Claiming Jeremiah

By Missy B. Salick

On the same night that twenty four-year-old Jordyn Sims has a miscarriage, her sister-in-law Tori Sims conceives a child. Nine months later, Tori, a long term heroin addict, abandons her two-hour-old drug addicted newborn Jeremiah, in a hospital stairwell. Jordyn receives the news and pursues foster adoption. However, Oscar, Tori's possessive drug-addicted boyfriend, is not about to give Jeremiah up so easily. While in confrontation with Tori and Oscar, Jordyn seeks help from the Administration of Children Services (ACS), only to discover she is faced with a maze of departments, regulations, legalities and overworked social workers. Jordyn, however, remains strong and continues to push through the uphill battle, even after she discovers she's pregnant.

With all odds against her adoption of Jeremiah, and her pregnancy at high risk from increasing stress, will Jordyn win this tough battle, or will her world crumble before her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Missy B. Salick
• Release date: Apr 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989150811

Missy B. Salick

Missy B. Salick is a new author who has written her first novel, Claiming Jeremiah. Her fictional memoir on foster adoption is drawing a hefty buzz around the sensitive topic. The novel is small in size, but contains a powerful message. "Children in foster care need a place to call home." Salick, a foster care advocate, wrote this book based on her personal journey of foster adopting her four-year-old son. Before self-publishing, Claiming Jeremiah, Salick spent several years as a freelance business writer for Fortune 500 companies such as: Shearman & Sterling, KPMG, Deloitte and many more. She also had a stint with song ghost writing. Salick's experience in the entertainment industry stems from working with entertainment companies and media including Violator, MBK, Village Voice and more. As the founder of J.J. Autumn Publishing, her publishing company is geared towards highlighting urban fiction dedicated to special causes and community awareness projects.

Book preview

CLAIMING

JEREMIAH

A novel

by Missy B. Salick

Copyright © 2013 by Missy B. Salick

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

J.J. Autumn Publishing, Inc.

2005 Palmer Avenue

Suite 241

Larchmont, NY 10538

www.jjapublishing.com

[e-mail]

Dedication

I dedicate this book to all the children in foster care who are awaiting families. You have not been forgotten and will no longer be a file lost in the system.

To the families considering or going through the foster adoption process, may this book be a light in a dark tunnel.

REVIEWS

"Missy is a talented writer with a keen social conscience. She’s an advocate for foster adoption, and in this capacity, has written a gripping, entertaining, and informative book about the foster and adoption processes. She writes in a manner where the distinctive voices of each character are not only colorful but interesting. I recommend Missy as an author, a speaker, and an informed and experienced advocate."

Dr. Margaret Brito

Louverture Arts Facilitator

"We’ve all heard stories or seen made-for-television movies about dealing with children going through the adoption process but Missy Salick delivers a remarkable work of fiction with Claiming Jeremiah that stands apart from all the others. Claiming Jeremiah is an exceptional piece, written by a prolific author. Claiming Jeremiah is astounding, both entertaining and informative. Missy Salick writes in a style that allows the reader to connect with the characters and share the emotional roller coaster ride through the adoption process. I would recommend this book to novice and seasoned readers alike. It is a story worth reading."

J. Tremble, Author, Foster Advocate

Life-Changing Books

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Endnote

Meet My Jeremiah

Myths

Did You Know?

Endnotes

PROLOGUE

Life presents us with obstacles that seem impossible to surmount, but the journey will give us the courage and strength to survive the next challenge. —M.S.

The sun was a hazy silver ball swathed in clouds in a pale sky. Restless waves foamed and rippled along the surface of the dark brown ocean. A light mist hung in the air. Seagulls glided overhead.

The sand was like powder and felt gritty under her feet. Her daughter, her curls bouncing as she ran on ahead, chased a flock of birds that had landed in search of food. Pretty, she thought.

People huddling on chairs and towels looked at the girl and smiled. She had taken a piece of bread from her mother’s picnic basket and was crumbling it into pieces in her tiny hands, sprinkling it along the sand as she ran, a picture of joy and uninhibited freedom. The birds that had fluttered nervously into the air as she ran past floated cautiously back down to the sand to pick at the breadcrumbs.

She turned toward the ocean and closed her eyes, allowing the frigid breeze to graze her body.

Mommy?

She turned to face her daughter, who was waving and smiling happily. She waved back.

Come here! Come here Mommy!

Then the waves halted on their way to the shore. People on the sand froze in the middle of what they were doing. The wind stopped blowing. Her daughter stood with her hand outstretched, her happy smile frozen on her face.

What the . . . ?

A raindrop hit her face and rolled down her cheek. Another splashed against her shoulder. She looked up. A spray of raindrops was cascading from the pale gray clouds.

Terrified, she tried to run toward her little girl, but her feet sank deep into the soft sand, which sucked her down.

Mommy! Come here! Her daughter’s lips were still frozen in that achingly sweet smile.

I’m coming! Her voice was trapped in her mouth. In a flash of light, her daughter was gone.

The pain came in suffocating waves that squeezed great jagged groans out of her. Blood streamed down her legs. She fell to her knees, frantically clawed at the sand, sinking deeper.

Jordyn? Her husband’s voice came from beyond the clouds.

Julian . . . She tried to push the words through paralyzed lips.

Jordyn, baby! Jordyn, baby! Wake up!

The pain slashed through her womb. She couldn’t breathe. His voice seemed to pull her closer to the surface.

Oh God, Jordyn!

She opened her eyes and saw the top of her husband’s head, his mass of unruly curls. His face was nestled against her breast as he tried to hear her heartbeat.

Are you alive? she heard him whisper, his voice laced with fear. Baby, it’s gonna be all right. It’s gonna be all right. I’m gonna call the ambulance. Don’t move. Don’t move, honey.

The bed jerked roughly as Julian sprang from the mattress onto the floor, knocking something off the bedside table in a spray of splinters. Just before she was sucked into the darkness again, she heard him yell into the phone, My wife’s pregnant . . . ! Yes . . . ! Yes! You gotta get here now! She’s lost a lotta blood!

I’m too modern . . . too modern for him . . . I don’t cook . . . don’t do laundry . . .

She was pulled to the surface when the bed jerked again. Julian had climbed on top of her, his knees straddling her body, the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.

No . . . she’s still bleeding . . . even worse than before . . .

Too modern . . . too freaking modern . . . can’t cook . . . can’t bear him a child . . . What good am I to him?

Raw fear gripped her. She wanted to bawl like a child, but that would only scare Julian more than he already was. She held out her hand to him, and he grabbed it, as if holding on to her for dear life. His eyes stared wildly into hers.

I’m okay, baby, she whispered. But she wasn’t okay.

I can’t do this again. Not again.

A piercing siren wailed up the street. Red lights flashed outside the window. The ambulance had arrived. She kept her eyes on her husband.

I’m sorry . . . she said, her words trailing off as she sank into darkness.

* * *

Wha ya havin’ ma? The bartender popped the top off a Heineken.

Two beers and two tequila shots.

A hip-hop bass line pounded from two five-foot speakers near the bar. Tori shuddered as the jagged rhythm vibrated through her body.

Drinks in hand, she made her way through the crowd that had gathered to celebrate Keys’ birthday. Most of the people were from Brooklyn, and even though it had rained all day and the sand was damp and mucky, they had followed him all the way to Rockaway Beach. Folks from the hood, they followed Keys everywhere.

Yo, Tori! Robbie, drunk and smelling of weed, accidentally lunged into her, causing tequila to drip on to her tank top. He looked down at her, his red-eyed gaze sliding along the curves of her breasts, her waist, her hips. Where you headed so quick, baby?

Hey Robbie! Tori said, putting on her party voice. I didn’t know you were here. I’m just taking these drinks to O.

She turned away and walked straight into Oscar.

Dammit Tori! he yelled, as more drink spilled on their clothes and onto the ground. Why you gotta be so clumsy?

Sorry, Tori mumbled, hanging her head.

Yo, Robbie! I didn’t know you were coming through tonight! Oscar shouted, giving Robbie a pound.

Man, you know I never miss a good party. ‘Specially if it’s for my man, Keys.

Did I hear my name?

The two men turned. Keys, a basement producer with big dreams of working with Timbaland, Missy Elliott, and Swizz Beatz, was striding over the sand toward them.

There he is! Oscar yelled, gulping down a lot of beer. The birthday boy!

I see you fresh as ever, slurred Robbie.

Keys, in black Air Jordans, black pants, and a black tee, complete with bling, watch, and necklace, was looking damn fine.

I see you, young blood, there was an edge of envy in Robbie’s voice. I see you.

Yeah. You know how I roll, said Keys, popping up his shirt. His eyes rested on Tori, and glinted enigmatically.

Hello Tori. His voice was gentle. You enjoying the party?

Yeah, it’s cool, she said, her eyes brightening as they flickered over his body.

It’s cool, echoed Oscar mockingly. He wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her roughly to him. That’s all you have to say to the man of the hour, he whispered savagely in her ear. He planted a loud kiss on her mouth, forcing her lips open with his tongue.

I know what she needs, said Robbie, taking a joint from his pocket and lighting up.

The men took turns pulling on the joint. Finally, it was Tori’s turn. She inhaled deeply, relaxing as the weed took the edge off. But she still needed her fix.

After a few pulls, she loosened up. She drank large amounts of beer and danced with Oscar, swaying her hips to the music and allowing her body to just be free.

Suddenly, a rush of heat shot through her body. She felt faint. She broke away from Oscar and ran across the sand to the edge of the ocean. She kicked off her flip-flops and allowed the water to wash over her toes. She knelt down in the sand where the sea teased the shore. Cupping her hands, she poured water over her head and splashed her face.

She remembered when she was little how she would come here with her mom, her dad, her baby brother, and big sister. They would gaze at the rich folks living lives of leisure in their lavish mansions, with their well-manicured yards laid out in front of the ocean and their jet skis and boats moored outside their gates.

Life doesn’t get much better than that.

Her despondency deepened as she thought about her sister and her little brother whom she hadn’t heard from in a long time. As her drug addiction worsened, she had become more and more alienated from her family. Resentment consumed her as she thought of her five-year-old daughter, Maggie, who was living with her mother.

I don’t want to do drugs, but it’s the only way to cope with the pain of my reality.

Tori, what are you doing out here? Oscar was wasted. He came stumbling over the sand. Why’d you run off like that?

I got hot so I came down here to get some air, she said.

Let’s go, he said. She fumbled as she slipped her feet back into her flip-flops. She followed him back to the party, wishing her life were there on the other side of the water instead of here.

* * *

Julian paced the floor of the waiting room in the emergency ward. His tee shirt and jeans were smeared with his wife’s blood, and his thoughts seared his mind.

What happened!? Jordi was doing fine . . . just fine . . . she was resting . . . I made sure she got enough rest . . . Did she have a fall I didn’t know about? I don’t understand how this happened . . . just like that . . . just like that? How could this happen just . . .

Mr. Sims?

Julian turned.

I’m Dr. Louis.

The woman standing before him was in her mid-thirties, slim with dark brown skin and black hair screwed up in a spiral behind her head. Her voice was grave and professional. She held out her hand, and Julian took it absently.

Your wife is doing much better. She suffered a tubal pregnancy and her body rejected the fetus. Unfortunately, she has had a miscarriage.

There was a moment of silence. Julian cleared his throat.

Why was there so much . . . blood? he asked. It looked like she was dying or something.

Your wife had severe damage to her cervix from a previous miscarriage that was probably never treated.

Julian’s mind spun. What miscarriage? he demanded.

The doctor spread her arms. I don’t know, sir. I don’t have your wife’s medical history. Unfortunately, this miscarriage ruptured the cervix, causing the amount of blood you saw. I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Sims, but in a few months you’ll be able to try again.

Julian felt a stab of anger at the doctor’s dismissal of his wife’s condition and the suggestion that they can try again, as if they had just lost a football game instead of a child. But something else troubled him.

Are you sure? his voice cracked. About another miscarriage?

I’m quite sure.

He stared darkly at her, wanting to shake the truth out of her. The doctor held her ground.

Can I see my wife? he asked curtly.

Yes, of course, she said, motioning him to follow her as she started down the corridor.

She’s weak and barely conscious. Your wife underwent a blood transfusion. You can’t stay long.

Does she know? His chest tightened. About the baby?

She knows. She opened the door and gripped him gently on the shoulder before turning away and striding down the hall.

Julian slipped into the room and stood by the door while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He could see his wife’s form draped on the bed. He moved closer and gasped. She was hooked up to a monitor, her arms filled with IV lines. Tears burned his eyes and throat.

The room was silent except for the sound of the machine. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jordi? he whispered.

Though he had seen her only a few short hours ago, she seemed to have lost weight.

Jordyn opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.

Ju, she whispered. We lost . . .

Julian placed a chair beside the bed and sat beside his wife.

Were you pregnant before, Jordyn? Was it mine?

He allowed the tears to roll freely down his face.

* * *

The party started to wind down about four in the morning, and people began to make their way to their cars and the train station. Tori watched cynically as some men tried to score with a group of scantily dressed, intoxicated women.

Wait here, said Oscar, grabbing her shoulders and squeezing them hard as if he was going to plant her into the sand. The connect will be here soon. We have to meet him on the other side.

Tori picked at her skin as she thought about the hit soon to come. Her eyes glazed over and her body trembled. Her hands shook.

Tori! Come here, Tori! Oscar yelled.

Tori hurried over to where he stood near the parking lot. He grabbed her arm.

Meet me under the boardwalk in ten minutes, he said. Don’t be late. And don’t wander off. He released her and ran toward the parking lot.

On cue ten minutes later, Tori was standing under the boardwalk. There was no sign of Oscar or anyone. Frantic, she fell to the sand. Twenty minutes later, Oscar appeared.

O, what took you so long? I’m losing my mind over here. Her arm was bleeding where she had picked away the skin.

Here, take a pull of this. They’re coming right now. Tori took three quick pulls and passed the joint back to Oscar.

She rolled on to her back on the sand, allowing her legs to swing in and out. Her eyes were closed but she could feel Oscar eyeing her. She knew this always got a rise out of him.

Oscar took a hard, long pull and tossed the clip into the sand. He dropped to his knees, straddling her body. He grabbed her legs and pulled her closer to him.

You know what I want, he whispered, unzipping his pants and lowering himself into her.

I know, Tori said.

Her body yearned for Oscar and a bag of heroin, but at that moment she needed the heroin more. Tori hated the feeling, because while one need would be satisfied the other would not. But she knew Oscar wouldn’t let her go without. That’s why she needed him. He was her savior.

O. This her?

Two men hovered over them in the shadows. One of them was an albino. He was tall, his hair was shaved close to his skull, and his arms were intricately tattooed. The other guy was shorter, dark-skinned, and well formed with a good-looking baby face.

Oscar jumped off Tori, hastily fixing himself. He pulled her to her feet. Her skirt was bunched up above her thighs.

The albino looked her over.

Lemme see her breasts, he said.

Oscar looked steadily into Tori’s eyes and lifted her tank top revealing her breasts. Tori looked at Oscar in confusion. She mustered a bit of defiance and made a feeble attempt to push him away.

O, what’s going on? she asked.

Baby, he whispered, they just want . . ."

Want what? she demanded.

Not what you think, baby. That’s only for me. They only want . . . you know . . . he licked his lips.

Both of them?

Sweet-Stuff, they’re willing to give us a hundred dollars’ worth. You know how long that will last us?

A day, she muttered.

When Oscar called her Sweet-Stuff it meant he would entertain no pleading or crying. She wanted to run, but where would she go and how would she get her fix? And Oscar would only track her down and beat her if he didn’t get his hit tonight.

Tori peered into the darkness hoping to see someone, anyone. But everyone had vanished into the night. She