Chapter 22

I called Emily several times over the next week or so. Each time I'd reach her, our conversations would only be tired rehashes of her insecurity about where she stood with me, and would end with her making demands that I let her know what our future was going to be as a couple. What she got from me was another declaration stating my total unwillingness to make any changes to the priorities I'd assigned to my life.

We couldn't seem to make any progress towards surmounting any of these differences. When either of us tried to forge an agreement to attempt yet another new beginning, some stumbling block kept popping up, to keep the attempt from succeeding. It finally ended, for the both of us, when she told me she was finished with trying, and, at the same time, she asked me not to call her anymore. She modified that request though, telling me I could only call her again if I had something substantially better to offer her. She made it very clear that whatever I offered her, it needed to be much better than what we had before.

Emily's giving up on me had caused me to make an examination of some of my values. I also knew I had to reassess the priorities for living that I'd adopted. After only a short time spent doing that, I had to admit that I'd changed, and that the changes probably hadn't been for the better. Emily was usually very easygoing and accepting. For her to have given up on me, I must have fallen far short of what I'd intended.

To put things in some kind of perspective, I needed to determine how important it was for me to have a female presence in my life. After things ended with Shirley, I had altered my expectations, trying to de-emphasize the importance of striving for permanence in my romantic relationships. With Emily, because of this de-emphasis, I had been the one setting all the limits. While I didn't force her to do anything, I only offered her, at best, very limited access to my emotions, allowing her to be with me, only when it suited my needs or my schedule.

It wasn't just that I let Emily know that I didn't love her, I also showed her that there wasn't any hope for me ever allowing her to cause any change in that condition. She had ended up feeling that all I wanted her around for was sex, or, at best, a few minutes of companionship.

Emily hadn't shown much interest in either of my projects, or in any of the things I did that were outside the scope of our limited personal relationship. Maybe that was normal, something to be expected from a sixteen year old girl. Emily suffered though, when compared to Shirley, in that regard. Shirley had always been interested in whatever I was doing or thinking. Was it just a case of me being too self absorbed? I didn't know, but what I did know, was that I wanted and expected Emily to be interested in more than just what the two of us were doing.

Finding myself currently free of any social attachments, I let myself become totally immersed in my school work, and in the group homes. I started spending a lot more time in the evenings with Joyce, working to make sure the first modular expansion would go smoothly when the time came to finally launch it. Construction on the four new homes, over by Holton, would begin in March, and Joyce and I had determined that we would make an attempt to secure all necessary licensing and permits prior to the homes actually being built. To accomplish this, we needed to lock in the final set of building plans.

We had purchased a twelve acre tract of land, and commissioned an engineering firm to subdivide it into four buildable lots, each containing three acres of land. Our architect had designed the four houses to face out into a common green belt that used up most of the available land, other than whatever was necessary for the houses themselves. Each home would have four bedrooms, and four adjoining full bathrooms, with another half bathroom downstairs, for guests, and to allow the boys to wash up for meals. There were huge living and family rooms downstairs, as well as a large upstairs room, for the boys to use either for studying together, or as a game room. The house parent's bedroom was down on the first floor.

Sandy and Joyce had secured a grant for the basic building costs, but Mama and I had added substantially to that, so we could build it with all the extra amenities we wanted them to have. With six growing boys in a home, one clothes washer and dryer wasn't sufficient. We had three of each in our homes, in a laundry room built off the kitchen for easy access. There were clothes chutes in each of the upstairs bedrooms, these fed dirty clothes directly down to clothes bins in the laundry room. Laundry duties were a part of each boys daily assigned chores. In the kitchen, we had a smaller commercial dishwasher, along with a walk in freezer, and a commercial sized refrigerator.

Wherever possible, we tried to use time saving appliances in the houses. Mama had suggested getting a maid service, but we overruled her on that.

One of the problems we were having in the four existing group homes was with the house parents getting burnt out and exhausted. We hadn't realized how all consuming a task it was to raise six boys, seven day a week, without any breaks. When we did start to see tempers getting short and, in at least one case, marital problems, we acted right away to alleviate the problem.

Sandy interviewed, hired, and trained two local couples, both with grown families of their own, to come to each of the homes for three days and nights, once every two weeks, to act as grandparents for the boys, and as relief help for our house parents. This really improved everyone's situation, almost immediately. Both of Sandy's choices were couples in their sixties, who were very active and healthy. Both of the relief grandfathers were men who liked to hike and fish. The boys learned a lot from going on long walks, and from going fishing with them.

We went out and put together some rather elaborate camping gear, encouraging all the men to take the boys out camping so they could see more of the countryside, and to also allow the house mothers and grandmothers to either participate too, or to get a chance to stay home and take things easier.

When the question came up, from one of our houseparents, about hunting with some of the older boys, we needed to say no. This was primarily because the boy's legal guardians, in most cases, this was the state of Kansas, couldn't justify taking the risk of there being a shooting accident.

Even though I was keeping myself very busy, I still had some time on my hands. I hadn't realized before, the hole in my life that not having someone else in it would make. To fill it, I started making calls to people. I called my Aunt Clara a lot, just to check in with her about how things were coming between her and her mother, Mildred. I went over to visit them both occasionally, trying to get to know my grandmother, and to assure myself that neither of them had murdered the other in their sleep.

They didn't have a love hate relationship, but this was only because there seemed to be an absence of any love. Taking care of Mildred was both a duty and a chore that Aunt Clara was assuming. It was a sacrifice she had willingly opted to make. My grandmother, on the other hand, loudly lamented having signed over her rights to her daughter, and was constantly saying hurtful things, to strike back at what she saw as her personal tormentor. It wasn't a pleasant living environment for either of them.

In early February, during a short break from school, I drove over to visit with Anne Coulter, at the facility she had resided in since before Uncle Bunny had died. She looked healthier than she had been the last time I'd seen her. I told the people at the desk that she was my birth mother. Without checking anything to substantiate my claim, they went in the day room to ask her if she wanted to see me.

When she came out, a few minutes later, she looked very nervous at first. She seemed timid and afraid of everything and everyone. I noticed she would give a little startled jump at every sudden noise. She also looked very tired to me.

"Did you come here to make me go back home?" These were her first words to me. From the way she said it, it was obvious that she feared that my answer might be yes."

"No. I casme to see you and to talk. Do you like living here?"

"It's okay, I guess. I have my friends here now, and no one is yelling at me all the time. I heard from Clara that the other man had died, the one who said he was your father."

"No, that was my Uncle Bunny that died. My Dad is in good health. He's the one you met. Aunt Clara told me that you don't really want to leave here. She said you do things to hurt yourself, because you're afraid they'll make you leave here if you were to get better."

"No I don't hurt myself. I would like to leave, but not to go back there. Clara's as bad as my mother, you don't really know her. She used to hurt me all the time, and she was always quoting from the Bible at me, telling me I was going to go to Hell for all my sins."

"Have you had a chance to think any more about who my real father could be?"

"It isn't something I like to think about. Why does it matter to you? Clara says you've got it really good now. You should forget about this other stuff."

"It matters to me, and I think it should matter to you too. I'm not asking for very much from you, just the names of the people it could have been. Why does it bother you to help me with this?"

"You must already hate me, Kenny, and if I tell you about the things I did, you'll just have more reason for hating me. I already feel bad about what happened to you, but, I can't take back what I did. I'm not happy either. I'm not proud of what I am."