Empty Arms: A Novel (36 page)

“H
OW DO I EVEN BEGIN
to prepare for a trip like this?” I ask Melody when I call for her advice the next day during my lunch break.

“Manage your expectations,” Melody advises.

“But we talked until midnight. She sounded so excited to meet me; I can’t imagine things going badly. It’s going to be great.”

“It’s going to be good, bad, and everything in between.”

I chew on my fingernail as I listen to her advice. Her failed reunion with Bryan gives her an edge of authority. “Don’t just picture the great stuff like the hugs and the laughter, because there’s going to be bad stuff too. Tears, pain, lost years. It’ll all come bubbling to the surface. Trust me.”

That night, I stand in my closet, staring at my clothes, but nothing seems special enough to be the first outfit my daughter sees me in. This is the one downfall to wearing scrubs to work; my wardrobe has gone overlooked for years. I browse through cardigans, turtlenecks and sweaters, but none of it is right. At times like this, I wish we lived closer to Manhattan or at least a good mall. The best stores at Lowville Mall are Sears and JCPenney, which are fine for everything else, but not this.

With only one day to prepare for the moment I’ve been waiting for my whole life, I resort to the only thing I can think of: I call out sick the following morning and drive down to Syracuse to go shopping.

I
SPEND HOURS DIGGING
through racks, pulling different tops on and off and shimmying in and out of pants and skirts. Finally, after three stores and hundreds of outfits, I collapse on Lord & Taylor’s fitting room floor and sob like a child.

Hearing my distress, a pair of black loafers stops outside my dressing room door followed by a soft knock. “Miss? Is everything all right?”

I wipe at my eyes and nose. “Fine.”

“Do you need some help?”

I look at myself in the mirror. Red eyes, running nose, and tear-stained cheeks. I need a lot of help. I open the door a crack to find a petite grandmotherly woman with kind eyes standing there. “I’m trying to find the perfect outfit,” I complain, “but I’m not having any luck.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I’m meeting my daughter for the first time.”

She nods in understanding. “So this outfit is pretty important.”

“It’ll be her first impression of me. I want it to be perfect.”

“Well, when you’re ready, why don’t you come out and let me help you?”

She is so warm and kind that I can’t resist her offer. I dab at the smudged mascara beneath my eyes, smooth my hair, and step into my boots. She is waiting for me when I open the door. I begin gathering all the clothes I tried on but she gestures for me to join her. “Leave all that, dear. I’ll put it away later.” She puts a gentle hand on my back and leads me back out to the floor.

“You have beautiful green eyes,” she says, “let’s find something that will bring them out. She selects a knee-length knit dress in a leafy green hue that matches my eyes. It looks lovely draped over her arm, but I never wear dresses. I think of the funeral dress buried in the back of my closet. Not wanting to hurt her feelings or ignore her help, I follow her across the store like a lost puppy. In the shoe department, she browses the heels and selects a soft brown pair of suede pumps adorned with a tassel. They’re exquisite but a far cry from my plain style. “Where are you going?” I ask as she begins to wander away from the shoe department.

“Trust me,” she winks.

I follow her over to the jewelry counter where she considers two necklaces. One has a brushed nickel pendant, the other looks like it’s made of handcrafted glass. She takes both and heads toward the fitting room. She hangs the dress on the mirror with both necklaces around its neck. She sets the shoes beneath it. “Try this,” she says, gesturing to the outfit I never would’ve considered in a million years. It looks lovely hanging there, but it simply isn’t me.

“I don’t know if this is my style,” I tell her gently. “It’s a little bold.”

“How would you describe your style?”

“Plain. Simple. Timeless.”

“Clothes that allow you to go unnoticed?”

I’m struck by the truth of her observation; I’d never thought of it that way. “I suppose so.”

She nods with a knowing smile. “Dear, you’re meeting your daughter for the first time. It’s no day to go unnoticed.” She shoos me into the dressing room with a grandmotherly authority.

I undress and set my clothes on the bench. I slip the soft knit dress off its hanger and pull it over my head. The fabric is soft against my skin. I step into the shoes and secure the necklace of handcrafted glass around my neck. I turn to the mirror, ready to feel ridiculous, but the woman reflected in the glass is striking. The fabric’s color electrifies my eyes and brings out the red highlights in my brown hair. I turn around and inspect how it hugs my curves without being too tight. And the shoes are irresistibly stylish. The ensemble is stunning.

“How does it look?” she asks.

I open the door and let the outfit speak for itself.

A giant smile breaks across her face. “I told you so.”

By the time we board the plane on Saturday morning, my heart is doing cartwheels in my chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” Paul says, putting a soothing hand on my arm. I lean into him and close my eyes but my stomach is sick with gravity and nerves.

We connect in Charlotte, but rather than relaxing in one of the restaurants, I spend our entire layover in the bathroom throwing up. Paul buys Dramamine and mouthwash in a gift shop, and I sleep on his shoulder during the short flight from Charlotte to Asheville.

When I open my eyes, we are already on the ground, and I’m thankful I didn’t have to endure another bouncy landing. Paul holds my hand as I lift the shade and peer out the window. In the distance is a cream-colored building with a teal metal roof, and somewhere inside my daughter is waiting for me.

Paul lifts my carry-on from the overhead bin, and my hand trembles as I roll it down the narrow aisle toward the exit. We make our way up the jetway, and I leave my bag with Paul while I go into the ladies’ room to freshen up.

The person reflected back at me in the bathroom mirror looks like she has a bad hangover. Not the first impression I want to make. I splash cold water on my face and touch up my makeup. I run a pick through my hair, rejuvenating the waves that have fallen limp. I pop the top on the tiny bottle of Scope and gargle until it erases the tang of vomit. I apply a light brown shade of lip gloss and dab a dot of perfume behind my ear. I study the improvement. Not perfect, but not bad either.

“You look amazing,” Paul says when I emerge, and he presses his lips against my forehead.

We make our way toward the main lobby, where we’ve agreed to meet. My eyes search the crowd as we step onto the escalator and descend toward the ground level. I spot a young couple. The man is tall with dark brown curls and an athletic build. A baby girl squirms in his arms. The young woman standing next to him has cinnamon-colored hair pulled back in a bun. She’s wearing a flowing floor-length cotton plum dress with a denim jacket.

“That could be them.” I point to the couple and Paul follows my gaze. I watch her scan the faces of strangers. She’s waiting for someone. Is it me? My heart doubles its pace as I stare at her. Is that my daughter? Is that Ellie? The escalator can’t move fast enough. She turns slightly and I see that she’s clutching a bouquet of pink roses. Her stature, her movements, it’s like looking at a younger version of myself. She turns again, and her face comes into view as she glances toward the escalator. I see her eyes, James’s eyes, and I know.

“Excuse me.” I leave my suitcase with Paul, and push my way down the crowded escalator. With every step, I watch her search for me. Fear, excitement, longing, and possibility brew in her eyes. Finally she sees me. Her mouth falls open, and then her lips part into a smile. She opens her arms and I open mine, and our cries of happiness echo off the walls as we find our way back to each other at last.

I’m barely aware of Paul and Ellie’s husband, who are shaking hands and introducing themselves. They keep a respectful distance, allowing me and Ellie to hug and cry. Finally, we wave them over and I introduce Paul to Ellie and she introduces Doug and Maggie to us. Though we were complete strangers just a few minutes ago, I already love them like family.

W
HEN WE REACH
Doug and Ellie’s navy blue minivan, Doug straps Maggie into her car seat while Ellie opens the trunk and moves aside a stroller and a set of golf clubs to make room for our luggage. And just like that, Paul and I are inserted into their lives.

Paul sits upfront with Doug, comparing sports teams, and Ellie and I squish together next to Maggie’s car seat. “Have you ever been to North Carolina?” she asks as Doug guides the van onto the highway. The road stretches out before us, and hazy blue mountains rise up in the distance.

I shake my head. “I haven’t been anywhere, except Texas.”

“What’s in Texas?”

“The past,” I tell her, but I can see it there, bubbling beneath the surface: the desire to know where she came from and understand why we had parted ways.

She nods, understanding, and then does something that shifts my whole world back into balance: she holds my hand the entire ride home.

E
LLIE AND
D
OUG’S HOUSE
is a small brick Cape Cod with a wildflower garden in the back. A tall, slender dog with long, silky white hair and copper spots rounds the corner. “Sit, Anuva,” Ellie says before the dog tackles us.

Anuva lowers onto her hind legs.

“Introduce yourself.”

The dog lifts a silky paw and barks.

Paul and I laugh and shake her paw.

“Good girl,” Ellie praises, patting her head.

“What a beautiful dog,” Paul says, crouching down next to her and petting her silky fur. She closes her dark brown eyes and nestles her head into his hands. “She looks like a long-haired Greyhound.”

“She’s a Borzoi,” Ellie says.

“Otherwise known as a Russian Wolfhound,” Doug adds. “The people at the shelter told us that she just showed up one day. She was starving and very weak.”

“She needed a good home and we couldn’t resist.” Ellie bends down next to Paul and strokes her back. Anuva’s eyelids grow heavy with all the attention. “That’s why we named her Anuva. It’s Russian for new beginning.”

E
LLIE CRADLES
M
AGGIE
in her arms while she shows me the rest of the house. As we make our way upstairs, I hear the familiar sound of ESPN followed by Doug and Paul protesting about the ref’s call. I smile and follow my daughter up the stairs.

With beige walls and a Norman Rockwell reprint hanging over the bed, the guest room is simple. The comforter and throw pillows look brand new. “It’s lovely,” I tell her, hoping she didn’t go to any extra expense for us. I set my duffel bag on the bed and unzip it. Inside, the small pink box stares up at me. I hand it to Ellie and take Maggie from her arms so she can open it.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“Go on, open it.”

She lifts the lid and pulls out the pink cashmere blanket with the tiny white flowers. “It’s exquisite.” She rubs the fabric against her cheek. “And so soft.”

She’s a vision standing there; my daughter with her blanket. I can’t help the smile that’s spread across my lips. “That was yours. I held you in that blanket the day you were born.”

Astonishment causes her mouth to fall and then rise in delight. She hugs the blanket to her chest. “Thank you,” she says, her voice as soft as the fabric in her arms.

“Come.” She shepherds me to Maggie’s nursery.

My heart swells at the sight of the pale pink nursery I never got to have. I sit down in the rocking chair and tuck Maggie in the fold of my arm. I’ve rocked hundreds of babies over the years, but never my own flesh and blood. Ellie passes me the baby blanket, and I wrap it around my granddaughter and embrace her. Ellie sits at my feet. I look from my daughter to my granddaughter. Finally, I feel complete.

“So what’s in Texas?” Ellie asks, as Maggie sucks her thumb and struggles against the weight of her eyelids.

“Your father.”

She leans in as I begin our story.

“James was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.” The words bring back that day at Angel Falls. “I fell in love with him at once.” A chill inches down my spine as I remember the way our hands touched in the grass while we watched the eclipse. “My parents were incredibly strict, so dating was out of the question. But we saw each other every chance we got. We spent the summer working together on his uncle’s farm, hiking in the mountains, and swimming in the river. He was my first love, and the feelings I had for him were so pure.”

A soft snore comes from Maggie, who’s finally given in to sleep. Ellie and I exchange a silent giggle as I continue the story in a soft, lullaby voice.

“We didn’t have health class or sex education back in those days. Sex was never talked about, so the idea of getting pregnant never even crossed my mind. When summer ended, he went back to Texas, and I started my junior year of high school. Every morning on the way to school, I threw up on the side of the road. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong with me. I thought I was lovesick over James.”