The kids didn't like Teddy which was understandable. Although it was painful to me, it wasn't to Teddy. He was oblivious to what others thought of him.

When he was four, he went to preschool for three mornings a week. Again, he didn't interact with the other children or teachers, and usually sat quietly watching everyone, but averting his eyes when the teachers tried to engage him. When children tried to initiate play, he ignored them so they eventually gave up trying to play with him. The teacher-parent conferences were always the same. "Teddy is quiet and doesn't cause any problems, but he doesn't interact with the other children or the teachers. He's a loner who's not interested in people or even playing." Because Teddy didn't make trouble, he was simply ignored. He was non-existent. Therapy to improve his social skills was recommended. But he was already getting therapy from both Patty and Steve, and it wasn't improving his social skills, or anything else for that matter.

The only significant event of the second year of preschool was when the beloved classroom pet hamster, Barney, was found dead on the street, inadvertently run over by one of the mothers picking up her child. Parents and children witnessed the event in the parking lot and were traumatized. The hamster had been let out of its cage and somehow got out of the building. Teddy was the only child in the classroom with the cage when this happened. Earlier, I had called saying that I would be late picking Teddy up so he had been waiting for me there. An assistant was cleaning up spilled juice on the floor so she hadn't noticed what Teddy was doing. The teachers never blamed him, but I did. I knew that Teddy had let the hamster out of the cage. When I tried to talk to him about this, he smiled faintly, but didn't say anything. That was my first suspicion that Teddy could kill. I couldn't share this with anyone, not even Paul. It seemed too preposterous then, but less so with future "unexplained" deaths.

Two years later, I actually witnessed Teddy trying to stab a kitten. We were on the patio, and I was setting the table for an outdoor Sunday lunch. This cute stray kitten appeared out of nowhere, begging for food. I approached it with a cracker, but Teddy jumped at it with a knife from the table as he yelled, "Scat. Scat." He chased it as he made stabbing motions at it until the swift, lucky kitten escaped. There had been two knives on the table, one sharp for cutting bread and one dull for spreading butter. Teddy chose the sharp one. He knew it was sharp. He was six so he knew what would have happened if he had stabbed the kitten.

I grabbed the knife, and screamed, "What are you doing?"

He smiled, and said, "Playing a game."

I swear he had a wicked smile on his face. He looked like a possessed child in a horror movie. I was too overwhelmed to talk so I told him to go inside and watch T.V. Again, I didn't share this with Paul.

And when Teddy was about ten, there were disappearances of neighborhood pet cats. Some were found dead, their necks wrung. Neighbors kept their cats inside or took them for walks on leashes. I refused to think that Teddy had anything to do with this, but I suspected him because sometimes when he was supposed to be in the backyard playing, he'd disappear for a while. When I asked where he went, he said nowhere. How could I ask him, "Have you been out killing neighborhood cats?" I secretly checked his clothes to see if there was fur or blood on them, but never found any.

To understand Teddy better after the kitten experience, I read about abnormal behavior in childhood. I learned that animal cruelty is one of the signs of later violence, delinquency, and criminal behavior. Years later, as Teddy showed more significant problems, I shared this with one of the many psychologists Teddy saw. He confirmed what I already knew about the link between childhood animal cruelty and later adult psychopathology.

Teddy was also fascinated by road kill, something normal people find abhorrent. Whenever we saw a dead animal on the road, he wanted to stop and look at it. Of course, I never did this. He was especially interested in mutilated animals covered with blood and exposed internal organs. Once, when there was a dead possum in front of our house, Teddy picked it up by the tail and tried to bring it into the house despite the horrible smell. He thought it was funny. I washed his hands for 15 minutes before I got the smell off of them. I also disinfected and washed his clothes three times.

Since our second trip to Russia, we'd stayed in touch with the Bradleys. A few weeks after we brought Teddy home, we invited them over with Vladimir who was now called Val. They wanted to keep his Russian name because of his awareness of it, but at the same time, they wanted a name that was easier for Americans so they settled on Val as his nickname. They thought that Vlad sounded like a name out of Transylvania and conjured up images of Frankenstein and vampires.

From their very first meeting, Teddy and Val bonded. They more than bonded; they became brothers. Teddy did whatever Val wanted. He was Val's slave. Val was over two years older than Teddy, more intelligent, and bilingual in English and Russian. He easily picked up English in six months and retained his Russian with the help of a tutor the Bradleys hired to have semi-weekly conversations with him.

Val and Teddy played various games, most of which involved guns. Lauren said that she and Jeff were anti-gun, but since Val was always playing cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers, they got him toy guns. When the boys played with guns, Val usually shot Teddy who played dead. Val colored some paper red and put it on Teddy to represent blood. They would talk about what organs had been injured. Val would say, "I got you in the lungs," or Teddy would say, "You got me in the heart." It was horrible to watch. Where had Val learned this violence? Lauren said that he got it from cartoons he watched on TV. As they got older, they played with different types of guns – revolvers, rifles, machine guns, ray guns, every type of gun sold in a toy store. As soon as we left a play date at the Bradleys, Teddy would pester me about getting a gun. I steadfastly refused. Teddy even tried to steal one of Val's guns, but Val twisted his arm until he returned it. Teddy's obsession with guns would grow as he got older, but then the obsession was with real guns.

One day when we got home from a play date with Val, I noticed blood on Teddy's shirt. When I asked him where it came from, he told me that he and Val pricked their fingers and mixed their blood together so they would be blood brothers. I told him not to do this again, but I often found blood on his clothes. I think they did it whenever they were together. I know this is not unusual for children to do, but I think it was a regular ritual for them, which is unusual. Several months later when I told Lauren about this, she told me she had seen them lick each other's blood after they pricked their fingers. Now that is not normal. Maybe Lauren and Jeff should have called Vladimir Vlad after all since that name conjured up images of vampires sucking blood.

Whenever Val and Teddy parted, Val hugged Teddy. Teddy never pulled back. Eventually he even put his arms around Val. This was the only person he hugged.

As they got older, I learned that Val was teaching Teddy about his Russian background. Lauren and Jeff wanted Val to be knowledgeable about his Russian roots so they had lots of books and videos on Russia. Val read these books to Teddy who listened with rapt interest. As I said before, Val was very bright and could read at an adult level when he was about 9. Val even taught Teddy some Russian words. Useful Russian words like pistolet for gun and ubiystvo for kill and grabitel for robber. I'm sure I don't pronounce them correctly, but Teddy had no trouble getting them right.

Teddy was six when we were forced to tell him about being adopted. We wanted to wait until he was about eight and had more cognitive ability to grasp the abstract concepts involved. Val forced the issue when he told Teddy that they were both adopted and that they had the same mother so they were really brothers. I don't know why Val told Teddy that he was his brother. Maybe he didn't want to be an orphan with no living blood kin. Maybe this gave him more control over Teddy. He even wanted to move in with the Bradleys so he could live with his brother. We explained that both he and Val had mothers who had died in Russia, but they were different women. Teddy refused to believe us. He kept insisting they had the same mother who had died of cancer. Val vividly recalled seeing his mother die and being at her funeral. He repeatedly shared these memories with Teddy who internalized them on as his own. He'd scream and rage at us when we told him some of the real story of his birth. He'd put his hands over his ears and tell us that we were liars. He wanted to believe Val. He wanted to have Val's loving mother who died of an illness, rather than a woman who abandoned her child. We didn't tell him that his mother was a homeless, drug addict who died of an overdose. We just said that no one knew anything about her, not even her name. He screamed that I was not his mother and that he hated me and he wanted to go home to Russia to find his real family. He kept screaming over and over, "I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU." Each word was like a hammer shattering my heart into pieces. The words kept reverberating in my ears. I couldn't stop them. How could he hate me when I tried to save him from the worst possible future? Had he stayed in Russia and not been adopted, he would have lived in a state institution until he reached adulthood. Then he would have become a criminal or homeless. But of course, he didn't know what would have happened to him if he had stayed in Russia. He had no idea how lucky he was to live in America. I couldn't understand how he felt no love for me when I gave him so much love. I gave him all that was in my heart. I didn't know what else to do to make him love me. I realize that there really was no way I could have ever made him love me. He was incapable of love.

We didn't know what to do. When we asked Patty and Steve for advice, they told us to keep telling Teddy the truth until he finally accepted it. Well, that was great advice worthy of a Ph.D. and an M.D. degree and fees of more than $100 an hour. We called Joan, but she said that there was nothing she could advise other than to follow the advice of the professionals.

Every time we tried to tell Teddy about his real mother, he called us liars and hit out at us. So we avoided talking about adoption because it was too painful for all of us. Teddy didn't bring it up because he didn't want to hear what we had to say. Although we didn't talk about it, Teddy and Val did when they were alone. It became the basis of their increasingly tight bond. They were convinced that they were brothers and that the Bradleys and we were conspiring to keep them from their Russian family.

A child psychologist who had worked with Val when they had first brought him to the states told the Bradleys to have him keep his mother's memory alive by writing journals to her as if she were still alive. Until he could write on his own, he dictated his thoughts to Lauren to transcribe. He also drew self-portraits. As Val got older, he realized that he would never see his mother again, but he was convinced that he had relatives in Russia and would find them someday and show them his journals and self-portraits. Someday, he'd even visit his mother's grave. The Bradleys regretted following this psychologist's advice because Val had created a mythology around his mother and the Russian family he was convinced he would find someday. To Val, his mother was a saint and his family a loving group of people who were trying unsuccessfully to find him. So he had to find them no matter where they lived in Russia. Once he united with his family, he would live happily ever after with them. He told Teddy that he would bring him along to Russia and that he could share his family since he didn't have any family. Neither Val nor Teddy considered their adopted parents as their true families.

Teddy was infected with Val's obsession with his mother and Russian family. He would say, "I want to see my mother's grave and meet my Russian family too," even though he knew he couldn't find the grave or any family. He just parroted what Val said. We stopped denying that this was a possibility; we just ignored it. Through the years, he said, "I'm going to go to Russia with Val. I'm going to live there." He knew nothing about Russia. It was as if he said that he was going to the moon. I never thought that they would actually go to Russia. I just thought it was an idle dream. How that dream changed the course of all of our lives.

We spent a lot of time with the Bradleys going to Redskins games. Both Val and Teddy loved everything about the games – dressing in Redskin shirts, hats, and jackets; cramming their mouths with junk food; and screaming loudly along with the other fans. What they both enjoyed most, especially Teddy, was the violence. When someone was knocked down and hurt, even if it was a Redskin, Teddy looked happy and cheered. When someone was carried off the field on a stretcher, he looked joyous. Teddy never let us miss a game no matter the weather. He and Val would sit together stuffing their faces and whispering to each other. You could actually see the tie between them strengthening.

Our lives centered around Teddy. We planned everything around him, always trying to find something he liked. We discovered that in addition to the Redskins, he loved the beach so we went to Bethany Beach in Delaware during the summer. At first, we went for two weeks, but eventually we bought a beachfront condo and went there as many weekends as possible. Teddy loved that condo more than our house in Leesburg. He decorated his room there with Redskins memorabilia and later Russian posters. Eventually, it would become his home.

When we went to the beach, Teddy loved building elaborate sand castles and burying Paul in the sand so he could tickle his toes, the only parts of his legs showing. We gave Teddy swimming lessons at home so he would be safe in the water. He was motivated to learn to swim because of his love of the beach so he became quite good at it. That was the only sport he ever excelled at or was interested in. Those happy times at the beach gave us a false sliver of hope that there might be a good future for us.

In those early days, Paul and I were relatively content being parents. We weren't unhappy then. Teddy wasn't working out exactly as we had hoped, but he wasn't that bad. He ate well, slept well, and didn't misbehave too much, but we missed the hugs and kisses we saw other children showering on their parents. How I envied parents whose kids wrapped their arms around their necks in a choke hug. How I envied parents whose kids slobbered wet kisses all over their faces. How I envied parents whose kids' faces lit up when they spotted their parents from afar. Some of the mother's from Teddy's preschool complained about how their kids were too dependent on them and cried when they left. Their kids wanted to sleep in bed with them. They were too clingy. How I envied them their complaints.
Chapter 11

Before we placed Teddy in kindergarten, Gail recommended that we have a comprehensive medical and psychological evaluation so we took him to a well-known university Child Development Center. We worked with Dr. Jean Rothenberg, a charming, knowledgeable psychologist who oversaw the evaluation by a team comprised of a pediatrician, psychiatrist, social worker, speech therapist, and educational specialist. After three full days of testing and interviews, we met with the team for presentation of their findings. Foolishly, I expected a report promising a magic bullet to cure Teddy. Dr. Rothenberg informed us that Teddy was in good health, although he was extremely short being at the 5th percentile for his age in height (which we already knew); that he was being provided with a loving, supportive home life (which we already knew); and that he was being given appropriate psychological services and education (which we already knew). She stated that the cognitive evaluation showed Teddy to be performing in the low average range of intelligence, and he did not have any type of learning disability. The psychological evaluation indicated that he did not bond with his family, had only one friend, and was emotionally limited. Dr. Rothenberg presented the team's conclusion that Teddy seemed to evidence Reactive Attachment Disorder, RAD. She explained that Teddy had the inhibited type which is failure to initiate or respond in a developmentally appropriate manner to most social interactions. She said that this had been observed in children who were adopted from orphanages, like the one Teddy came from. His history of being born addicted to drugs, physical and sexual abuse, and lack of psychological stimulation and love in his early life were contributing factors to the social problems he was evidencing.

She recommended that we continue individual and family therapy even though they weren't working. She complimented us on our excellent parenting, even though it wasn't working. In essence, she told us we were doing the "right" thing and to continue, but to add medication to the treatment plan. What type didn't really matter. She suggested trying different types to see what worked. Nothing is more effective medically than trial and error. Well maybe on lab rats, not people. We refused to try any meds at that time, saying maybe sometime in the future. And like all the professionals we'd consulted up to that point, she ended on a positive note about Teddy's future. Because of the prestige of Child Development Center, we'd expected something different, but all we got was more of the same.

In our search to find help, we got more and more evaluations from different types of specialists using different types of tests. Over time, he had more labels stuck on him – Conduct Disorder, Childhood Schizophrenia, Asberger's Syndrome, Autism, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Adopted Child Syndrome, and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. But nothing fit him. Although he was socially isolated, he wasn't like that with Val. It wasn't that he had no interests. He did like the Redskins, swimming, and the beach. Every evaluation team recommended that since what we were doing wasn't working, we should try medication. So eventually we tried some, but none produced any positive changes. And some even produced harmful side effects, like diarrhea, high blood pressure, hyperactivity, excessive tiredness, and prolonged staring. We quickly stopped all these meds. The mantra of these professionals seemed to be when in doubt, try drugs, even though they often do more harm than good. What's that about the Hippocratic Oath and "first do no harm"?

I became an expert on RAD, reading everything I could find on the topic. And the more I read, the more disillusioned I became that we would be able to change Teddy. My feelings were further supported when I went on-line to find other parents whose children had been diagnosed with RAD. Many shared bleak stories. Especially sad were parents who were blamed for their children's problems. The attachment problem was their fault. They were often blamed for not loving their children enough. How can anyone love children who reject them? A few were even told that they were abusive because they tried to control their children's uncontrollable behaviors. Some talked about wanting to return their children to the children's countries of origin or to the adoption agencies, but they found that impossible. I asked Paul about whether he would ever want to return Teddy to Russia. We both concluded that no matter how difficult Teddy was, we could never send him back to a bleak Russian orphanage. We knew the Russian policy of keeping unadopted children in institutions until they turned the legal age and then just letting them loose to fend for themselves. Years spent in an institution like Baby House Number 38 would destroy any chance of Teddy ever becoming a human being. However, we both knew that our lives would be a lot easier without him. We were beginning to feel guilty for wanting him out of our lives and wishing for a return to our happy pre-Teddy period, but we suppressed this. We couldn't admit to ourselves that our dream child was turning out to be a nightmare child. We knew that the old saying, "be careful what you wish for," applied to us. We had wished for a child, and now we wanted to rescind our wish, but it was too late. When I was feeling especially sorry for myself, I would put myself into a Stephen King novel on time travel and zoom back to the day I went to WWA and stop myself before I put my hand on the door knob to enter the agency. I see myself turning and walking away slowly and then running.

We discussed the possibility of returning Val with Lauren and Jeff. They had more severe problems with Val than we had with Teddy. Val was violent, disobedient, and also did not show them any affection. They were frightened when he went into a rage and told them that he wanted to kill them. They said that they had thought of returning him since he did have family in Russia, but then they knew they couldn't. It would be too cruel to abandon him after he'd been abandoned by his family, albeit through death. Ironically, years later Val chose to return to Russia on his own. He abandoned Lauren and Jeff. So maybe it would have been better for them to have returned him before all the damage done by him and Teddy. But it wasn't possible, or morally acceptable. Adopting a child isn't like buying a pair of shoes. If the child doesn't fit you, you don't just return him.

Although we perceived Teddy as having problems, he didn't see himself in this way. He was content, not happy, just content. He ate heartily, slept well, did his school work, although always the minimum, and occasionally played, but mostly he watched TV. I think he fantasized himself living in the programs he watched on TV. I tried to talk to him about this, but he was silent. He was always silent when I tried to talk to him about anything other than the mundane, like what was for supper.

There didn't seem to be a spark in Teddy. He had no friends other than Val, but he didn't want friends. Teachers commented that he was content to be by himself. Girls were attracted to him because he was cute – blond hair, bright blue eyes, and short. I think they looked at him like a little doll to be pampered. But he ignored them as he ignored everyone. He didn't bond with us in any way. He usually obeyed us and acted as if we were his caretakers in an institution, a very nice institution. He didn't respond to any affection from us, pulling away or stiffening at our touch. It didn't take us long to stop trying to kiss and hug him. That way we wouldn't be hurt when he physically rejected us. When we spoke affectionately to him, he ignored us. So we stopped speaking affectionately to him. We were like roommates, rather than family. He had no feelings for us. He didn't dislike us or like us. He just didn't care about us. It was so painful to recognize this so Paul and I never talked about it.

I felt badly for my parents, Heather, and Brian. They tried to love Teddy, but he responded to them as he did to us. He ignored them. He never let them touch him. Fortunately, Brian made up for this lack of affection by always kissing them and telling them how much he loved them and that they were the best grandparents in the world.

We decided to enroll Teddy in Sunrise Academy, a small private school that accepted all types of students, including those with disabilities. The principal was a wonderful woman named Margaret West. She was about 4'10" tall and wide. What a warm, accepting woman. If anyone could have helped Teddy it was her. She had the right balance of being positive and being stern, when needed. She recognized early on the implacable problems posed by Teddy, although she didn't fully disclose her perceptions until later not wanting to dampen any enthusiasm we had.

Teddy was placed in a kindergarten with eight children, a teacher, and an assistant. The teacher, Sharon Moreland, was warm and supportive, and most importantly patient. She was sure that Teddy would do well, especially because he was so cute. People, especially women, responded to Teddy's good looks. Because of this, they tended to minimize his problems. Because he was so short, people often thought he was younger than he was, and this, too, lessened expectations of him.

Teddy often acted out when he became frustrated. If he couldn't perform a task, he would cry or hit his head with his fists. Sharon felt that this behavior was understandable given his background. At the end of the school year, the staff recommended that he repeat kindergarten since he hadn't demonstrated the skills necessary to move on to first grade: he didn't work independently; he became easily frustrated; he hadn't mastered pre-academic skills; and he didn't play with the other children.

He repeated kindergarten with a male teacher, Fred Gold. Teddy responded differently to him. I think he was afraid of him, maybe because of his size since Fred was 6'3" and weighed well over 250 pounds. Paul and I called him the gentle giant. Whatever the reason, he did relatively well, mastering the kindergarten requirements. He learned to control his frustration, but he still didn't interact with other kids. When Fred gave Teddy an order, he obeyed it immediately.

Teddy plodded through each grade meeting the minimal requirements for promotion. He never did more work than was expected. He was still a loner. He was picked last for games and didn't play during recess.

Although there were minor problems in elementary school, we didn't recognize them as signs of major ones to follow. In second grade, I found a pack of gum in his room. He'd never chewed gum. We'd never bought gum. I asked him where he got it, and he told me that he found it on the sidewalk outside of school when he was waiting for me to pick him up. I knew he was lying, but I let it go. Then I found a girl's charm bracelet hidden under his bed. When I asked about it, he again said he found it. I knew he was stealing from kids at school, but I didn't want to say anything to the teacher because I didn't want it confirmed. When I asked him about unfamiliar items in his room, he looked me in the eye and insisted he found them, although we both knew he was lying. Although he verbally denied stealing, the look in his eyes said something different. It said, "Yeah, I stole, but you can't prove it. Ha!"

Then I found Brian's new watch in his room. It had been a birthday present that Brian had gotten from my parents the week before, and he treasured it. I mentioned the watch to Heather.

"I think I found Brian's watch in Teddy's room. Do you have any idea how it got there?"

"It disappeared last weekend when we were all having dinner at Mom and Dad's. He took it off when he went to the bathroom and forgot about it. When he went back in, it wasn't there. He didn't say anything about it until we got home."

"I think Teddy might have inadvertently taken it."

"Oh come on Karen. He stole it. How funny – 'he inadvertently took it.' You have to start recognizing what's going on with Teddy."

"Nothing's going on. I don't want to talk about it."

"You're going to have to face this, or there's going to be a big explosion that will be much harder to handle in the future."

I couldn't share what was going on with Teddy. I couldn't speak the words, "My son is a thief and a liar." How right she was when she predicted that someday there would be a big explosion. Neither of us realized how big that explosion would be.

When I confronted Teddy about Brian's watch, he said that he found it.

"Why do you have Brian's watch?"

"I didn't know it was Brian's. I just found it."

"How could you have found it? It was in the bathroom when we were at Nana's. You knew it was Brian's because you saw him open the box with it inside at his birthday party. You're lying. You stole it."

He looked in my eyes and silently said, "Yes. I stole it. There's nothing you can do about it."

I made Teddy return the watch to Brian. I thought it would teach him a lesson. When we went to Heather's house, Teddy handed it to Brian and mumbled a barely audible "sorry." What was he sorry for? Being a thief? Sweet Brian just took the watch and said nothing.

After we left, Teddy was furious. I thought he would explode on the ride home. As soon as we walked in the house, he took one of my favorite vases off a shelf and threw it to the floor right in front of me as he screamed, "I hate you, you bitch."

I punished him by having him stay in his room the rest of the day and no TV for three days. He didn't care. Then he started stealing from me regularly. He took a bracelet from my jewelry box. I never found it. When I confronted him about it, he stared at me and said he didn't know where it was. But his eyes told me that he had probably thrown it in the garbage someplace outside. I never found anything that disappeared from my room. He was smart about disposing of things. He never stole from Paul, only me. I think he hated me more than Paul.

I didn't want to share Teddy's stealing with anyone other than Paul who insisted we bring it up at family therapy. As usual, Teddy denied stealing and refused to talk about it. When we got home, he said that if we talked about his stealing again, he'd run away from home. We believed him so we didn't bring up any more instances with Dr. Fairchild. We became accomplices to his crime wave. He was learning to punish us when we should have been punishing him. He loved seeing the effects of his threats to run away or kill himself. He knew they paralyzed us. No one, not us or the psychologists, could stop him doing whatever he wanted.

Like all parents, we tried to involve Teddy in activities. First, we tried Cub Scouts. He went to the first meeting, and refused to go back. Then we tried piano lessons. Again, he refused to go back after the first lesson. We tried baseball, soccer, and basketball. He refused to participate in anything. Since he liked swimming, we took him to the Y to swim, whenever possible. He'd swim laps for hours whenever we had time. We tried to get him to join a swim team, but he refused.

When Teddy was 9, we signed him up for midget football. Unlike our previous attempts at involving him in sports, he responded positively to this because of his love of the Redskins. The coach said that he couldn't let Teddy play because he was so much smaller than all the other boys, some of whom were as old as 12 and weighed almost 200 pounds. He was concerned that he could get seriously injured if he played so he suggested that Teddy be his assistant. When we told Teddy this, he went ballistic. He'd envisioned himself as a tackle violently throwing boys down. If he couldn't play, he wouldn't be involved.

Brian no longer played with Teddy, especially after he stole his watch. He refused to let him ruin his toys and he wanted someone who would talk so Brian ended his attempts at being Teddy's big brother. I'm sure that Brian also did so because he sensed that Teddy had a mean, violent streak. Brian was a gentle, good boy who had started to do well in school and had many friends. He was also a good athlete and was the catcher on his Little League team.

Over the years, cats disappeared from the neighborhood. Some were found drowned in a stream near our house. We never asked Teddy about these incidents, but both Paul and I believed that Teddy killed these cats. Cats always seemed to disappear when Teddy was out playing alone in the back yard . We mentioned this to Dr. Fairchild who tried to talk to Teddy about this, but he said that he knew nothing about the cats' disappearance and deaths and he would never hurt an animal. He looked deeply into Dr. Fairchild's eyes as he convincingly lied. Although he tried a number of different approaches to find out if Teddy was involved with the cats, he was unsuccessful. Teddy became adept at lying to adults and manipulating them by innocently opening his big blue eyes and putting an insulted look on his face at the accusations being hurled at him. He became adept at making the accusers feel remorse over making charges against him, this innocent child. That's what a psychopath does so well. Years later we would get the most appropriate diagnosis of Teddy – antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). A psychopath is a subtype of ASPD. If I hadn't been so immersed in living with Teddy and was able to step back, I could have written a great case study of the emergence of a psychopath.

Throughout elementary school, Teddy remained a loner except for his friendship with Val. They wanted to get together every weekend. Teddy would have a tantrum if we didn't make plans for him to spend time with Val. Although Val had other friends, he prized Teddy's friendship most. It really wasn't a friendship; it was a symbiotic relationship. Neither could survive without the other. But they weren't equals; Val was superior dictating what Teddy should do and think. He thrived on the adoration Teddy showered on him. Teddy was his slave, never questioning his orders.

The Bradleys were having more and more problems controlling Val. He never listened to them, and he would hit them if they tried to stop him from doing something. He was a big kid, tall and muscular so he could physically overpower Lauren and Jeff. They were afraid of him. He said that he didn't have to listen to them because they weren't his real parents. He got into fights with other kids and had been suspended from school. At 10, he started smoking cigarettes and at 11 was experimenting with drugs. He had friends, but the wrong kind of kids, the anti-social group. Early on, Val had done extremely well in school, but by fourth grade, he lost interest and barely passed his classes. On standardized tests he was above the 90th percentile in reading and math. The Bradleys wanted to place him in a residential school for kids with problems, but Val refused to go.

On Saturdays, we would drop Teddy off at the Bradley's at 10:00 in the morning and pick him up at 10:00 at night. The boys didn't want to spend time at our house because we didn't have cigarettes or weed and because we were nosey. After a while, Teddy slept over at Val's on Saturday nights. Although I was fearful of what they might do, Lauren assured me that she kept an eye on them and there was no trouble. When Teddy returned on Sundays, his clothes reeked of cigarettes, weed, and beer. He denied smoking and drinking, and said the smell got on his clothes from the other boys he'd been with.

When Teddy was 12, my father died. Although we knew he was getting progressively sicker from his diabetes, we were still surprised. You never expect or accept death no matter how sick a person is. Of course, we were all devastated, except Teddy. He showed no sadness at the loss of his grandfather. Paul asked him about this.

"Aren't you sad that Poppa died?"

"No. Everybody has to die."

"Won't you miss him?"

"No. Why would I miss him?"

"Will you be sad when I die?"

"No."

Paul was dumbfounded by his callousness. Teddy didn't care if his own father died. Here was further painful evidence of Teddy being an emotional robot.

With Teddy's escalating problems, we decided it was time for another evaluation. We were having him evaluated about every two years, and the only thing we found from each evaluation was another label for the same behavior we'd been seeing. This time we got the diagnosis of Conduct Disorder because he was indifferent, callous, and antagonized, manipulated, and treated others harshly. I researched Conduct Disorders and found that the causes were genetic and environmental. We had tried to reverse the effects of the environmental causes, but there was nothing we could do about the genetic causes. So first Teddy was labeled with Reactive Attachment Disorder which certainly fit him. Now he was labeled with Conduct Disorder which again fit him. We knew what was wrong with him. We just didn't know how to fix him. No one did. Maybe no one could.

The most devastating label would come when he was 16 – Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD). That fit him best because being a psychopath was a subtype of ASPD, and Teddy was a classic psychopath. The characteristics of a psychopath fit Teddy: poor sense of right and wrong and disregard for laws and social mores - YES; unable to form emotional attachments - YES; unable to understand the feelings of others, or no feelings of empathy - YES; failure to feel remorse or guilt, or no conscience - YES; and a tendency to display violent behavior. He didn't demonstrate this last characteristic for a while, but it did come out later.

Somehow Teddy finished elementary and middle school at Sunrise Academy. Every year he squeaked by with barely passing grades. His behavior remained the same. He was a loner interested in very little. By 15, Teddy had changed physically. He was still extremely short, but now he was fat, not even pudgy - fat. His love of food caught up with him. I tried to have him watch his diet, but he ignored my admonitions, and ate whatever and whenever he wanted. With puberty, his skin turned oily and he developed acne. He was no longer cute despite his curly blond hair and big blue eyes. But strangely, girls were still attracted to him. Most of the girls he saw were unattractive and overweight too so he had found his counterparts in the opposite sex. Most had multiple body piercings and wore ragged clothes which were stylish for girls of their age and chosen social group.

He often had girls over to the house so he could supposedly study with them, although he never studied without girls. He never studied at all. I'd gone back to work full time when he was 12 so he was home alone after school. Sometimes I came home early and found his door locked and heard loud music, sounds of sex, and laughter coming from behind the door. When the door opened, there usually was a disheveled girl whose clothes looked like they had just been thrown on. The girls never looked at me and just marched out the front door.

I ordered Teddy not to have anyone over when I wasn't there, but he didn't listen because when I would get home I would find pony tail holders or bras on the floor so I had no doubts about what he was doing. I didn't ask him about his sex life because I was too embarrassed. We were unprepared for the challenges of parenting a teenager with hormones pumping, especially one with no conscience. Paul had had several conversations with Teddy about the birds and the bees and the necessity of using birth control. Teddy just smirked and said fucking wasn't as much fun without a rubber. Paul was too embarrassed to pursue the conversation. So we let Teddy do what he wanted to do and say what he wanted to say.

When I told Heather what Teddy was doing with these girls when I was away at work, she was shocked that I allowed this to happen.

Heather said, "Tell him he can't have girls to the house if you're not home."

"He won't listen to me."

"What do you mean? Can't you control him?"

"No."

"Punish him."

"Nothing works."

"Take his allowance away. Don't let him go to Val's."

"I can't do that. He begs me not to punish him so I just back down. I don't know what to do."

Heather looked at me in disbelief that I had no control over Teddy.

"Ask the therapist what to do."

"We don't go to a therapist anymore because Teddy won't go."

"He's totally controlling you."

"Yes, and we don't know how to stop it."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"Yes, we are. We don't know what he's capable of."

"Let me talk to one of my friends who's a D.C cop. His name is Al Pascale."

"Is that the new guy you're dating?"

"Yes, and I think he's the one. Brian adores him and so do I."

And Al did turn out to be the right one for Heather and Brian. He had come into one of our stores where Heather was now the manager. Not only did he get new glasses, he got a girlfriend. It was love at first sight for both of them, maybe because of the new glasses. Al was as different from Heather in looks as possible. He was short and bald, but powerfully built. He could have been in an ad for a body building gym. When they looked at each other, it was apparent they were in love. They married after dating for only four months. Brian and Al became father and son immediately. They truly loved each other. I was so happy that Heather found what she wanted in life – a loving marriage and success in our family business.

Al was a detective on the D.C. police force. Although he was caring and loving with the family, he had a sternness and hardness when he took on his professional role. He exuded authority. I asked him to talk to Teddy to see if he could help with his behavior. Teddy wouldn't go to family events if Al was there. He was afraid of him, like he'd been afraid of the gentle giant kindergarten teacher years ago. Al came over to have a private conversation with Teddy, but Teddy refused to talk to him. He shook with fear the whole time they were together. He refused to answer Al's questions or look at him. How I wish we could have found a way to channel that fear of authority to stop Teddy's later anti-social, violent behavior.

After Al met with Teddy, he told us that we should place him a residential school for kids with problems like his. He said that he was worried about Teddy if he didn't get help soon. What we were doing was not enough and he was headed to delinquency and a life of crime. Al was the first person to speak frankly about Teddy's future. Everyone else sugar coated our concerns. We should have listened to Al and insisted Teddy go to a residential school. But frankly, I don't think it would have worked. I don't think anything could have prevented what eventually happened. Teddy would manifest what he was fated to become – an evil, amoral criminal.

By the end of middle school, we'd given up. We couldn't control Teddy. And what was worse, we didn't like Teddy. At first, we tried to convince ourselves that we still loved him, that we still cared for him. But by puberty, we had to recognize that we didn't love Teddy. In fact, we despised him. How do you admit that to yourself without despising yourself? What kind of parent hates their child? Paul and I didn't like who we'd become. But it wasn't our fault. It was Teddy's. The staff at our stores was unaware of what we were going through. Heather and Al knew, but we kept them at arm's length. We appeared to be happy, successful parents who were having some difficulties with their son and his adjustment to adolescence. Doesn't everyone have a kid who has some problems with adolescence? No one suspected what was really going on...that Teddy was totally out of control and there was nothing we could do about this.
Chapter 12

Sunrise Academy only went through the middle school level so we had to decide on a high school that would be best for Teddy. He preferred the local public high school because he knew some kids there who he'd met through Val. We felt that these kids would be a bad influence on him, and also he'd be lost in a large public high school with 8,000 kids. So we enrolled him at Granite Hills School where the classes were small and extra help was available for academic and personal problems. Although he knew some of the kids from Sunrise, he didn't want to go there. He said, "Only retards go there." On a tour of the school, he saw that there were lots of kids who weren't "retards." He was attracted to the kids who looked Goth or counterculture. He looked enviously at the kids with tattoos and piercings. He wanted both, but knew he couldn't get them legally because he was too young.

Ninth grade was the beginning of a downward spiral for Teddy. He refused to do school work and was truant. We took him to a new psychologist who specialized in treating adolescents with such problems, but he didn't make any inroads with him. We enrolled him in group therapy where he made friends with kids much like himself. He hung out with older kids who drove so he would go out at night. He was getting harder to control. We saw him drowning in a cesspool and couldn't reach his hands to pull him to safety. Anyhow, he didn't really want to be saved.

We never had normal conversations. When we tried talking to him, he either ignored us or screamed at us. I was afraid he would hit Paul or me, but he didn't. He always seemed able to pull back from the brink of violence. Although it would have been easy to slough off his problems as being due to puberty and adolescence, I knew they were due to his pathology and his inherent evil. Like Al, the psychologist suggested we send him away to a residential school that dealt with kids like him. When we told Teddy this, he threatened to kill himself and even held a knife to his throat until we promised not to send him away. His actions proved his need for such a placement, but we succumbed to his threat of suicide. In retrospect, I'm sure that Teddy wouldn't have killed himself. He knew this was a way to manipulate us, and he used it effectively.

Brian knew the kids Teddy was hanging out with, and said they were a bad lot involved in drugs, sex, and delinquent behavior. Brian tried to talk to Teddy, but he refused to listen to him. Al tried to talk to him too, but he refused to see him, locking himself in his room whenever Al came over.

One night when I went to the mall, I saw Teddy with a bunch of kids in front of a movie theatre there. He was caressing a black girl. She was wearing skin-tight jeans so I couldn't help noticing that she had a very large, rounded rear end that Teddy was massaging erotically. It looked like they were having sex with their clothes on. I waited up until he got home and told him that I saw him at the mall and asked who the girl was. He accused me of spying on him, and said I was bigoted because he was kissing a "nigger." Of course, he refused to talk about her or his inappropriate public behavior.

Somehow Teddy made it to 10th grade although he did the minimum of work. I think the school ignored a lot of his behaviors just so they could pass him through.

One day Teddy returned home from a weekend with Val in a state of exhilaration. We'd never seen him like this. He said he wanted to go on a trip to Russia with Val during the summer. Lauren had told me that Val had found relatives in Russia who he wanted to visit. She was concerned about him pursuing his family because she didn't know what he would find. It turned out that she was right to be concerned.

Against Lauren's wishes, Val contacted WWA, and they agreed to help him find his "roots." They put him in contact with Marina, who for $5,000 said she would help him locate his Russian family. Val told Lauren that he would work and pay her back if she advanced him the money for Marina and for the trip. He was so passionate in his need to find his family that she agreed. Like us, Lauren was a pushover and always gave in to Val's demands. She told us that she was hoping that if Val found his family, his behavior would improve. Like us, she was incredibly naïve.

It turned out to be easy for Marina to find Val's aunt. The adoption agency had the names for Val's mother, father, and aunt. She confirmed that his father had died in the war in Afghanistan and that nothing was known about his family. She located his aunt, Raisa Petrenko, who lived in a suburb of Moscow with her two sons, Serge aged 22 and Alex 20. Marina found her phone number and called her to lay the groundwork for a call from Val. When Val phoned her, Raisa was overjoyed because she thought her nephew was lost to her forever. She put Serge and Alex in touch with Val, and they called each other frequently. They didn't know English, but because of Val's fluency in Russian, they easily conversed. When they exchanged photos, Lauren saw that Val looked remarkably like Alex. They were both tall, muscular, and Slavic looking with flat faces and thick raven black hair. This was, indeed, Val's family.

Val decided he didn't want to be called Val anymore. He wanted to use his Russian name, Vladimir, and for short, Vlad. Every time Teddy went to Vlad's house, he shared his experiences with his new-found family so Teddy became increasingly interested in finding his own family. After years of insisting that Vlad's mother was his mother too, he'd finally accepted that she wasn't. We told him why it would be impossible to find his mother, but he said that we just wanted to keep him from finding his true family. We were not his true family. He contacted WWA and they told him that they couldn't locate his family because they didn't have a last name or any other useful information. Teddy was sure that they could use his DNA to trace his family, although he was at a loss for how this could be done. Teddy had hit a brick wall in finding his family, but he continued to butt his head against it.

Teddy insisted on calling Marina, but she, too, told him that there was no way she could find his family. She didn't even try to con him out of some money, which she would have had there been the remotest possibility of finding anyone related to him. To console him, we foolishly kept telling him that we were his family, but he didn't respond. We knew he didn't feel that we were his family despite having lived with us for 16 years. He felt like he was an orphan no matter what the official paperwork said. I could show him every paper I collected from WWA, INS, and the Russian government and he would still deny being our child. After all the love and nurturing we tried to give him, he still looked at us as his caretakers. To him, I was like the lady with the round donut-shop hat who had taken care of him in the orphanage.

After Teddy's conversation with Marina, Paul and I confronted what we had known all along.

"We're not Teddy's parents. We'll never be anyone's parents. We're childless and always will be childless. This is our fate. And it's my fault. I don't have what it takes to be a good mother. Maybe I was barren for a reason, and the reason was that nature knew that I couldn't be a good mother, and therefore I shouldn't have kids."

Paul consoled me and himself. "That's ridiculous. It's Teddy's fault that you weren't a good mother and it's Teddy's fault that I wasn't a good father. He couldn't accept our love. He can't feel love. We can't and shouldn't blame ourselves. I hate to say this, but we have to find a way to get Teddy out of our lives. There's nothing good we can do for him anymore. He's ruined the magnificent person you are and the only way I can get my Karen back is to get rid of him. He has poisoned you. I have to choose you over him."

To the outside observer, nothing had changed in our family. But Paul and I knew that everything had changed. Teddy was no longer our child. He didn't want us, and we didn't want him. We wanted to find a way out of being Teddy's parents, and we eventually did.

Vlad decided to visit his family in June as soon as school was over so Teddy could join him. Lauren told Vlad that she would pay for the trip only if she could accompany him. Jeff didn't want to go. Jeff had given up on Vlad like we had given up on Teddy. He wanted nothing to do with him. He was eager for Vlad to move out of their house and out of their lives. He openly verbalized this to us, but we weren't ready to say such words aloud to anyone else.

When Teddy mentioned going on the trip to Russia with Vlad, my first reaction was to say no,

"Vlad is going to see his family. He doesn't need you along"

"I feel that Vlad is my brother. Anyhow, I want to see my homeland. I'm not American. I'm Russian."

"Maybe you can go sometime in the future when Val goes back for a second visit."

"If you don't' let me go now, I'll drop out of school."

Teddy reverted to his most effective way of controlling us – blackmail. And of course, we paid the ransom. But I used the trip as leverage to get him through 10th grade. He agreed to do his school work, and not be truant. He got his best grades ever that year.

He even offered to get a job to help pay for the trip. We thought it would be great if he started to assume some responsibility. He began working as a bag boy at a local supermarket. I felt proud of him when I saw him politely asking "paper or plastic" and efficiently filling bags and saying "Have a nice day." He was so polite that some people even tipped him when he took their bags to their cars.

Most surprising of all, Teddy took the initiative to arrange for Russian lessons with the tutor that Vlad had used. Teddy didn't have a penchant for languages and didn't make much progress, but it didn't matter. He felt that by saying a few words in Russian, he was now Russian. It did a lot to bolster his self confidence. He also asked everyone to use his Russian name Fyodor, but it was a hard name to pronounce so most people used it only once.

I tried to convince Teddy that I should go along with him to Russia, but he insisted that it would be enough for Lauren to chaperone them. I must admit that I didn't really want to go back to Russia. I didn't want anything to do with that awful place. There were days when I wished I'd never been to Russia and then I would never have adopted Teddy. I wanted to undo the last 16 years. I wanted to eradicate Teddy from my life and go back to my happy life as a wife and professional.

Teddy showed other surprisingly responsible behaviors as he planned for the trip. He got a new passport and visa. He bought a camera, walking shoes, new jeans and t shirts, and a black leather jacket. It seems everyone in Russia wore black leather jackets no matter the weather. Or at least the people that Vlad and Teddy wanted to emulate. We also shopped for gifts for Serge, Alex, and Raisa. We decided on DVDs of current movies and CDs of popular songs for the Serge and Alex, and a silver necklace for Raisa. Vlad also planned to take the journals and self portraits he'd made when he first emigrated to the states. He wanted to show them how he still loved his mother and would always carry her memory.

Teddy, Vlad, and Lauren were leaving on a direct Aeroflot flight from NYC to Moscow. No more transferring in Germany as we had done 16 years earlier. The Petrenko family lived in a far-out suburb of Moscow, but they could reach it by car and wouldn't have to take another plane or a train.

The Petrenkos lived in the Solntsevo section of Moscow. Lauren planned to make a hotel reservation there, but her travel agent told her that the few hotels in that area weren't good. So she made a reservation at the Hilton in central Moscow thinking they would just take the metro or rent a car or hire a driver to get to Solntsevo.

She didn't realize that it would be hard to get to Solntsevo because it was like a city in itself known for its unwelcoming attitude toward outsiders. It was the home of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, or Brotherhood, one of the families of the Russian Mafia notorious for trafficking in drugs, arms, and humans. This was not an area where visitors went unless they had a good reason to go, or they might not come back alive. Lauren didn't learn about what Solntsevo was like until she got to Moscow and spoke with Marina. Had she known what it was like beforehand, she would have tried to stop Vlad from visiting, but it would have been for naught. Nothing and no one could stop Vlad or Teddy from returning to their homeland.

Up to that time, I had no idea there was a Russian Mafia. My only knowledge of the Mafia was based on the Italian American Mafia in the Godfather movies. And I never considered that doing business involving drugs, arms, and human beings could be a way of life for a large segment of the population in a particular area. I thought drugs involved Mexicans and South Americans only. I had no idea that illegal arms were sold internationally. I never considered where these arms came from or where they were headed. And I certainly didn't know there was such a thing as human trafficking of sex slaves, women sold into prostitution. Not in this day and age. I was a member of a peaceful, legal society, totally ignorant of the fact that the whole world was not like Leesburg, Virginia. Certainly, Russia was not like Leesburg, Virginia. To me, the people and culture of Solntsevo were like aliens from another planet. But not so for Vlad and Teddy. They took to the people and the culture immediately, absorbing it into their very beings.

I'd never seen Teddy as excited about anything as this trip. He talked about it constantly. On the day of the trip, Paul and I drove him to the Bradleys. Jeff was going to drive Lauren, Vlad, and Teddy to JFK. As Teddy got out of the car, he awkwardly hugged me. He actually put his arms around me, while keeping his body away from touching mine. When Paul said good bye, he gave him the same distant hug. I thought maybe this was a good sign, maybe he felt some emotion about leaving us. In fact, he probably partially hugged us as he thought to himself, "I hope I never see you again, and thanks for the good food these past 16 years." We told him to call us everyday regardless of the cost. We were sure that he could get cell phone coverage in the Hilton. I also told Lauren to call every day to update us on their activities knowing that even if Teddy called, he wouldn't tell us much.

After we dropped Teddy off at the Bradleys, Paul and I stopped at a Starbucks. Over coffee, we discussed our feelings.

"Karen, this is the first time that Teddy has been away from us. How do you feel? Are you at all worried about him?"

"God, no. I'm not worried about him. I think Lauren will make sure he's okay. I hate to admit this, but I feel relieved that he's gone, and for two weeks I don't have to worry about getting a call from school or finding him sleeping with a girl in his room."

"Karen, I have to admit that I can't wait until he moves out. All I do is worry about what kind of trouble he's going to get into. I don't want to live like this anymore. I'm sick of him."

"I feel like that too. Are we bad people for feeling that way?"

"Yes, but I don't care. This is so different from how we've always seen ourselves. We've thought of ourselves as good people, always doing the right thing, the moral thing. We're not like that anymore. We can't be like that anymore, not with Teddy in our lives. He's ruined our lives and us."

"We have to survive and the only way to survive is to get Teddy out of our lives. When he finishes school, if he finishes school, I want him to move out. We'll help him get a job and support him, if necessary. I know he won't go to college. Getting rid of him is the right thing for us, for our mental health, for any happiness we might have some day. We have to put ourselves first now, and not Teddy. We always put Teddy first and where did it get us? Into the hell we're in now."

"Paul, what I want more than anything is my old life back. I want a life without Teddy."

We looked at each other and recognized what we saw in each other – a selfishness, a desire to survive and live the life that we wanted, a life free of problems caused by a person who didn't love us and we didn't love. How we had yearned for a child and now that we had one, we didn't want him. This was not what we dreamed of. We dreamed of a normal child who would respond to our love. Teddy was definitely not a normal child, and he had never responded to our love.
Chapter 13

Teddy called the next day. He was like a little kid describing everything he'd seen at his first circus. I'd never heard him so talkative. I spoke with Lauren who said that the hotel was lovely and the boys were staying in an adjacent room to hers. They had an easy flight and had been picked up by the hotel limo. Everything had gone smoothly so far.

Fortunately, Lauren called me every day so I kept up on what was happening. Or at least, I knew as much as Lauren did which was not the complete story. If Lauren hadn't called, I'd have never known anything because Teddy stopped calling. He told Lauren he didn't have to call me since she was calling every day. Lauren gave me a running narrative so, at times, I felt like I was actually there with her. She texted me photos that she took so I saw some of the people and places she described. Had I not seen what she was experiencing, I wouldn't have believed what she told me. It was too outrageous, too outside the realm of our mundane lives.

That first phone call gave me false hope that this trip would be good for everyone. Maybe the adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder", would apply to Teddy's feelings for us. And maybe when Teddy returned, he would put his life together; he would do better in school; he would find new friends; he would get a job. And there would no more wars; no terrorism; no poverty; and pigs would fly. Sure. How stupid, how crazy I was to think that. I was still holding onto my last shred of optimism. I couldn't admit defeat. I couldn't admit that we had failed with Teddy, that no one could have made Teddy normal, or even human.

Lauren called the next day to describe the family dinner they had at the Petrenkos. She put Teddy on the phone, but all he said was that he had a great day and Lauren would tell me all about it. He reverted to his usual silent self. Lauren excitedly described her day immersed in Russian culture. No, not culture like the arts; culture like the way people live, or at least some people live. There was certainly nothing artistic about the culture she was experiencing. She'd got confirmation of what we already knew - Russian culture was totally different from Western culture. She felt like Margaret Mead studying the primitive peoples of Samoa. In some ways, the people she was to meet were primitive, even barbaric.

"You'll never believe all that's happened. Let me start from the beginning. Alex and Serge picked us up at the hotel at about noon. They drove a big, black, brand new Mercedes. I couldn't believe that they were driving such a fancy car. I was expecting a funny little Russian car that we'd all have to squeeze into, like 10 circus clowns into a VW Bug.

We waited outside the hotel and when they pulled up, they jumped out of the car and hugged and kissed each of us. Not just polite hugs and kisses, but strangle-hold hugs and saliva-dripping kisses. Vlad was crying and repeating in Russian, "My family. My family." Teddy was crying too!! Can you imagine Teddy crying tears of happiness? Can you imagine Teddy being filled with emotion? I wish I'd taken pictures of him.

Neither Serge nor Alex spoke English so Vlad served as the official translator, a role he relished. His Russian was quite good. To me, he sounded like he was native born. Well, he is native born. I mean he sounded like he'd been speaking Russian all his life. I hadn't realized how good his Russian was. Maybe because I never really heard him speak it at home. He was motivated to retain and improve his Russian and fortunately he had the innate linguistic aptitude to do this. I wish he could have used his talents and intelligence more, but that's another story.

Serge and Alex looked like hoodlums from the movies. They wore black leather jackets even though it was warm out. Their hair was slicked back with thick gel making them look even more like gangsters. They flashed large, gaudy rings and Rolexes. They looked like they just came out of central casting for an old movie with Al Pacino as Scarface. I looked to see if they had guns in their waistbands ready to be pulled in case they got into a shootout. I didn't see any, but that was because I was looking in the wrong place.

Although they looked scary, they were really quite friendly and polite. They treated me respectfully like old people are treated, and to them of course, I am an old person. They held doors for me and they helped me into the car as if I were too frail to get in on my own. Little did they know that I run five miles every day. Even though it's usually on my treadmill, it's still five miles. I'm not sure they could keep up with me.

We drove through most of Moscow before we got to Solntsevo. It was like the endless trips we took years ago going from the National Hotel to the orphanage. Solntsevo is a section of Moscow with a huge oil refinery, factories, and apartment buildings, some of which are new high rises. There's also a new metro station that connects to a train station so it's quite a busy hub. From afar, the apartment buildings looked nice, but when I got closer I saw that there was lots of garbage all around. And of course, there was the ubiquitous graffiti. Every wall was covered with graffiti. It's urban paint. To me, graffiti is ugly. But to city dwellers it probably isn't. Although graffiti is all over D.C., it's rare in the suburbs. I'd hate to see it deface my neighborhood at home.

Because of their car, I thought the Petrenkos would live in a fancy apartment or a house. We only passed apartment buildings that looked alike. I didn't see any neighborhoods with private homes. So different from the way American cities are. Interspersed with the apartment buildings were factories with smoke stacks belching black smoke. They looked like factories in Pittsburgh in the 1950's. I found it hard to breathe when I was outside. When I blew my nose, my mucous was black. I was breathing this poison. I wish I could have avoided it, but I didn't have a gas mask. And I don't think it would look right for me to wear a gas mask.

When we entered their apartment building, there was a gang of tough-looking boys standing around. I would have feared being mugged by them, but when they saw Serge and Alex, they looked away quickly. It was obvious they wouldn't bother anyone with Serge and Alex. Marina had told me that strangers weren't welcomed in Solntsevo. No one went there unless they had protection, and fortunately, we had protection – Serge and Alex.

We took an elevator up to the tenth floor and went to Raisa's apartment. Serge and Alex didn't live with her. They lived in an apartment on the twelfth floor in the same building.

When we got out of the elevator, Raisa rushed out of her apartment. She threw her arms around Vlad and wouldn't stop kissing him. He was ecstatic. Then she did this with Teddy. She kissed me lightly on each cheek in the continental manner with much less enthusiasm.

Raisa lived alone. Her husband, Yuri, was dead. There were pictures of him on all the walls and tables. The apartment was a shrine to him. When I looked closer at the pictures, I noticed that most were the same picture, just in different frames. She pointed to the largest picture of him on the wall and solemnly described his death. Yuri was a body guard to the pakhan, or the mafia boss. One of his competitors tried to shoot him at a council meeting. Yuri had thrown himself in front of the pakhan, taking the bullet. The competitor was shot dead along with his supporters. It was quite a blood bath. Because of Yuri's bravery, Raisa was given a hefty lifetime pension from the Brotherhood. And the boys were rewarded with good jobs in the Brotherhood hierarchy. Raisa proudly told me that the Brotherhood takes care of its own. Everyone in the Brotherhood was family.

Karen, can you imagine anything like this in the U.S?"

"I don't know. Maybe in New York or Miami where there's Mafia, but I can't imagine it in modern day America, certainly not in suburban Washington."

"Although the apartment building looked fairly new, the apartment was furnished like it was the 1950's. The furniture wasn't old, it was just old fashioned. Everything was heavily upholstered, dark, and musty. I don't think the upholstery had ever been vacuumed. There were lace doilies on the backs of the chairs and lace curtains on all the windows giving the room an almost quaint look. Although the curtains were made of lace, there was little light coming in from the outside so all the lamps were turned on. There was a heavy smell permeating the apartment, some of it was musty, maybe from the furniture, and some of it from cooking. I could tell that we were going to have something with fried onions later for dinner.

Raisa was probably no more than 50, but she looked like she was 80. Under the heavy make-up she wore, you could tell she was sickly looking. She had a gray pallor, a deep cough, and was rail thin. I couldn't stop looking at her hands. They were all veins and bones – no flesh. She chain smoked as did Serge and Alex. Just about everyone in Russia smoked, and not filtered cigarettes. I'm sure they're aware of the health risks of smoking, but they don't seem to be bothered by them. A healthy life style wasn't part of the culture I was experiencing. I recalled that Vlad's mother had cancer. I hoped that Raisa didn't have lung cancer. The combination of smoking and the polluted air could certainly cause it.

Raisa made Vlad sit on the couch next to her. She continued kissing him and pinched his cheeks as she told him that he looked just like his mother. He glowed with happiness. I'd never seen him respond like this to affection. Certainly, not from any affection that Jeff and I tried to give him. This was different. This was his real family. He even kissed Serge and Alex again. He would never have kissed males at home fearing he'd be called gay. But there was nothing feminine about how they kissed. I never thought kissing could be masculine, but it was with them.

I kept asking Vlad to translate the conversation whizzing around me. He said that he and Raisa were proclaiming their love for each other. In all the time he lived with us, Vlad never said that he loved us. I felt sad that our love was never returned, and that any love he did have, he'd saved for these people. His behavior only reinforced what I've known all along. He was never our child. He was just biding his time with us until he found his real family. You know how I've felt."

"Yes, sadly I know. But there's no Russian family for Teddy to kiss."

"I don't know about that. Raisa was kissing him almost as much as Vlad and calling him her cute little cousin. I thought she'd pinch his cheeks off. He even kissed Serge and Alex. I think he feels that Vlad's family is his too. He may not be related to them by blood, but they're Russian so they're his family. I don't' recall ever seeing Teddy laugh as much, but he laughed and smiled the whole night. I saw a different Teddy. One you wouldn't know was the boy who lived with you these past 16 years."

"It would have hurt to see that. I would be hurting just like you are. My heart goes out to you to for seeing the evidence for what we've always known – our boys don't love us. They don't even care for us. Maybe they even hate us."

"Let me get back to the dinner. We sat down to eat at 4:00 and didn't get up from the table till 8:00. Raisa had made a huge meal with lots of Russian food: cabbage soup (yuk), blini, fish loaf, herring (yuk), and kasha. I can't estimate how many shots of vodka everyone but me had during the four hours. For dessert, we had cherries that had been steeped in brandy for years. Raisa said that she'd been saving these cherries for a special occasion, and our visit was a very special occasion. I popped a cherry into my mouth and felt like I would explode from the alcohol. I did feel honored to be treated like this. As you can imagine Vlad was flying high. He felt like he was dining with royalty."

Lauren didn't suspect that there might be another reason behind the royal treatment, one that was sinister. I didn't find out about this until much later. Raisa had been told by the Mafia boss that Vlad and Teddy might be useful in some way in the future and to "cultivate" them, which she did very effectively. She did more than cultivate them. She had them literally and figuratively eating from her hand. They would do anything she, Serge, and Alex asked. Anything, even if it was illegal or deadly.

"You know I like healthy food and that food was certainly not healthy, but I ate it with a show of enjoyment. I probably consumed more sodium and cholesterol in that one meal than I do for a week. Fortunately, there's a gym at the hotel where I can work off all the fat from that one meal.

Before we ate, Vlad gave everyone the presents we'd brought. They politely thanked him, but it was obvious they were not impressed. Later, when we learned some of the things Serge and Alex did, we realized that they probably could have gotten the DVDs and CDs free. The thin silver necklace was not Raisa's style. It was simple and the last adjective anyone would use to describe Raisa's taste in jewelry was simple. What visibly disappointed Vlad was their reaction to the journal and pictures he'd made when he first went to the states. He thought they would be moved by the love he expressed for his family and his sadness at being taken away. To him, this was a soul-wrenching admission of the feelings in his heart. When he read the journal and shared the pictures, they reacted with surprise. As if asking the question, "Why did you save this? Why are these childish things important?" Raisa politely took the journal and pictures and put them in a drawer where they would be permanently buried.

After dinner, we talked about their family. Vlad's mother was Lydia, Raisa's younger sister. They'd been close growing up, but when Lydia married, she moved to Kiev to be near her husband's family. They lost touch and she didn't see her again until she was dying. Her husband had died in the war in Afghanistan. He wasn't a soldier. He was an interpreter. He spoke Pashtu and Farsi. He was a linguist. That was where Vlad got his language abilities.

Lydia moved back to Moscow to be close to her mother. When she got breast cancer, her mother took care of her although she was showing signs of dementia. When Lydia died, her mother had to be put in a nursing home so there was no one to take care of Vlad thus he was placed in the orphanage.

I asked why it wasn't possible for someone in the family to take Vlad. Raisa said that she couldn't because she had too many problems in her life then. She had two little kids, Serge was 4 and Alex was 6. And she was having a difficult pregnancy and was confined to bed. The baby was born dead just before Lydia died. So she suffered two losses – her sister and her baby.

Vlad's father's family didn't want him. They were Jews and hadn't approved of their son marrying Lydia. They looked down on her because she wasn't educated. They didn't want their baby because technically Vlad wasn't Jewish. They told me that according to Jewish law, if your mother isn't Jewish by birth, then you're not considered Jewish. Raisa said that her family didn't want any part of him anyhow because he was a dirty Jew. She said that he just wanted to get money from them, just like all Jews. Those bastards. Those were her words, not mine. Raisa even spat when she called Vlad's father a dirty Jew. I was surprised at this outburst of anti-Semitism, but I didn't say anything. It wasn't my place to get into an argument.

I asked Vlad if he wanted to find his paternal family while they were in Russia. He said that he didn't want any part of the Jews. He said he hated kikes, and he wasn't really a Jew. It was strange that he'd never voiced an interest in his father's family although he didn't know they were Jews. His father died for Russia in a war. You would have thought that someone in the family would have been proud of that. But obviously not.

Then we changed the conversation to talk about what Serge and Alex did. They proudly said that they worked for the Brotherhood, or the Red Mafia. Like their father, their job was to protect the Mafia bosses. There were lots of bosses at different levels. Now they were guarding lower level bosses, but someday they hoped to move up and guard the head boss just like their father had. The bosses needed protection from competing gangs and from foreigners; especially the Chechens who they said were terrorists who had to be wiped out. When they mentioned the Chechens, their voices and faces filled with seething rage. Serge said that the Chechens tried to kill the boss his father was guarding so in essence they were responsible for killing his father.

Another reason for Serge and Alex's hatred of the Chechens involved the terrorist attacks that they were being carried out in Russia. Recently, Chechens took 850 hostages at the Dubrovka Theatre in Moscow and 170 people were murdered. But the worst hostage crisis involving the Chechens was when terrorists held more than 700 kids in a school hostage and ended up killing almost 400. The Chechens are the Russian version of the Muslim terrorists in other countries. When Serge and Alex talked about the Jews and the Chechens, they became visibly consumed with loathing. Maybe there's another source of animosity toward the Chechens – inbred racial hatred, the type of hatred that is responsible for genocide.

Serge and Alex were proud that they had worked their way up in the Brotherhood hierarchy. They had started at the bottom as foot soldiers involved in extortion of shopkeepers who had to pay protection money. They proved themselves by extorting lots of money from the vegetable warehouse vendors in Biryuza, a section of Moscow with lots of immigrants. They expressed hatred of foreigners and said that they wished that all immigrants would be sent back to their home countries or killed. Again, there was this raging hatred of others just waiting to be released.

I was blown away by this conversation. They talked about their jobs like they worked at Price Waterhouse and were on a fast track for promotions. They had no shame about being in the Mafia. In fact, they were proud. Periodically, Vlad stopped the conversation to translate for Teddy and me so we could appreciate the exalted status of his cousins. Vlad and Teddy looked at them as if they were rock stars. It was apparent that they envied Serge and Alex's lives. They, too, wanted to be criminals and have a big car and Rolex watches. They didn't want to work as bag boys at a supermarket. They thought it would be great to extort money from shopkeepers. They could demonstrate their ability to control others and make money at the same time. Who would have thought that two boys raised with the best of everything in America would want the worst of everything in Russia? Karen, I realized then that if they could, they would choose to stay in Russia."

"Do you think that they will try to stay?"

"I don't know. I'm sure it wouldn't be possible so I'm not going to worry now.

Karen, I can't begin to describe my reaction to their criminal lives. It is so foreign to me. What is especially foreign is the fact that being in the Mafia is like a business, any business, and Serge and Alex were proud of their performance in the business. They proved themselves so now they had cushy jobs because they spent a lot of their time in one of the headquarters of the Bratka. They were each assigned to a different person to guard and went with that person whenever he went out. There were a driver and two guards at all times. If the boss was not going out, Serge and Alex hung around and played cards in the office and gossiped."

The gossip. Later, I was to find out that that was why Vlad and Teddy became valuable to the U.S. government. They were going to provide access to the conversations of the Red Mafia. Why were these conversations of interest to our government? Not because of the Mafia's business involving extortion, drugs, and human trafficking. No, it was their business involving arms dealing, especially the buying and selling of nuclear devices. Where did these arms come from? Where were they headed? How could deals with these arms be thwarted? You can appreciate that insignificant people like Vlad and Teddy became significant for any gossip they might hear that possibly could answer these questions.

Lauren sounded exhausted and said, "I can't begin to describe my feelings because I'm not sure what they are. I'm totally overwhelmed by what I've found. I've been plopped down in the middle of a Godfather movie. I don't understand the language, but more importantly I can't begin to understand the culture, this criminal, underworld culture. It's ugly, violent, vile and cruel. And that's what Vlad and Teddy love and adore and want to be part of. How can they reject all we gave them these last 16 years? I'm not talking about love. I'm talking about a way of life that everyone in the world desperately wants, but not them.

I'm totally exhausted. I can't talk any more. I'll call you tomorrow again. I should be keeping a journal because no one would believe what I'm experiencing. I won't believe it when I get home. I'll think it was all a dream – a nightmare. All I know is I want to go home and never come back here again. I'm afraid and I don't know of what. I know that Serge and Alex will not let anything bad happen to me, but I'm still petrified. I think it's the sense of hatred and violence that permeates everything here."

Little did I know that someone was keeping a record of what Lauren was telling me. Someone was recording our conversation. I shouldn't say someone. I should say the National Security Agency, the NSA, was recording our conversation. Remember I said that I thought someone had bugged our hotel room when we picked up Teddy16 years ago. Well, no one did then, but now someone was bugging Lauren's phone. And they had good reason to do so.
Chapter 14

The next day Lauren called me at 4:00 which was midnight Moscow time. I asked to talk to Teddy, but she said that he had gone to sleep.

"What an emotional day we had today. I'm totally drained. Each day gets worse and creepier. We all went on a trip to Vlad's mother's grave. Raisa, Serge, and Alex picked us up at the hotel. Fortunately, the Mercedes is huge and there was enough room for the six of us. The cemetery was far from the Hilton so I got to see lots of Moscow, but most of it is the same - ugly and drab. After a while, I dozed off and snored. Vlad kept poking me, telling me to wake up. I was embarrassing him with my snoring. Now that's funny. I'm embarrassing him.

Raisa was nervous about seeing her sister's grave. She said that she hadn't visited it since her funeral. I found this surprising. I would have thought that she would have made time to pay her respects to her sister, especially if she loved her so much. Just before we got to the cemetery, we stopped at a nearby flower shop. We bought six huge bunches of flowers, one from each of us. The sweet smell of the flowers in the car was stifling, but fortunately it was a short trip. Lydia was buried in a massive cemetery with thousands of graves. Serge had gotten information on the grave number and its location beforehand so we were able to find her grave quickly.

The grave was a simple slab with Cyrllic writing which of course I couldn't read. I asked what it said, and Vlad translated the Russian. Lydia Lermontov. Wife of Viktor Lermontov. Mother of Vladimir Lermontov. 1964 - 1991. Raisa recited a Russian Orthodox prayer. Suddenly, Vlad cried out and threw himself on the grave sobbing loudly. He was remembering his mother's funeral. He was reliving the anguish he felt then. He screamed in English, 'Momma, don't leave me. Take me with you. Don't die.' He was rolling in the flowers surrounding the grave. 'Momma, come back. I need you. I love you.' His crying was contagious and soon everyone except me was crying. Then he tried to dig up her grave with his bare hands. Serge and Alex stopped him and pulled him to a nearby bench to calm him with a cigarette. As he wiped away tears, he smeared the dirt from the grave onto his face. What a sight he was. Tears and dirt covered his reddened face.

I'd never seen anyone show emotion like that before. It was heart wrenching, but also horrifying. I'm Scandinavian, and we're not known for showing emotion. We're not known for feeling emotion. I really was embarrassed by his behavior. But no one else was. It was acceptable in this culture. Maybe even desirable. Where did Vlad get his emotions? They must be inbred. Someday when and if he's at my grave, I'm positive he won't react like that. He might not even shed a tear.

Raisa asked Vlad if he remembered what his mother looked like. He stared into space as if he was actually picturing her.

Vlad translated the conversation back and forth from Russian to English and back so everyone would understand.

'She was beautiful. She had black hair like me. She had big black eyes. She had a hairy mole on the middle of her cheek, but that didn't keep her from being beautiful. She was very thin. That must have been from the cancer. Aunt Raisa, how do you remember her?'

'She was pretty and all the boys loved her. I don't know why she picked the Jew to marry. I never met him, but I heard that he was very handsome and rich although we never got any money from him. She could have had lots of good Russian boys. She was always happy and singing. She loved music and danced around whenever we played music on the radio.'

Then Raisa abruptly changed the subject and said that everyone had mourned enough. It was time to celebrate life so we left and headed back to the Hilton for dinner. Raisa had never been in the Hilton or any major hotel for that matter. She was in awe of its grandeur. She compared it to a palace of the tsars. I'm sure Conrad Hilton was happy hearing that from his grave. She greatly enjoyed the meal we ate in the restaurant, as did the boys. They said it was as good as Raisa's cooking, a comment Raisa did not appreciate. I was left to pay the bill which was quite hefty for the six of us, especially since everyone but me drank lots of alcohol, very expensive alcohol.

Afterwards, they came up to see our rooms. They scoured the rooms as if they were on a scavenger hunt. Raisa took all the soaps, extra towels, terry cloth robes, and minibar drinks. I would have to pay for these, but I couldn't say anything. I gave a huge sigh of relief when they left. They were so emotionally draining. This whole day has been emotionally exhausting."

Lauren sounded quite different when she called the next day. The boys had gone off with Serge and Alex and left her to spend the day sightseeing alone. Only she didn't want to go sightseeing, and she didn't want to be alone. But there was no changing the boys' minds. She felt like we did the day we had to go sightseeing with Marina 16 years ago. She said she heard Marina's voice in her head saying: YOU VILL GO SIGHTSEEING. I ORDER YOU TO LIKE IT. She said she spent most of the day exercising and swimming in the hotel pool.

Lauren called the next day with the daily update.

"Oh Karen, I'm so helpless. I spent most of the day in my room worrying about the boys. They wouldn't let me come with them again today. I couldn't read a book or watch TV which only carries Russian programs anyhow. I'm reduced to doing nothing which only makes my apprehension about them grow until I feel like I'm going to explode. I go to the gym, but even when I exercise, I worry. I do laps, but I still think of the boys. I don't know what to do with myself.

Last night, the boys got back to the hotel past midnight and reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. They wouldn't tell me what they did. They just said that they went around with Serge and Alex and met people in the Brotherhood. It was obvious that they viewed the Brotherhood as a group that they wanted to be part of. It's like a gang of juvenile delinquents which gives kids identity and purpose. Only this gang is a lot more dangerous.

I just talked to Jeff and he wants me to come home on the next plane. I can't leave them here and they won't leave until they have to. Jeff volunteered to come over even though he hates this place as much as you do. I told him that I can handle the rest of the time by myself. I don't want him to come. I really don't know how he'd react to all this Mafia stuff. I haven't told him as much as I've told you. If I did, he'd definitely make me come home or he'd come here and drag me back. I just have to make it on my own. I'll use you to help me get through all this shit. You know what living with a Russian is like. Well imagine a whole country of them."

Every day Lauren called to report in, and every day was the same with the boys spending the day with Serge and Alex and then coming back to the hotel late. On the fifth day, she added new, disturbing information.

"The door to our adjoining rooms was left slightly ajar so I overheard the boys talking about hanging out in clubhouses with gang members while Serge and Alex were off on guard duty. The boss spent most of his time in his office so Serge and Alex had time to tell them about some of the activities the other gang members engage in, like extorting money from shopkeepers, especially foreign shopkeepers. They talked about how they could make lots of money if they did this at home. Vlad even mentioned the possibility of starting with a Korean grocer near the condo at Bethany.

When I pestered them to tell me more about what they did, they told me about going to a shooting range. Serge and Alex lent them guns while they were visiting so they would be safe from any attack. It seems that no one is safe, whether you're a Brotherhood member or just a friend of a Brotherhood member. They wanted to be sure that they used the guns correctly so they went to this shooting range. Teddy said that he'd like to go to a shooting range at home so he could improve his shooting. Expect him to ask you about that when he gets home. He'll probably also want you to buy him a gun."

"Well that's not going to happen. I refuse to have any guns in my house, especially since I don't know what Teddy would do with them when he gets mad at us. I could see him massacring us in one of his rages." I said it in jest, but there was an element of truth.

On the sixth day, Lauren told me that the boys were now staying with Serge and Alex and not to worry, even though it was obvious that she was frantic. She spoke in a high pitched voice that I'd never heard her use before. There was nothing she could do but sit in her room and worry. She tried to convince them to come back to the hotel to sleep, but they said that they were staying in a nice apartment in the same building as Raisa who cooked delicious meals for them nightly and that it was too far to drive back and forth every day. They suggested that she go home, but she said she wouldn't leave without them.

When Lauren next called, she said that the boys were going to someone's dacha for the weekend.

"They're going to one of the Mafia guy's dacha. It seems that everyone in Russia, even people without a lot of money, have dachas or country houses. See, I'm learning to speak Russian. Now I know the word dacha.

I begged them to take me along. They said that there was no room for me, but I realized that they were probably taking women. The last thing they needed was a mother as a chaperone. On Monday, they returned to the hotel. They said that they did lots of hunting, even for wild boar which I didn't even know existed. One of the guys shot a boar and then gutted it. There was blood and gore all over. This really impressed them. They want to learn to do this. They described these great hunting rifles they used. More weapons. They're so obsessed with guns. More violence. When I asked about what the countryside was like, they said it was nice. I don't really think they noticed the flora and the fauna, except the wild boar."

I thought back to Teddy's obsession with road kill and how this was now channeled into hunting and eviscerating animals. The thought of a gutted boar nauseated me.

Two nights before they were due to return home, the Petrenkos took Vlad, Teddy, and Lauren to a nightclub to celebrate the end of their visit. Over the last two weeks, Lauren had sent me pictures that she'd taken of the family. First, pictures of their dinner at Raisa's including the food on the table, then pictures at the cemetery including Lydia's tombstone, and pictures of the dinner at the Hilton. The photos she sent me from the nightclub were different. They were not posed. They were candids. Had she not sent me these I would never have believed the phantasmagorical story she told me, but the photos were incontrovertible proof.

"I got dressed up in my basic black dress with pearls which was as different from how Raisa dressed as possible. Raisa wore a dress that looked like it was covered in rhinestones. It looked so heavy that I thought she would collapse. She wore lots of gaudy costume jewelry and had doubled the amount of make-up she usually wore which made her look like a clown. I couldn't stop looking at the round patches of deep red rouge that she'd painted on her cheeks which seemed more sunken than the last time I'd seen her. She loved posing for the pictures I took. She posed with Serge, Alex, Vlad, Teddy, and me. She even posed with some guys that Serge and Alex worked with, including their bosses.

Serge and Alex picked us up in their car and drove us to a nightclub in Solntsevo, the likes of which we would never see in the states, or at least you and I would never see. I don't think a club like that would be legal at home. There were lots of women who seemed to be prostitutes working the room. They were sitting on men's laps as the men felt them up. When I looked closer at these women, it was obvious that they weren't women; they were young girls. Some looked like they just had breast buds and were 12 or 13. In retrospect, I wonder if these were some of the sex slaves I'd heard about. It was especially repulsive to see these old, gross, fat men pawing at these little girls. True child sex abuse. I took some photos of the most obnoxious men with the pretty sweet girls. Wait till you see the one with the guy with a huge cigar in his mouth stuffing a cigar in a girl's mouth. I thought she would vomit. I thought I would vomit.

There was a live orchestra and lots of singing and dancing. Vlad and Teddy were dancing with women, but it looked more like they were having sex with their clothes on. Interestingly, they were with older women, not young girls. I tried not to watch. It was too disturbing. I didn't take pictures of them. Some older men who were obviously Mafia members asked me to dance, but I refused. Serge and Alex even asked me to dance, but I didn't think it was appropriate for them to touch me. Serge's boss sat with us for a while and kept trying to put his arm around me. I didn't want to get Serge in trouble, but I thought I was going to be sick if he didn't stop pawing at me. Luckily, he got the message and left. He said something about me as he left and everyone laughed hysterically. I'm sure he said I was a frigid American bitch or something like that.

Then there was a live show – a strip show. I've never seen a strip show before. I'm sure there's nothing like this at home. When the women were naked, they did some dirty things with objects. I can't even begin to describe how obscene it was. Then men stripped and did things with the naked women. It was like watching a live porno movie, not that I've ever seen a porno movie. During the show I looked over at Teddy and saw that a girl had her head under the tablecloth and was giving him a blow job. He came so loudly that everybody laughed. It was so disgusting. Karen, I felt dirty just looking at him. Raisa never got to see the show. She was so drunk that she'd fallen asleep. There was drool all over her chin and her make-up had melted from the heat in the room. One of the ugliest sights I've ever seen. I did get a photo of her because I knew words couldn't describe what she looked like.

I can honestly say that was the worst night of my life. The whole experience was so repulsive to me. I suppose because I'm middle class, American, and a woman. I really don't know why they took me there. Did they believe that I would like it? Did they not understand how normal people like me would respond to something so disgusting? Probably not. Vlad and Teddy loved it all. They love everything about Russia. The baser and viler, the better."

While she was at the airport waiting for the flight home, Lauren called.

"I am so glad to be going home. At last. I have never hated a place as much as I hate Russia. Of course, the boys didn't want to leave, but they knew they had to because of the time restrictions on their visas. Serge and Alex drove us to the airport and the four boys hugged, and said that they would see each other again soon. Vlad and Teddy said that they wanted to return to Russia as soon as possible. They felt that Russia was their true home, not America. Part of their new-found allegiance was their attachment to the Brotherhood. They were accepted as part of a well-respected Russian organization whose values they shared, especially the value of violence."

When we picked Teddy up at the Bradleys, we didn't get hugs. All Teddy said was, "I'm going back. That's my home. Those people are my people." He couldn't even look at us. He didn't have to tell us how he felt about. He exuded hatred for us and for everything in America. What had happened to the 16 years he spent with us? Was it erased in just two weeks? Yes.

I tried to get more information on the trip from Teddy, but he didn't tell me much more than I already knew from Lauren. I asked how he felt about Serge and Alex. After he told me how much he respected them and even loved them, I asked, "How do you feel about them being criminals?"

Teddy was furious. "They're not criminals. Those are their jobs. Good jobs that pay well and give them respect, not like being a supermarket bag boy. I'd like to have a job like they have."

I was shocked. "You want to be a criminal?"

He looked at me with fury in his eyes, and said, "Shut up you fucking bitch."

My ears were ringing. He called me a fucking bitch. I tried to think of a time when he had called me Mom, but I couldn't recall an instance. This was the name he silently called me all the years he lived with us, and now he said it aloud.

Then he pulled off his shirt to show me that he had a tattoo on each shoulder - matching black nautical stars. "These show that I'm part of the Brotherhood. I'm part of a rich tradition of honor and discipline. I'm proud to be part of the Bratva. And when I go back I'll get more tattoos and became a full-fledged member. I'll be treated with the respect I deserve. The respect you never gave me."
Chapter 15

After Teddy's return from Russia, he was totally unmanageable. He refused to go to school. He'd turned 18 over the summer and now was legally an adult and could do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was to drop out of school and return to Russia. He rarely talked to us, and when he did, he only talked about Russia.

A few weeks after he got back, he told us that he wanted to move out and live with Vlad. We asked him where he would live and how he would pay rent. He said that he wanted to stay at our Bethany Beach condo. Our first reaction was to say no, but then we realized it was a way to get him out of the house while still keeping an eye on him. We told him that he needed to get a job if he was going to drop out of school. He said he would look for work in the beach area even though we knew there would be few job possibilities because it was no longer beach season. We told him we'd give him $200 a week until he found a job. We'd bought him a car as soon as he got his license so I didn't have to keep performing my maternal chauffeuring duties, which I had come to detest. Teddy loved to drive and was a fairly cautious driver, considering that he was a teenage boy. When I once complimented him on his careful driving, he said that he drove defensively because he didn't want anyone to hurt him. He didn't want to get injured or die in a crash. Strange because that is not something most teenage drivers think about. We also gave him a credit card for charging gas which he used for a lot more than gas, including a daily slurpee at Seven-Eleven.

I called Lauren and found out that Vlad had told her that he was moving out to the beach condo with Teddy even before we'd given Teddy permission to use it. She, too, told Vlad that she'd support him until he got a job. Within five days, they'd moved out. They only took their clothes and personal belongings because the condo was fully furnished. On the day of the move, we shopped with him for food and household necessities. When we left Teddy, we felt like parents must feel when they leave their kids off at college for the first time. No, it wasn't really the same. We felt a sense of relief at getting rid of him, not pride in our child starting out on a new independent life. When we got home, I went into Teddy's room to look around. He'd left nothing personal. There was no sign of the individual who'd lived in that room for 16 years.

Every day when we called Teddy, he said that he was looking for a job, but couldn't find one. He came home every week to get clean clothes since I continued to do his laundry, to re-stock his food supply, and to get his allowance. I talked to Lauren and found that Vlad was doing the same. Teddy was still our dependent child, only not living in our home. I tried to convince myself that this was a first step at his achieving independence. If this was the first step, he had 99 more to go.

At first, Teddy complained that $200 a week wasn't enough money to live on, but then he stopped asking for more money so we knew he'd found another source of income. We were afraid to ask how he was getting money because we feared he was doing something illegal. Our motto was 'ignorance is bliss.' It was better not to know what he was doing so we wouldn't have to try to stop him which we knew would be impossible anyhow.

For a week we were unable to reach Teddy. We drove to the condo and found that Teddy had changed the lock on the door. We couldn't get in. The next day we were able to reach him by phone. He told us that he had to go to Brooklyn "on business." When I asked what kind of business, he said that he and Vlad were buying and selling CDs and DVDs and their supplier was in Brooklyn. I didn't even bother asking about details because I knew it was a blatant lie.

Things went on like this until May. We were adjusting to life without Teddy. We were even beginning to enjoy life, although we still worried about him, but less so because he wasn't asking for money. We talked to him less and less and thought of him less and less. For so long he'd been the center of our universe. Now he was at the periphery. And we liked it that way.

I talked to Lauren daily. She and Jeff felt like Paul and I did. Although relieved that Vlad was out of the house, they worried about how he was making a living, but not worried enough to find out. They, too, were removing Vlad from their lives.

It was July when I found out from Lauren that the boys had been gone to Russia for two weeks. Teddy hadn't even told me that he was going. I'd stopped calling him because I was preoccupied with problems with my mother and work. My mother had developed major health problems so we were moving her to an assisted living facility and selling her house. Also, we had a shock concerning one of our employees. We learned that our accountant, Ellen Davidson, had embezzled money from us. She'd worked for us for 10 years, and we trusted her completely. We viewed her as part of our work family. It was Heather who found out about this. As manager of one of our stores, she'd spotted an irregularity in the books. We spent a lot of time with the police, lawyers, and accountants. Ellen was sentenced to six months in jail and had to pay restitution of $400,000. These punishments did nothing to lessen the disappointment we felt in someone we trusted so much.

But good things also happened in our lives which made us less concerned about Teddy. Brian had gotten married that June. How hard it was to believe that little Brian was old enough to marry, but he was 28. He married Jennifer McKee, a sweet, loving delivery room nurse. She was a pretty redhead, and they were hoping to have lots of redheaded kids delivered to them someday. They had a big wedding in a Catholic church followed by a reception at a winery. Both Heather and Al escorted Brian down the aisle. They were beaming so brightly they could have lit up the whole church. Over the years, Al and Brian had developed a strong father-son relationship. They couldn't have been closer if Brian was Al's biological son. They talked at least once a day and Brian consulted him on every decision he had to make. Heather, Al, Brian, and Jennifer were a happy family.

Paul and I along with Heather and Al hosted a rehearsal dinner at an elegant restaurant the night before the wedding. Although Teddy was invited to the wedding and rehearsal dinner, he didn't come. He didn't respond to the invitations. I knew he never really felt part of my family although we tried so hard to include him in everything. I think another reason for his not coming had to do with his pathological fear of Al. When I had mentioned Al's name in a conversation about Brian getting engaged, Teddy visibly shuddered. Whenever I asked Teddy to come to family get-togethers, he'd ask if Al would be there. If I said yes, he'd say that he wouldn't come. I think this fear was due to what Al represented – law and order and goodness and strength. We later learned that Teddy was committing crimes when he lived at the beach, and I think he was afraid that Al would find out about this. I think Teddy felt that Al had superhuman powers and could sniff out crimes like a drug dog.

In August, Teddy came to see us. We asked why he didn't tell us that he'd gone to Russia. He said that he thought that he'd told us; he said he must have forgotten. I was experienced at spotting his lies, but I kept silent. Teddy had changed dramatically since we'd last seen him. He was no longer fat. He'd been working out and now he was buff. I wondered if he'd taken steroids since the change was so fast and so dramatic. He wore a short sleeve T shirt which showed off his muscles and the bulging veins feeding the muscles. The acne on his face had turned to pock marks which made him look rugged. He was no longer cute. Now, he was handsome. He again reminded me of Baryshnikov. Teddy looked like him when I first saw him in that crib in Baby House Number 38, and now he looked like him again. His cuteness as a baby attracted me. His handsome looks now did not. I was repulsed by the ugliness I knew existed just below the surface.

Teddy had changed in more than looks. His demeanor was different. He seemed self-confident and assertive. He felt that he was now independent of us and in control of his life. He didn't need us anymore so he was more aloof and distant than ever. He also didn't try to hide the disdain he felt toward us. No, it was more than disdain; it was dislike; it was hatred. Was this because he sensed the change in our feelings toward him? Did he realize that we no longer tried to love him? In fact, we hated him. Were we not able to conceal this? Was he reciprocating the feelings we had for him? No. He hated us all along and now we were reciprocating.

Then Teddy set off a bombshell – he told us that he wanted to move to Russia permanently. I told him that was a good goal for the future. And then I changed the subject. I didn't ask what he thought he would do there. I didn't want to know because I knew it wouldn't be legal Anyhow, I was certain that it would be impossible. I thought that the U.S. or Russian government wouldn't permit this. Most people in the world were trying to immigrate to the U.S., but here was Teddy wanting to emigrate from the U.S. He asked if I cared that he was leaving America. I just told him that we'd talk about it later. I clearly was humoring him and treating him as if he had an impossible dream. He became furious that I wasn't taking him seriously and stalked out of the house. I felt his plans had no chance of being realized. To me, his moving to Russia was as likely as him becoming president. As usual, I was wrong when it came to predicting anything to do with Teddy.

When I talked to Lauren, she told me that Vlad had told her the same thing – he was moving to Russia. Neither of us took them seriously. We thought it wouldn't be possible, although we both secretly wished that they would move half way around the world from us. Then maybe we would be free of them. We both felt that the boys were like chains around our necks, dragging us down. They were constant burdens on us even though they were no longer living with us. Neither of us said this aloud, but we sent silent messages clearly communicating this to each other. How can you say aloud even to a close friend the words – "I hate my son and I want to be rid of him?"
Chapter 16

In September, I got a call from Al saying that he needed to talk to us privately and could we not mention anything to Heather or Brian. I couldn't imagine what he wanted to tell us. Paul and I spent most of the day trying to figure out what he had to say. We feared that Heather had some serious illness he wanted to tell us about. But in our hearts, we knew it had something to do with Teddy, and therefore it couldn't be good. And we were right, so right.

When Al came over that night, he wasn't alone. He was accompanied by two FBI agents, Hector Cruz and Lester Wilson. Although Hector was Hispanic and Lester was Black, they both were alike – immaculately groomed, formal, polite, and exuding authority.

They proceeded to tell us a story that seemed implausible, incredible, impossible. Their words catapulted us into a mystery thriller with Teddy and Vlad as the villains. I couldn't tell what our roles were to be yet. I was to learn that this would be a thriller with no heroes.

Hector started off the conversation.

"I know you're confused as to why the FBI wants to see you since we know you're both law abiding citizens. And let me assure you that this has nothing to do with the Ellen Davidson case."

They knew about the embezzlement case? How did they know that? Oh, they're the FBI. That's how they knew.

"We're here about Teddy."

Here was confirmation of what we'd surmised. Of course, this had to do with Teddy. But the FBI? I wouldn't have been surprised if we had a visit from the local police, but this was different. The FBI dealt with serious crime.

Lester continued. "We know Al from previous cases we've worked on together since he works in the Terrorism Division."

Now that was a surprise. We knew that Al worked for the Washington, D.C. Police Department, but we didn't know he worked in the Terrorism Division. We didn't even know there was a Terrorism Division, but I suppose there would have to be after 9/11 and Washington being the country's capital. Al never talked about his work. We assumed he didn't want to sully us with the ugly world of crime. But there was a totally different reason for his secretiveness – national security.

"We asked Al if he would provide an introduction for us rather than us just coming over unannounced. What we're going to tell you is classified information. It's imperative that you not share our conversations with anyone, especially Teddy. It's a matter of life and death, and I'm not just saying that to be dramatic. People could die. Lots of people could die. Teddy could die."

Lester's face looked like it was made of steel. It was frozen into a look that sent shivers through my body. Paul and I were too stunned to say anything coherent so after waiting a few seconds to let the meaning of the words sink in, Hector continued.

"We've been following Teddy and Vlad since Vlad first made contact with his cousins, Serge and Alex. We've known about their criminal behavior for quite some time. We've listened to their overseas phone conversations because of their involvement with the Russian Mafia. So we heard what they talked about with Vlad since their very first phone conversation. We also tracked their emails, but oddly they use their phones more than electronic communication.

We've been tracking the Solntsevskaya Bratka since they murdered one of our undercover agents in Moscow. We've followed Teddy and Vlad in their travels, and also listened to their conversations whenever we could. We know that recently they were messengers for the Brotherhood in their dealings with the Jewish Mafia in Brooklyn."

So that's why they went to Brooklyn. It had nothing to do with buying and selling CDs and DVDs. Although I knew Teddy was lying about that, what they were really doing there was something I couldn't have ever imagined.

"The Russian and Brooklyn Mafias are working on setting up a joint deal to sell illegal arms, to sell small nuclear devices. The Russian Mafia is getting these nuclear devices from the Russian government which is unloading old devices that are no longer useful to them. It's a good source of money since Russia is in dire straits financially. The Brooklyn Mafia has a world-wide distribution network and will resell these arms. The Russian Mafia has the goods and the Brooklyn Mafia has the contacts with Middle Eastern and Far Eastern governments and even terrorist groups like Al Qaeda, ISIS, and the Taliban. What's strange is that the Brooklyn Mafia is made up of Russian Jews so it's hard to understand why they want to sell these devices to Moslem terrorists. But who can understand the politics of what's going on in the world now? Terrorist politics makes for strange bedfellows, just like regular politics.

We know that Vlad and Teddy are couriers in the dealings between the two Mafias. They're at the lowest rung of the operation. They are of no importance, but they may give us access to the higher ups so that we can trace these arms and intercept them before they fall into the wrong hands. I know this is so hard to believe. Do you understand what we're telling you?"

Paul answered, "Yes, but it's all so mind boggling. Teddy and Vlad and the Mafia and nuclear arms. I just can't believe it's true. It's like a movie."

Lester replied, "Believe me, it's true. We have evidence for everything that we're telling you."

I started to cry so Paul came over and held me. I said, "I don't believe this. I thought that Teddy was involved in petty crime, but not something like this. Not something deadly. We're good people. We don't have anything to do with evil like this." I cried convulsively.

Al came over to hug Paul and me. He took my hand and said, "This is the worst news imaginable, but I'll help you get through it. I'll be there for you and Paul. I know you're both strong and will come through this somehow. But the hardest part is yet to come. We need your help to stop this. We think that you can play a major role in preventing something horrible from happening."

There were tears in his eyes. He was more than a brother-in-law. He was our friend and protector. I held his hand tightly. I felt like I was drowning and he was the only one who could save me.

Hector continued, "I'm sure you've wondered how they've been getting money to go to Russia. They put into practice what they learned from Serge and Alex and the other Brotherhood members when they were in Russia with Lauren. They've been extorting money from small businesses in the Maryland beach area. They targeted small businesses owned by foreigners because these people are easily intimidated and because some of them are not legal and because some of them are more afraid of the police than the Mafia. They demanded that they pay them protection money. If they didn't pay, they beat up the people or damaged their stores. In one case, we have video of Teddy savagely beating the 14 year old son of a Korean grocer who refused to pay them. Teddy broke the boy's legs with a hammer while Vlad held the father still, forcing him to watch. It was hard for even seasoned people like us to watch such cruelty. The father paid dearly. Once with money, and once with his son's legs which had to be amputated."

I had known that Teddy had evil in him, but now it was confirmed. Smashing the legs of a 14 year old boy with a hammer. This was official confirmation of what I'd known for a while. Teddy was a sadistic psychopath.

Lester continued. "We haven't stopped them because we didn't want to risk the operation concerning the nuclear devices. That's a lot more important. Believe me, it was very hard for us to see them beat up these innocent people. They were always armed and we were afraid that they would kill someone and then we would have to arrest them. Fortunately for our operation, they were content with just brutalizing people."

My questions were being answered. Now I knew why they went to Brooklyn. Now I knew how they got money to live and travel. The more I learned about them, the more I hated them. I unleashed emotions that I had controlled because it wasn't "right" for a mother to hate her child. But now I let them loose. I found that I was filled with rage. My tears were drying up and my rage was mounting, encompassing my whole body. I felt that if I had a hammer, I would smash Teddy's legs. Teddy's cruelty was causing me to feel violent, cruel hatred for the animal I had raised for 16 years. Nothing we tried to teach him about being a decent human being had penetrated his thick skin. I could never think of him as my son again. He was an animal we had tried unsuccessfully to tame.

Paul said, "Well if you stop them and arrest them, can't you stop the arms deal?"

"No. They're just small fish at the bottom of the pond, or I should say the cesspool. I wish it were that simple. Arresting them won't stop the Mafia"

"But to let them carry out their crime wave is unconscionable."

"I know. It bothers us a lot, but we have to keep the greater end goal in sight. What we want to do is use Teddy and Vlad to get more information about the Brotherhood and about this operation."

"How?"

"They want to return to Russia and work for the Brotherhood. And we want them to. They'll get low-level jobs because they're just starting out and because they'll be tested to see if they can be trusted. But they'll be in close contact with Serge and Alex so they'll be in on some inside information since they're bodyguards for some of the bosses and they'll overhear face-to-face conversations that we have no way of accessing. Getting information on those conversations would be priceless in stopping the sale of these deadly weapons. We also want to find out how else they want to use Teddy and Vlad in their dealings with the Brooklyn Mafia."

"So how could Teddy and Vlad help you?"

"We're not going to ask them to help us because they would never do so even if we told them that they could avoid going to jail if they cooperated with us. They're totally committed to the Brotherhood and would even do jail time to save their new comrades. They've become true believers - fanatics. Instead of going to Syria to join a Muslim terrorist organization, they're going to Russia to join a different terrorist organization – the Mafia."

"So how can they possibly help you?"

"They won't help us. You will. You will help us get Teddy to be the FBI's eyes and ears in Russia."

I was confused. How could Paul and I help? We would never go to Russia and we would never talk to Teddy about his involvement with the Mafia.

"We want Teddy to carry electronic equipment that will allow us to trace his whereabouts and listen to his conversations and copy any photos or video he takes. When Teddy and Vlad first went to Russia, Lauren took some great pictures at a nightclub. We were able to get pictures of some of the Mafia bosses that we couldn't get in the past."

"I remember those pictures and the horrible experience that Lauren had. Poor thing was taken to a disgusting sex club with all those Mafia people. But Teddy will never cooperate with you."

"Of course, he won't. Not knowingly, but we hope to have him do it unknowingly. We want you to give him a new phone before he goes to Russia. We'll rig it so that we'll get the information without anyone knowing, especially Teddy."

"What happens if they find out? They'll kill Teddy."

"They'll never find out. They're not good enough to penetrate our newest technologies. Remember we put a man on the moon. We can certainly do something simple like creating a phone for bugging without anyone finding out. And even if they did find out, they'd realize that Teddy was an innocent dupe. They might even try to find a way to use him against us."

"What will happen if Teddy stays in Russia?"

"He'll probably become a permanent member of the Brotherhood. He'll never come back here even if he wants to, and we know he doesn't want to."

"Would the Russian government let him stay there?"

"Of course, the government and the Mafia in Russia are one and the same."

"What about Vlad and Lauren and Jeff?"

"We're not going to tell Lauren and Jeff about this because we don't think they can be trusted. Not because they'd willfully tell Vlad, but they might let the information slip out. And Vlad is even more fanatic than Teddy, if that's possible. We have to keep what we're doing top secret. Al won't be sharing any of this with Heather or Brian."

"I don't know about Paul and me. We might let the information slip out. Certainly, we wouldn't tell anybody on purpose, but we're not used to having secrets".

"I think we know enough about both of you from Al to trust you to do the right thing for your country. You know if he stays here, he'll go to jail for a long time. Maybe until he's a very old man. We have video and fingerprint evidence linking him to armed holdups of stores and even attempted murder of some of the store owners. I've watched the videos. I saw that Teddy is a sadistic psychopath who enjoys inflicting pain on other. I know this is hard for you to hear, but he is capable of killing. We have to stop him by arresting him or having him exile himself to Russia. Self-exile would be best because it would stop his crime spree and hopefully help us stop the sale of nuclear devices."

"I don't want to believe that Teddy would do such things. I know he's capable of small stuff, but not such violence." Even as I said this, I knew I was lying and so did Paul, Al, Hector, and Lester. I knew Teddy was capable of the crimes they described. I knew the evil bottled up in him was being released.

"Karen and Paul, we know that you're good Americans so our appeal to you is not just for Teddy, but for our country. I know you never dreamed you'd be involved in terrorism, but no one is immune from it and everyone has to fight it when it intrudes into their lives. You have to fight it by finding out about the Brotherhood's plans and we found a way to do this through Teddy."

Hector said, "Teddy will be lost to you if he goes to Russia, but at least something good will come out of this. We can prevent some very bad people from getting lethal weapons. We can prevent innocent people from being murdered. Can you imagine what could happen if nuclear weapons got in the hands of terrorists and they set them off in our country? Here in D.C. or at Bethany Beach in summer time? Just think of the casualties we had from small homemade bombs, like in Boston. Think of the deaths from nuclear devices. Imagine the lives of innocent people with life-long radiation sickness."

We talked for hours. My head was spinning. We told them that we wanted to talk to Al privately before we made our decision. Al came over the next day and we talked for hours more. Al cautioned us to tell no one about this, not even Heather. We had to be super vigilant. People could die if this plan was exposed. He said that his advice was based on his being part of our family, and what he advised us about Teddy is what he would do if Teddy were his own son. The three of us agreed that of the two options of arrest or exile to Russia, exile was better. We were doing the patriotic thing. We had to convince ourselves that there was a reason bigger than Teddy and ourselves for what we were doing. And we did. And I believe it today. We did the right thing. We had no other choice. Not stopping Teddy and not stopping the Mafia's attempts to get a nuclear device would have bloodied our hands. We would have been as guilty as Teddy, Vlad, and the Red Mafia

As Al was leaving, I asked him if he was absolutely sure the bugging system was impossible to detect. Was it as good as the FBI was portraying it? He looked at us, and said, "I hope so. I can only hope so."

We met with Hector and Lester the next day and agreed to their plan. We gave them permission to bug our house, the condo, our cars, Teddy's car which we owned, and our phones.

Two months later Teddy told us that he was going to Russia for a long visit. He'd gotten a visa for three months. We knew that he planned to overstay his visa and remain in Russia permanently. We told him we knew how much he loved Russia and we were happy for him. It turned out that Paul and I were good liars. I don't think Teddy suspected anything. He never questioned why we were suddenly supportive of his move to Russia when in the past we objected. Probably he was so happy to be going to Russia that he was blinded to everything.

We told him that we had a special present for him -- the latest iPhone. Of course, he didn't know that this new phone had been outfitted with the most current spy technology by the FBI. The Apple box the phone came in looked as if it was fresh from the factory. We told him that we hoped that he'd use it to stay in touch with us since he was going to be gone for so long. We also gave him $2,000 to enjoy himself on this stay and to take Serge, Alex, and Raisa out for a fancy dinner. We sent presents for Serge and Alex – Redskins sweatshirts. For Raisa, we had a large, gaudy rhinestone bracelet which was more to her liking than the simple necklace we'd given her before.

After Paul and I discussed getting Raisa a bracelet, Lester contacted us. We'd forgotten that the FBI was listening to our conversations. They asked if they could provide the bracelet to us because they wanted to insert a listening device in it since Raisa was involved in lots of Mafia gossip. Of course, we agreed.

We told Teddy to take lots of pictures and to Facetime so we could see how everyone looked. They were going to be sharing Serge and Alex's apartment during their stay so we asked them to take pictures of it so we could see their new "home." We especially wanted to see pictures of their new friends, who would most certainly be Mafia members.

We avoided talking to Lauren because we were afraid that we might inadvertently drop hints about what was happening. When we did talk to her, she was so frazzled and upset about Vlad moving to Russia that she probably wouldn't have picked up on them anyhow. I tried to find out if she knew where Vlad was getting money for the trip. She said that he was making good money working construction. She wanted to believe he was doing honest work. She did question us about the change in our attitude. Why were we so supportive of Teddy's moving to Russia now? We told her we were relieved to be rid of him. That made sense to her.

This time Paul and I drove Vlad and Teddy to JFK for their flight to Russia. I had so many conflicting feelings roiling around inside me: fear about what would happen to Teddy if the bug in the phone was discovered; shame about risking his life; sadness at his leaving permanently; determination knowing that I was doing the right thing, the patriotic thing; relief, even happiness, that I wouldn't have to worry about Teddy anymore; and guilt for feeling relief and how I was "disposing" of Teddy, knowing that I probably would never see him again and not regretting this. I couldn't consider the fact that I might be responsible for having him murdered if the bug was discovered. That would totally undo me and I wouldn't be able to go ahead with my performance as a supportive mother sending her son off to Russia to join the Mafia.

We all knew this trip was different because Teddy actually hugged Paul and me and thanked us for all we'd done for him. We all knew that we would never see each other again. I had no tears, but Paul did. He couldn't look at Teddy. I think he had tears of guilt at what we were doing. I had a cold streak that I wasn't aware of before. I don't think it was always in me. It wasn't in me in Part One of my life. It developed in Part Two as a result of my trying so hard and so unsuccessfully to be Teddy's mother. My unrequited love turned the blood in my veins to ice.

As we left the gate, we saw the backs of Hector and Lester who had watched our farewell scene to make sure that our plans were off to a good start, and they were.
Chapter 17

Teddy used his new iPhone two nights later to Face Time with us to show us the meal that Raisa had cooked to celebrate their return. Everyone looked happy, although Raisa had grown thinner and looked closer to death. They toasted us with large glasses of vodka. We toasted back with glasses of white wine. We all shouted, "Na Zdorovie." We were glad to see Serge and Alex wearing their new sweatshirts and Raisa weighted down with her new bracelet-listening device which she said was the best gift she'd ever received. It certainly was the most unusual.

And that was the last we saw or heard from Teddy. I tried calling him, but he never returned my calls. Then I couldn't get connected to his phone. It was dead like Teddy would prove to be.

We didn't hear anything for three weeks, but we weren't worried. We assumed that they were settling into their new jobs and living quarters. Al called to say that Hector, Lester, and he needed to see us. We knew why as soon as we heard Al's voice. When they came over, their faces immediately confirmed what we knew - the Russians had found the hidden technology in Teddy's phone, the technology that supposedly was impossible to find. They used the phone camera to take a video of Vlad and Teddy being murdered by Serge and Alex. Vlad was murdered by his own cousins, not one of the "regular" Mafia killers, but by their idols, the men they wanted to be like. This must have been more crushing to them than the actual murders.

Of course, they didn't show us the video. We didn't want to see it, but we wanted to know how they were murdered. They refused to tell us, although they intimidated that it was gruesome. If they had been Muslim terrorists instead of Mafia, they would have broadcast the video of the murders on the internet, but fortunately the Russians didn't want the publicity. It would have negatively impacted on the cozy relationship between them and the government. This relationship was enhanced by the fact that many KGB agents had "retired" from the KGB and joined the Mafia. They needed a low key international presence and they certainly didn't need volunteers from abroad. They had more than enough from Russia. It was one of the best sources of employment in the country.

Lester said that the Russians had developed new techniques for finding bugs and that the FBI had underestimated Russian computer capabilities. But they said that there was a positive side to this. Before the Russians found the bug, the FBI had gotten information on the arms deal and were able to postpone it for a while, but unfortunately it would probably go ahead sometime in the future. So Teddy and Vlad's deaths just delayed the arms deal. They didn't halt it. Innocent people still might be killed. Hopefully, the FBI would find a new way to stop the deal. They would find new Teddys and Vlads and conflicted parents torn between aiding and abetting in the murder of their son and playing an infinitesimal role in stopping terrorism.

I asked about the bug in Raisa's bracelet. Lester said that they didn't find that, but they weren't getting any information on the Mafia from it. Most of the information they were getting had to do with Raisa dying of lung cancer. She was continuing to wear the bracelet although she was dying. When it stopped working, they thought it might have been buried with Raisa.

Al looked at me with tears in his eyes, and said, "When you asked me what I thought of the bugging system, I told you I hoped it was impenetrable. There was no way I could have known, but in a way I feel responsible. I feel guilty. I told you to do this."

I hugged him and said, "Al, it's not your fault. We would have gone through with this no matter what you told us to do. How could we say no to the FBI? How could we say no to trying to stop terrorism? That would have been impossible."

I know the type of human being Al is, and I know that he will carry that guilt for the rest of his life.

Paul and I talked about the irony of Teddy's murderers. They were killed by the very people they worshiped, their saviors, their idols. Teddy must have learned that the phone was bugged and that we were behind it. Did Teddy blame us for having him killed? Did he blame us, and not Serge and Alex and the Mafia for killing him? Were we really his killers? Serge and Alex may have committed the actual murders, but we made it possible so maybe we were the true killers. But why didn't I feel guilt like Al did? I really felt it was Teddy's fault that he was murdered, not mine. He had chosen to be part of the Mafia. He knew the risks. It was like a child playing with fire. He'd gotten burned. Only he wasn't a child. He was an adult. He knew what he was doing. Am I saying this to protect myself, or do I really believe it? I don't know, and I never will. I have to live with this uncertainty for the remainder of my days.

As Paul and I thought more and more about the FBI's motivation for what they did, we began to suspect that there might be more involved than we were led to believe. Did the FBI really think that the bugs wouldn't be discovered? They were dealing with the Russians who are among the best hackers in the world. Did they want the bugs to be discovered to show that they would find a way into the Mafia's inner sanctum somehow, someway? Did they want Teddy and Vlad to be murdered as retribution for the murder of one of their agents? Did they want to send a message not to trust any Americans who might want to join them?

We decided not to share any of our suspicions with Al. We didn't want to put him in a compromising position by having to defend these plots we were conjuring up. We knew Al wouldn't hide anything from us. He loved us too much. We were probably becoming paranoid, doubting our own FBI. Our thinking was irrational a lot of the time especially because of the pressure to keep secret everything that happened with Teddy. We presented a picture of calm and contentment to the world whenever we were asked how Teddy was doing in Russia. We came up with stories about how he and Vlad were studying Russian culture. And people believed us because we were good liars.

Neither Paul nor I cried when we learned of Teddy's death. We wondered why we didn't feel more emotion. My emotion was there, only it was hidden in my unconscious and came out in my dreams. A week after we learned of Teddy's death, my nightmares started. I pictured a scene like the beheadings by Muslim terrorists shown on TV. Instead of hooded terrorists, I pictured Serge in his new Redskins sweatshirt standing behind Teddy and with one swift movement beheading him with a machete. I saw Teddy's head roll on the ground like a bouncing ball. As it rolled across the room, his mouth repeatedly yelled, "Momma, save me." I awoke screaming. I described my nightmare to Paul as it vividly replayed in my mind. It was as clear when I was awake as it was when I was asleep. It was also a waking nightmare.

Paul tried to calm me, "I'm sure Teddy wasn't beheaded." Paul looked as if he had seen the beheading too so he wasn't too effective in comforting me. He couldn't camouflage the fear in his voice or the horror on his face.

"It doesn't matter. He was horrifically murdered. Maybe he was strangled by them or had a knife plunged into his heart or had a bullet shot into his brain or was burned alive. It was certainly a dream because he called me Momma which he never did in real life. I keep saying I don't feel responsible for his murder, but I must. This nightmare will haunt me for the rest of my life."

But the nightmare hasn't haunted me for the rest of my life. It does come back every once in a while, usually when something reminds me of Teddy or Russia or I see terrorist murders on TV. I refused to watch the Olympics in Russia because I knew I would be haunted by memories of Teddy. I was sure that I'd spot Serge and Alex in the audience watching ice skating. I even imagined seeing Teddy in the audience watching downhill skiing proving that he wasn't really dead. Believe it or not, in my less lucid moments, of which there were many when I was alone, I fantasized that the killing was all staged by the Russians so that Teddy and Vlad could stay in Russia. When I told this to Paul, he said that was impossible and it was a crazy idea. I said that this whole thing was so crazy that a fake killing was not that preposterous, but when I returned to my more rational self I knew it was. As you can tell, I was a bit unhinged at times. Murder of your hated son by the Russian Mafia would probably make most people a bit unhinged.

The murders of Teddy and Vlad were covered up effectively by the FBI, probably in cooperation with the Russian government and ours. I'm sure that the President even knew the real story. Lester and Hector came over to tell us about the plan to hide the real events which could never be made public and to create a plausible story that would paint Teddy and Vlad in a positive light. We didn't realize that they were going to turn these traitors into heroes. And the Bradleys, Paul, and I would become examples of good-hearted, kind Americans.

Two people from the State Department, Betty Pressman and Harvey Golden, called Lauren and me to set up a visit as soon as possible. They didn't tell us what it was about, but of course Paul and I knew. We met at our house. Betty and Harvey must have been experienced at giving Americans bad information because their demeanor was strong, supportive, and unemotional. They were the State Department version of the team that the military sends to a family's home to report that their loved one has died in battle.

After introductions, Harvey started off. "I am so sorry to have to give you very bad news about your sons. They're dead."

He paused to let his words sink in. Lauren reacted first.

"That explains why I haven't been able to reach Vlad. I've called non-stop but there's never an answer. It's the same with Karen. We talked about calling someone in the government to find out if something had happened. We decided to wait because they often go weeks without calling us. My God, what happened?"

"They were murdered. They were walking in the Solntsevo section of Moscow. That's a very rough area, but we understand that's where they were living with relatives. They were walking at midnight which was not a good idea. They were mugged by a gang of criminals who were mugging a lot of people on this bridge. A passerby saw it, but he ran away because he was afraid that he'd be attacked too. He did describe what he saw to the police later. Vlad and Teddy tried to fight back which made it worse. They took the boys' wallets and removed the money. They left the wallets so that's how the police knew who they were. Then they threw their bodies over the bridge into the river. There had been a lot of rain so the river was raging and the bodies were carried away. They were never found."

I said to myself that of course they weren't found because they were never thrown in the river. This was the story that was concocted by the U.S. and Russian governments to cover up what really happened.

Lauren and I started to cry loudly while Jeff and Paul sobbed softly. It took a while for us to collect ourselves. Then everyone started asking questions about arresting and prosecuting the criminals, but my concern was the story about the iPhone.

"Did they find their phones?"

"No. They were worth a lot to the gang who could use them or sell them."

Of course, the Bradleys believed this story. They had no reason to doubt it. I'm sure Betty and Harvey believed it too. Wasn't this story given to them by their superiors and probably the FBI? And we would never let on that we already knew from the visit by the FBI that they were dead, and had died in a very different way than the story we just heard. Paul and I probably could have gotten Oscars for how believably we responded to hearing for the second time of Teddy's death.

Lauren became animated as she described her experiences in Solntsevo.

"I was frightened when I went to Solntsevo. It was very dangerous place, even during the day. It was worse than the most dangerous urban ghetto here. It was like being in a jungle, only the animals were people who really were animals. I can't believe that Vlad and Teddy were walking around alone at night. Maybe they thought they were safe because of their connections to Serge and Alex. Or maybe they thought that they had become Russian, and were no longer American. How wrong they were."

The more she talked, the more the story became plausible. Every word she spoke added credibility.I even began believing it.

The media pounced on this juicy story. The tragic murder of two innocent Russian orphans taken in by compassionate Americans trying to make the world a better place. It was front page news on the Washington Post and New York Times. CNN covered the story endlessly. We were inundated with messages of sympathy from all over the world, except of course Russia. Even the President called to comfort us on our loss, although I'm sure that he knew the truth.

Our house was surrounded with TV vans and reporters eager to interview us. We refused interviews saying that we were too overcome with emotion, but we were really afraid that we might give hints about the real story. The media portrayed the Bradleys and us as benevolent Americans who adopted needy children who became victims of senseless violence in a far away evil land, the land where they went to find themselves. They showed pictures of the boys when they were young. A lot of the media used Teddy's preschool pictures with his big blue eyes and blond curls. Fortunately, there weren't any adult pictures of Teddy. If there were, it would be hard to paint him so sympathetically.

Teddy and Vlad's pasts were rewritten. They were both portrayed as good kids trying to find themselves. Teddy's former teachers described him as a quiet, sweet, gentle child instead of the sullen, anti-social child that he was. The manager of the supermarket where Teddy briefly worked described him as a hard-working, polite kid who was saving his money to go to Russia to find his roots. Even Joan from WWA got her 15 seconds of fame when she was interviewed by CNN and described what dedicated parents we were, agreeing to adopt Teddy despite him having been born to a drug addicted mother who abandoned him in a subway. That got a lot of sympathetic tweets. No one came forward to say anything negative about Teddy and Vlad. And there were so many people who could have told the truth about them, but they didn't. None of their high school teachers, the kids they hung around with, or their therapists came forward. If they did, I think the media wouldn't have wanted to hear their stories. The whole country wanted to stand behind these "good" Americans who were murdered by "evil" Russians.

We and the Bradleys had a joint memorial service for our sons. The chapel overflowed with flower arrangements, a lot containing red, white, and blue flowers. Hundreds of people came to pay their condolences. Paul and I acted out our roles as grieving parents mourning the loss of our son. I didn't know we could be such good actors, but we had to play out the scenario that the FBI created. We had to feed a public that needed to believe in the kindness of good-hearted Americans who yearned to make the world a better place by adopting needy foreign babies. With time, it became easier to perpetuate the story that had been created. No one, not our family nor our employees ever questioned the fiction that had been created. Even Heather and Brian ignored what they knew about Teddy and went along with Teddy's new persona created by the media.

At the service, we displayed pictures of Teddy and Val when they were little so the story would be more heart-wrenching. I displayed photos of the Baby House Number 38 along with enlarged photos of Teddy that we took while he was in the orphanage. For contrast, I showed photos of Teddy at the beach where he actually looked happy. The photo I took of adorable baby Teddy wearing his sweater with the American flag when we left the orphanage was even on the cover of People magazine. It was as if five year olds had been murdered, not twenty year olds. We asked that Teddy and Vlad be remembered with donations to WWA. Over $100,000 in donations were made. Throughout this, Hector and Lester coached us through Al. They silently helped to orchestrate the weeks of tributes. They also wanted to make sure there was no slip in letting the real story out. There was never a trace of the real story. The FBI fiction about loving parents and sweet adopted kids who wanted to find their roots was never questioned.

Paul and I avoided talking about what had happened to Teddy until we finally cleaned out his room months later. Not much was left since he'd taken most of his stuff to the condo. That had been thoroughly emptied by the FBI because there was important information relative to the boys' dealings with the Mafia. In his room we found piles of old school papers, including an autobiography he'd written for his 7th grade English class in which he said that his parents saved him from a cruel life by adopting him. That we were good people who wanted to help a child in need. But we weren't really his family. Only Russians could be his family. He needed to find himself by going to Russia. Maybe he never really hated us as we had thought. Maybe the hatred was only on our side. I threw the autobiography in the garbage. In fact, I threw out everything to do with Teddy even his Redskins memorabilia. I had his room repainted and refurnished. We sold the beach condo. I erased any vestige of Teddy from our lives.
Chapter 18

Our lives went on in a new normal, one with no trace of Teddy. We drowned ourselves in work and volunteering. We even took a vacation, something we hadn't done in ages. We went on a Mediterranean cruise for three weeks. Although we enjoyed it, there were still times when we looked at each other in disbelief at what had happened to our lives. But we didn't talk about what had happened. We just couldn't put our feelings and thoughts into words. I was entering Part Three of my life, but I had no idea what this part would be like. Maybe it would just be a status quo stage where I lived everyday life without any special dreams.

I had become somewhat of a minor celebrity, often recognized in public as the kind woman who adopted a foreign baby and tragically lost him. I must admit that I didn't mind the attention. I liked having people look at me as a person who was the opposite of the true me. And it made me feel safe that my role in the murder of my son would never come to light. I received invitations from all kinds of organizations to speak about my experiences, but always declined them. I was offered considerable sums of money to talk or write about my life with Teddy. I was even offered a book deal. People who adopted children wanted to share their experiences with me, but again I didn't respond to their offers of support. The Jehovah Witnesses kept contacting me to convert me to whatever they believed. I presented the picture of a woman who was in permanent mourning.

About six months after Teddy's death, I was home alone on a Sunday afternoon when the doorbell rang. Paul was playing golf with Al and Brian and I had just returned from shopping and was unpacking groceries. I opened the door to see a black woman holding a mixed race child of about three. She was very dark skinned with corn rows and a voluptuous figure with a large backside.

She said, "You don't know me. My name is Keisha Reynolds. I was Teddy's girlfriend."

As soon as she said this, I recognized her as the girl I'd seen Teddy kissing at the mall years ago. She'd also come to the house a few times, but Teddy never introduced her after their closed-door sessions in his bedroom.

"I remember seeing you before. Come in."

I brought her into the kitchen and offered her and the child some lemonade since it was a hot day.

Before she spoke, I knew what she was going to tell me. I knew because I saw a bronzed version of Teddy at the same age. He had blondish curly hair and blue eyes in a mocha colored face. He was gorgeous, even more adorable than Teddy had been at that age. And when I looked at him closely, I saw the same blank expression. No emotion.

"This is Teddy's baby. This is Ivan. Say hello to your grandmama"

Although I knew this as soon as I looked at the child, I was stunned by the enormity of what I was experiencing – Teddy's biological child. This child inherited Teddy's blond hair, his blue eyes, and his inner core of evil. I could tell that from his facial expression.

"Teddy gave him a Russian name because he planned to take him to Russia with him someday."

"Why didn't Teddy ever tell us about you?"

"We had an off and on again relationship. I lived with him and Vlad for a while in Bethany, but Teddy wanted me to make money for him by selling myself. I've done lots of bad things, but whoring is not one of them. So I left him, but he came after me and apologized saying that he was desperate for money. When I got pregnant, he wanted me to get an abortion, but I said no. Then he figured that I could get welfare and bring some money in that way."

Ivan started to fidget so I gave him a cookie. Like his father, he ate it with gusto.

"I'm having a hard time getting a job and getting someone to take care of Ivan. I wanted to know if you could help me."

"What do you want?"

"I could give Ivan to you if you want. And you could give me some money to live on and then get a job. I'd come and visit him every week."

I'd heard of a lot of bad things in the past few years, but a woman offering to sell her child ranked up there as one of the worst. Why was everything having to do with Teddy tinged with manure?

"I can't take a child now. I'm too old to care for a baby."

"You can hire somebody. You're loaded. But if you don't want him, you can give me some money so I don't tell nobody about Ivan and about your wonderful son who really was a scumbag who'd do anything for money including selling his girlfriend. I saw all the lies about him on TV. He was supposed to be this wonderful person, but we know better. Don't we? And I could tell the world what I know."

This vile woman was blackmailing me. Would Teddy never stop ruining my life? He was reaching out a dead hand from his ashes to strangle me. Would this go on till the day I die?

"I have to talk to my husband about this. Give me your phone number and I'll call you back."

"Don't you want to hold your grandbaby?"

"No. And he's not my grandchild. Teddy wasn't really my son and you know that. You know how he hated us."

"And I can see why. You have all this money and this fancy house, and you won't give a penny to someone who needs it. You honky bitch."

"You're not going to get help from me by calling me names."

"Sorry. I'm desperate and I can't control myself. I need a fix. Can you give me some money for that?"

I saw that she was trying to control herself. She knew she wouldn't get anything if she used profanity and didn't act like a 'nice' girl.

This drug addict obviously needed a fix. She looked desperate so I gave her $100.

"Is that all you got?"

"Yes. For now. I'll call you. Don't come back here again. Write your phone number down for me."

I took her to the door and saw her get into a beat-up car driven by a black guy in dread locks. I knew if they stuck around for much longer, a neighbor would call the police. This was not the neighborhood where you saw such people unless they were up to no-good.

When Paul got home, I told him what had happened. We both agreed that our nightmare would never end. Teddy would haunt us until we died. Paul insisted that we call Al and ask him what to do. What would we do without Al? He was always there to help us when Teddy fouled up our lives.

Al came over that evening. After I told him what had happened, he told me that he would check her record. He called the next day to say that she had a long record of arrest for drugs and prostitution. Obviously, Teddy didn't need to convince her to sell herself; she had already been doing that.

I called her and asked her to come over the next evening with Ivan and the man I'd seen in the car. Paul and Al were at the house when they arrived. They immediately knew that Al was a cop even though he wasn't wearing a uniform. They probably heard about him from Teddy.

Al said, "Keisha, do you know what the jail time for blackmail is? It's a lot longer than for drugs or prostitution. Oh by the way, you were first arrested for prostitution when you were 12, well before you met Teddy so forget the sob story about him trying to sell you into prostitution. My sister-in-law might have given you some money, but she's decided she's not going to continue to support your habit.

The way I see it, you have no choice but to keep your mouth shut and go away and never come back. If you don't go away, you'll go to jail for a long time and never see your little boy until he's a man. But I don't really think you care about that since you were willing to sell him."

During the conversation I hadn't paid attention to Ivan. But when I looked at him, I saw the same blank expression I'd seen the last time. He was the continuation of Teddy. I'm sure he is inherently evil and will follow in his father's footsteps in a life of crime and hurting people. And being born to Keisha meant he was probably exposed to drugs in utero just like Teddy had been. And growing up with Keisha only made any chances he might have for normalcy more remote. He was doomed to a life of poverty, crime, and hate. As I looked at him, I didn't see a cute baby. I saw the ugliness that Teddy had brought into my life and the ugliness that this child would bring into my life if I let him in. But there was no way I was going to unlock the door to my life for this child. You might think me cruel and selfish which I may be. But I have to think of my survival and there is no way I could survive if I took Teddy's child into my life.

Keisha and the unnamed man left quickly uttering a string of swear words. Interestingly, the man carried Ivan, not Keisha. Al was certain that they wouldn't be back. I can only hope he's right. He asked if I felt anything for the little boy. I said no. I had to harden my heart to him. I'd been crushed by his father and I wouldn't be crushed by him. I was not tempted in the least to do anything for him. There was that ice in my veins surfacing again.

After he left, Paul and I looked at each other, and he said, "What more damage could Teddy do to our lives? I'm not sure he's through with us yet. There may be more surprises."

"Paul, do we want Teddy to win? Do we want to be people with hard hearts?"

"No. But what can we do? We have no choice but to turn away from anything having to do with Teddy."

"We've always wanted to help people. But we need to help good people, and not people like Teddy who will spread their evil. We have to find a way to do that."

"Karen, we just have to live one day at a time. I think the time for us to dream of making a difference in the world is over. Let's let others do that. We'll enjoy our work, our family, and each other."

So we're in limbo now, not really knowing what to do with our lives, but just live them.

A new source of enjoyment came into our lives. Brian and Jennifer recently had a baby girl they named Maria Phyllis; Maria after Al's mother, Phyllis after Brian's grandmother, my mother. The first time I saw Maria when she was a few days old, she held onto my finger. I witnessed the beginning of normal bonding, something I'd never seen with Teddy. I looked at that child with love and knew that it would be returned someday to her Aunt Karen and Uncle Paul.

I'm in the third phase of my life. I'm trying to find the good person I was in Part One and revive her. I want my life to again be filled with the smell of lilacs and the touch of satin and the sound of wind chimes. I want to banish the person I became in Part Two. No more smells of skunks, or the touch of itchy wool or the sound of nails on a blackboard. I don't know if it'll be possible. But one way to do this is to appreciate the greatest treasure in my life – Paul. I don't have any special dreams, and I don't want any special dreams because of the lesson I learned in my life – be careful what you wish for. I'm not wishing for anything. I'm just going along and living life day by day and trying to do the right thing.

