The Other Side of Lucy-Lou

The Maplewood Orphanage sat at the end of the road like a hungry cat in possession of a fresh kill. Dark windows blocked a view of its shady interior and reflected back only the peachy-blushed faces of Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore and the tall, lifeless forms of pyramid cypress lining the drive.

Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore had come for a child, unable to have their own. The brochure said it was effortless, discreet, and the right thing to do. After a brief questionnaire and a walk through, Mrs. Whitmore spotted the one, Lucy-Lou. She sat in a colorful corner playing with two dolls, setting tea for three.

“She’s perfect, Allen,” Mrs. Whitmore whispered into her husband’s ear.

Mr. Whitmore didn’t know what to think, about any of it really. He was here moreover to cease Mrs. Whitmore’s incessant pleading above all else.

Melinda Gale, the orphanage director, chimed in. “But what about Suzy?” She pointed to a little blonde girl dancing with others. “She’s outgoing, healthy, and has already passed her bench marks for kindergarten.”

Mrs. Whitmore glanced alternately between Suzy and Lucy-Lou. “I don’t know. There’s just something special about Lucy.”

“It’s Lucy-Lou,” Melinda corrected her. “She doesn’t like being called Lucy.”

“That’s understandable. My name is MaryBeth. I’m not just Mary or Beth. I’m MaryBeth.”

Melinda tipped her head. “I must be up front. Lucy-Lou is double the cost of Suzy.”

“Why’s that?” Mr. Whitmore asked.

“Lucy-Lou is a special child,” Melinda said, thumbing the corners of her folders.

“Oh, I knew it,” Mrs. Whitmore said.

Melinda bit at her bottom lip. “If you plan on adopting Lucy-Lou, I have to inform you . . . she has a second face at the back of her head.” Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore’s jaws drop...

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...t lunch time.”

“Sure. Thank you,” Mrs. Whitmore said. She waved good-bye and shut the door, then listened. When she heard only giggles, she relaxed her shoulders, and went into the kitchen to start on the cookies. When they were finished, she brought the plate up with two glasses of milk to Lucy-Lou’s room. The girls had stopped giggling, and Sarah was sitting across from Lucy-Lou on the other side of the room.

“Is everything okay, Sarah? Lucy-Lou?”

“Yes, mother. Thanks for the cookies.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be downstairs.”

As soon as Mrs. Whitmore shut the door, Lucy-Lou turned to Sarah.

“I have a secret. Do you want to see it?”

Sarah shook her head and climbed beneath Lucy-Lou’s bed, as though having already seen it. Lucy-Lou kneeled down and peered underneath. She held out the plate of cookies. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to come out.”