When One Door Closes...

A sincere thank you to Harddaysknight for his critical read of my story before publishing. This started out very different and morphed into what this is now, and I needed to make sure I didn't leave too many things hanging out there.

I dragged my ass into the laundromat on a typical gray Sunday morning at 7. I really had no idea if the day outside was gray, but I think they all feel that way when you're in a laundromat on a Sunday morning.

I'd only been using a laundromat for the past year or so. Prior to that, my wife had done our laundry in our own laundry room in the basement of our house. I moved out about a year ago, and six months ago, my wife became my ex-wife, and the laundry room was now in my former house.

So my new routine had been to hit the laundromat about a mile from my apartment early on Sunday morning. While I don't necessarily enjoy getting up early or doing laundry, I didn't want this ritual impinging on my weekend, so I got down to the laundromat early and got out early. I avoided the hassle of having to wait for a machine on a busy day, and having to maybe engage some of the other patrons in a civil conversation. After all, weren't Sunday mornings for hangovers and quietly reading the newspaper?

I had been going to the same laundromat for the last nine months or so, and maybe I had seen her before but never really paid her any attention, but this time was different: one of the wheels on the wagon she was pulling seemed to be bent a little, causing the wagon to roll erratically. It was piled with dirty clothes, and she was having a hard time wheeling it in behind her with one hand while trying to keep the door pushed open with her other hand.

I saw this while glancing up from my sports section, and being the basically nice guy that I am, I put the paper down and went over to the door and held it for her like a gentleman while she pulled the wagon inside. She looked up at me and gave me a 100 megawatt smile with those beautiful white teeth and big brown eyes.

"Thank you, mister," she said as she headed over to a row of washers up against the far wall of the laundromat.

I guessed she was maybe 7, 8 years old, a mixed race or maybe Hispanic child, with a mop of long, curly brown hair. She was absolutely adorable. I turned back around expecting to see a parent trailing behind, but saw none. Now I was disturbed ... and intrigued.

I watched as the child loaded a washer with her entire stack of clothes, not separating colors from whites as I had been taught. She then put in some detergent she carried in the wagon, put her money in the machine and pressed the start button. She took a small stuffed bear out of the wagon, got into a chair, and quietly started to talk to the bear while the washing machine did its job.

From my seat almost on the other side of the laundromat, I could see that the clothes she was wearing -- jeans and a long-sleeve shirt with a pink jacket that was too light for the 20-degree morning -- had seen better days. While they weren't dirty, they were dingy from their age and wear and tear. She looked to be just one step above a street urchin, but there was a calmness to her demeanor that just didn't fit.

I also couldn't believe that a parent would send a child this young out by herself to wash the family's clothes. Being a parent myself, I just knew something wasn't quite right about this whole deal.

Which brought me back to my own deal. My children at this very moment were probably sleeping, tucked in their warm, comfortable beds in my former home. When they do wake up probably an hour or two from now, their mother, my ex-wife, will probably have a hot breakfast of pancakes and eggs ready for them, or maybe some bacon. My 13-year-old son, Ethan, is a huge bacon fan, while my 15-year-old daughter, Haley, prefers pancakes. My favorite was waffles, but those days of happy Sunday morning breakfasts with the family were fast-fading memories. As would figure in a divorce, my wife got custody of the kids, and while I got some visitation rights, my wife in all her nastiness turned the kids against me, blaming my selfishness for ruining our family. My kids wanted nothing to do with me, and they made that quite obvious the few times we were together.

My crime: not sitting still for my wife cuckolding me with another man on a long weekend getaway with three other couples and the man she wound up having sex with, a rich guy who made it a habit to have sex with other men's wives. She and he had worked up this plan to have sex for one night -- then she would come back to me and be completely faithful to me for the rest of our lives like she had been before the weekend. Since she told me about it beforehand, it wasn't cheating, she claimed, but just in case I wanted to make waves, she'd take half my money, half my stuff, the whole house, and just for spite, ruin my relationship with my kids, which of course she would get. When I balked, she got everything she said she would, and, of course, put the blame on me. The kids bought into it hook, line, and sinker. I was fucked.

Thinking about those family breakfasts got me hungry as I hadn't had anything to eat since the last brat slid down my throat with the Mickey's Malt at the bar I was at watching the Knicks' game. There was a poor imitation of a vending machine on one wall, with a Coke machine sitting next to it. I was sure whoever owned the laundromat collected the money from both machines every day, otherwise they would have been broken into and ruined long ago.

I bought a pack of M&Ms and a Diet Coke. Just as I was getting the can of pop, I glanced over to the little girl. She appeared to be watching me quietly, but then I realized it wasn't me she was watching, it was my snacks.

Like I said, I am somebody's father, and the look on her face as she was watching my snacks hurt my heart. I walked over to where she was sitting, and I quietly asked her if she would like my Diet Coke and M&Ms. She brightened considerably and sat straight up in her chair, then got a sad look on her face and turned down my offer.

"Mommy says I'm not supposed to take food from strangers, especially from men," she explained.

"That's a very good rule, Sweetheart, and you should always listen to what your mommy says," I agreed. "Tell you what. I'll just put the soda and the M&Ms on the chair next to you, and you can take them if you want. I'll get myself more and go back to my seat."

I set the snacks down, went back to the machines and got myself another Diet Coke and another bag of M&Ms. I then went back to my seat and picked up my newspaper, surreptitiously watching her over the top. About five minutes later, she picked up the soda and the M&Ms and got to it. I smiled to myself.

I left about 90 minutes later, having folded my two loads and put them in my car. I didn't give the child another thought as I left, being absorbed in my own life and how I was going to spend the rest of my Sunday.

I honestly didn't think about the child again until I got to the laundromat the next Sunday, again at about 7 a.m. Then I wondered if she would show up again. Sure enough, about a half-hour later, she approached the door, again pulling the wagon piled high with clothes. I once again held the door open for her, and she again thanked me and headed for the machines on the far wall. I noticed she was wearing the same clothes that she had on last week.

I waited for her to get her load started, then I approached cautiously, sitting in the seat next to her.

"I see you've got a problem with a back wheel on your wagon, Sweetie. Would it be OK if I tried to fix it?"

She nodded affirmatively while playing with her bear. I turned the wagon over and saw that the back right wheel had gotten bent on its axle. I used my hands to straighten it back, then I rolled the wagon back and forth to check my work. Instant wagon fix! My little friend seemed impressed.

"I'm Alex Rogers, by the way," I said, holding my hand out for a handshake. She stuck out her little hand with as much dignity as she could muster, and said in a somber voice, "Maddie Ruiz. Very glad to meet you, sir."

"Well, now that we've introduced ourselves, we're not strangers anymore," I said. "What would you say to a soda and some candy?"

"Could I have a real Coke this week?" she asked, her eyes wide and questioning.

"Sure thing. One real Coke for you, a diet for me, and some M&Ms for both of us."

We sat and visited for almost two hours. I grabbed a pad and a pen from my car and introduced her to Tic-Tac-Toe. It took her about five minutes to catch on, then she was pretty good. I let her win a few times, just like I used to let my kids win sometimes.

I drifted off into my own little world for a minute or two thinking about playing games with my kids. Then I drifted off to the sight of my then-wife, Traci, looking me square in the face and telling me she was going to sleep with Robert Goldstine III, big-city lawyer, on the night that my life as I came to know it ended.

"It's just this one night, Alex. It won't mean anything. It will just be sex."

"What? Are you fucking kidding me? It won't just be sex. It will be the end of our marriage!" I yelled back at her.

"Don't be that way, Alex!" she yelled back. "Don't throw away 18 years of marriage over one night. I didn't sneak behind your back like I could have. We could have done this and you would probably never have known. Just give me this, Alex!"

Traci took Robert's hand and went off to his bedroom with him in the four-room cottage. After standing with my mouth open for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute, I got my stuff and left.

"Alex, it's your turn," Maddie said, bringing me back to the present once again.

I marked an "X" in one of the side boxes, and that gave Maddie a chance to get three "Os" in a row diagonally for the win. She gave me her best face of triumph as she marked a line through her trio.

"High-five, Kid!" I said, holding my hand all the way up and out of her range. She looked at me sideways, then stood on her chair and was able to reach my hand to complete the high-five.

"Gotcha!" she said.

I stayed at the laundromat until Maddie's clothes were done and folded. I offered to give her a ride home, but she told me she couldn't accept the ride because it was "Mom's rules."

"Mom's a smart woman. I'd like to meet her sometime," I said.

"Well, maybe someday. She doesn't go out too much," Maddie answered.

I continued this routine with Maddie as the winter turned into spring and spring into summer. I started packing a little bag with a sandwich in it for both of us and snacks, and I'd buy the soda at the laundromat. I wasn't really hungry at that time of the morning, but I figured if I ate a sandwich, she would eat one, too, and she was awfully skinny. Then I started packing an extra sandwich, telling her that she could take the extra one home for her mother. She didn't protest at all, and always thanked me.

By this time, she had told me that she was indeed 7 years old, and in the fall would be a second-grader at the elementary school in our neighborhood. There was no father at home and, in fact, Maddie had told me she never met her father. Her mother apparently did some sort of part-time work outside of the house while Maddie was in school, although she didn't know what her mother did, but she was always home by the time Maddie got home from school. She and her mother mostly stayed in their apartment, occasionally going to the park when the weather was good. They mostly watched television, and Maddie was familiar with almost all of the recent animated movies the children's channels were showing. I couldn't have named the first one.

There didn't seem to be any money for extras, but her mother occasionally went out on dates on Saturday nights, leaving Maddie after supper with instructions to put herself to bed at 9 p.m. Her mother would wake her up on Sunday mornings and give her money for one washing machine and one dryer, and send her off to the laundromat with her wagon.

To be truthful, my life at this point wasn't too much better than Maddie's, although I at least had enough money to live on. With child support, a mortgage payment, and alimony draining me, my salary as a lead computer programmer didn't leave much for extras, usually an occasional night at a bar with some cronies. I didn't date at all. I didn't miss it. I did, however, miss my kids ... at least until I thought of how they treated me after Traci and I split up. I preferred to think of happier times with them, but reality always seemed to jump up and bite me.

"Where the hell are you?" Traci screamed when I picked up my phone in my house the morning after I left Robert Goldstine's lake house. My phone said it was 10:06. Last I knew it was 2:13 and I was throwing down yet another shot of Eagle Rare bourbon. I must have finally staggered into the bedroom and fallen asleep.

"You've left me stranded here at the lake house. How am I supposed to get home?" she yelled at me again.

"Fuck you, bitch! Have Robert Goldstine III drive you home!"

I hung up while she was yelling something else. Damn, you just can't hang up as dramatically with a cellphone like you can with a landline. In the old days I would have about broken the phone off the wall slamming on it.

Maddie showed up at the laundromat the next Sunday about 15 minutes later than usual, and without her wagon of clothes. Tears were streaking her young face, and I thought maybe she had gotten robbed. She carried her bear tucked under her right arm.

"Mommy didn't come home last night, and I don't have any money for the laundry machines," she said when I approached.

"Does she not come home sometimes?" I asked as gently as I could.

She shook her head in the negative, her big brown eyes glistening with tears.

"Mommy always comes home. That's another one of her rules."

I got her calmed down and gave her the food I had brought with me for her. I was in new territory here, and wasn't sure what to do.

"Is there someone you can stay with until your mommy comes home?" I asked.

She again shook her head no, this time with a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

I knew I couldn't leave her alone in her apartment, but if I called the cops without a plan they'd surely have her in a foster home within a day, and maybe take her from her mother for good if they didn't think she was caring well enough for the child, of which I already had my doubts.

"How about we go to your apartment and leave your mommy a note telling her we're at my apartment. She can call me when she gets home and I will bring you back to her."

I could see her wheels turning on this one. This was breaking one of her mother's rules, but with her mother not coming home, I don't think she wanted to spend the day alone in her apartment.

She finally nodded an affirmation. After folding my stuff and putting it in my car, we headed over to her apartment first. We really didn't collect anything over at Maddie's apartment because, quite simply, there really wasn't anything to collect. The few items of clothing she had she was either wearing or it was among the dirty clothes waiting to go to the laundromat. I told her we would stop someplace and I would buy her a few things, including a new toothbrush and hairbrush. She gave me a sad smile. I left a note with my name and number on it in the middle of the small kitchen table, then we headed over to get Maddie some things.

I let her pick out a couple of tops and pairs of jeans, along with some underwear and socks at a near-by Dollar General. While she seemed totally thrilled, I was trying to figure out what I was going to do if her mother didn't come back quickly.

We watched cartoons and the Disney Channel. I fixed us lunch and supper, and then at 9 I put her to bed in my spare room, on the sofa. I planned to call in the next day at work and take a personal day to get some things figured out.

Maddie and I waited until after lunch to go back to her apartment on Monday, but there was no sign anyone had been there since the two of us the day before. I did a little nosing around the apartment and found a drawer in her mother's chest of drawers that had paperwork in it. Among the useful things I found was Maddie's birth certificate, which I noticed didn't contain the name of a father. Her mother's name was Fiona Ruiz. I took the birth certificate along with a photo of Maddie and her mother.

The photo was probably taken when Maddie was about 2. She looked to be little more than a toddler. The two were embracing for the camera. Fiona looked to be mid-twenties, with the same long, curly brown hair that Maddie had. Both were smiling for the photo, and while Fiona was clearly a beautiful woman, her eyes still had a tired, sad look. I wondered to myself if that look grew over these last few years.

Maddie watched me going through her mother's things carefully. I tried to make light conversation with her and explained that I was looking for something that could help us find her mother. She seemed to accept that.

When we got back to my apartment, I turned on the TV to the Disney Channel and got Maddie settled, then I went into my bedroom, called the police and reported Fiona Ruiz missing. I didn't have much to tell the officer who wound up with the call, just mostly my feeling that something had to happen to her for her to leave her child alone.

"And is the child alone in the apartment now, sir?" the officer inquired.

"No, she's with me. I'm about as close a friend as the child has. I'll be glad keep her with me until this gets resolved.

"If you would be willing to do that until Child Services contacts you, that would be greatly appreciated."

I was concerned that Maddie would end up in foster care somewhere. Nobody I knew that had been in foster care spoke well of the system. I knew that I could do right by her if I was allowed to keep her. While I was mulling this over, from somewhere deep inside my brain, I remembered that my boss's wife, Darlene, had some influential friends in the social services field. Maybe I could wrangle a favor.

I'd like to think that my boss and I were on pretty good terms. I'd worked for the man for 20 years, and had done some damned good work for his company. We always seemed to get along well from the personal standpoint, too, and he and his wife were there for me during my divorce.

Darlene Laster showed up at my apartment about 20 minutes after I talked with her husband. Said she wanted to make a new friend. I introduced her to Maddie, and like the Pied Piper Darlene had the girl entranced in five minutes ... and vice-versa. When she left after about an hour, I got a hug and a promise that she would do everything in her power to see that Maddie stayed with me.

Two police officers stopped by my apartment later that day. They didn't seem too optimistic about finding Fiona Ruiz. I gave them a copy of the photo of Maddie and her mom.

I went back to work on Tuesday, and I took Maddie with me and got her signed up in our company daycare. Darlene had helped set that up about 15 years ago. I never used it for my kids because Traci was a stay-at-home mom until the kids were able to fend for themselves after school, but it was a godsend for me now playing single dad. At least until school started, I would take Maddie to work with me in the morning, eat lunch with her at noon and take her home with me at night. All in all, it was a pretty sweet set-up.

Having Maddie with me helped take away the sting of my own kids bailing on me. I rarely saw them, and when I did it was usually just for a meal at an area restaurant. I didn't take Maddie with me when I met with my kids, leaving her with a neighbor, Mrs. Olivares. They didn't need to show her their attitude toward me.