Kate and I have no children, but we do have one niece: Alena. Every summer, her parents send her across the country to stay with us for a few weeks. She arrives with a suitcase, a smile, and enough energy to power our house through a blackout.
One year, while we waited for her at the airport, a mother pushed a baby carriage past us.
“I wish we’d had a child for Alena to play with,” Kate said.
I looked at the carriage. The baby was asleep. I could see the appeal.
“My sister says Alena was an accident,” Kate went on. “I think she’s a miracle.”
“Suppose she ran away from home,” I said. “Would we take her in?”
“We’d try to get her back to her parents. But if she truly needed us? Of course.”
At that moment, Alena came through the gate in tears.
“I never want to see Mommy and Daddy again,” she announced. “They’re monsters.”
Kate dropped to one knee. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
“Daddy won’t take me white water rafting.”
“We’ll go tomorrow,” Kate said.
That is how quickly a woman can go from wishing for a child to booking a river.
The next morning, the three of us climbed into a yellow rubber raft. Alena loved every wave. Kate laughed each time we bounced over a rapid. I was enjoying myself too, until I left the raft and the raft continued without me.
Quick-thinking Alena threw me a rope. Less quick-thinking Alena somehow got it around my neck. By the time Kate hauled me aboard, I had swallowed enough river water to provide a habitat for trout.
On the drive home, Alena beamed at us. “You’re the best aunt and uncle in the world. You let me do things my parents won’t.”
“Such as?” Kate asked.
“Bungee jumping. Daddy says I’m too young.”
“Your uncle was just saying he’d like to try that,” Kate said.
I opened my mouth to correct her. A small quantity of river came out.
At the bungee site, the instructor explained that children weren’t allowed to jump. I thought this was a sensible rule and thanked him for his time. Alena, however, said watching Kate and me jump would be almost as exciting.
Almost is a powerful word when accompanied by an eight-year-old’s trembling lower lip.
Kate jumped first and came back laughing. I jumped next and came back with the instructor asking whether I could hear him. He said people sometimes faint because of their inner ears, and that it had nothing to do with courage. I appreciated his discretion.
Alena gave me a delighted slap on the back, directly between two vertebrae that had recently changed places.
“This is the best visit ever,” she said.
We should have gone straight home. Instead, we came upon a bear and her cub beside the road.
“Look at the baby!” Alena cried. “Can I pet it?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. At last, a question I knew how to answer.
“Daddy would say that.”
Kate and I looked at each other. Somewhere across the country, Alena’s father was having a peaceful afternoon. For the first time, I understood him completely.
Kate suggested we stop at a safe distance so Alena could see the cub. I pulled over. From inside the car, with the windows up, we watched it tumble through the grass while its mother kept an eye on us.
“It’s adorable,” Alena whispered.
“It is,” I said. “And so is the idea of leaving it alone.”
That evening, we sang Alena to sleep. She said she’d had more adventures than any child in the history of children. Then she gave me a high five, gently this time.
Once she was asleep, the house grew quiet. Kate stood beside her bed for a moment, smiling at that small, peaceful face. I stood beside Kate, holding an ice pack against my neck.
The phone rang. It was Diane.
“Would you mind keeping Alena for one more week?” she asked.
Kate looked at our niece. Then at me. Then at the ice pack.
“We love her,” Kate said. “And she’ll be on the next flight home.”
After she hung up, I asked whether she still wished we’d had a child for Alena to play with.
“Of course,” Kate said. “That child could have taken her bungee jumping.”
