Somewhere Out There (42 page)

Brooke took a couple of steps over to a rack of baby dresses and lifted a hanger off a display. The dress was light pink, and while it didn’t have lace edging, it was made out of some kind of luminescent fabric that shimmered under the store’s fluorescent lights. Seeing that it was labeled “6 months,” she put it back and looked for a newborn size, but when she pulled it out, she couldn’t believe how tiny the dress was. It looked like it might fit a plastic baby doll. That couldn’t be right. Panic twisted in her belly. She couldn’t be responsible for something so fragile and small.

She grabbed her phone, her index finger quickly finding Natalie’s contact information. Her sister picked up after only two rings. “Nat?” she said, using the shortened version of her sister’s name for the first time. It felt strangely intimate, but comfortable, too, as though she’d been calling her this for years. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?” Natalie asked. “What happened? Where are you?”

“I’m at Target in Northgate,” Brooke managed to say. “I was shopping for the baby and there were so many cribs and pacifiers and all these things I’ve never even heard of and now I’m freaking out.” She took in and released a choppy breath, hoping this would help calm her down. “Will you help me figure out what kind of crib I need to get? And every other goddamn thing? I can’t believe how much crap there is to buy. I’m completely overwhelmed.”

“You don’t need the half of it,” Natalie said, laughing. “But of course I’ll help. I actually have a ton of baby stuff in storage that I haven’t had the heart to get rid of yet. I meant to tell you that you can use whatever you want.”

“Oh, wow,” Brooke said. “Thanks.” She paused. “All I really wanted to do today was buy a cute outfit for the baby, but the newborn size looked so tiny. Are they really that small?”

“Yep,” Natalie said with another laugh. “But don’t worry. They grow faster than you think. And I’ve seen you with my kids. You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

Hearing this, something inside of Brooke that had been staring downward for years finally looked up. It struck her that while she might always bear the scars of growing up without a mother, she didn’t need to be defined by them. Everyone has wounds—we all carry around ghosts from the past. But who she was as a person, the choices she made, the kind of mother she’d be, was totally up to her. Her life and all her relationships were hers to create.

Still, she spoke to her sister again. “You really think so?” she asked.

“I do,” Natalie said.

And then Brooke’s eyes filled with tears for an entirely different reason than grief. “Hey, Nat,” she said, but before she could finish, her sister interrupted, apparently sensing what Brooke was going to ask without her needing to say a word.

“Let me grab my purse,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

•  •  •

Two hours later, Brooke and Natalie sat across from each other in an Italian restaurant next to the mall, having just ordered lunch. Once her sister had joined her at the store, Brooke was able to ignore the anxiety she felt and enjoy the experience of picking out her daughter’s first outfit.

“You probably don’t want to go with a fancy dress for her to wear home from the hospital,” Natalie advised. “The lace will itch and she’ll more than likely spit up on it. Or worse.”

“Oh,” Brooke said. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Instead, she chose a light gray pair of buttery-soft pajamas covered in a pattern of pink ballet slippers. She also bought a few packages of onesies, which Natalie said the baby would live in most of the time for the first few months, along with a selection of tiny socks, and a few other pairs of pajamas she hadn’t been able to resist. Natalie again reassured her that she had most of what Brooke would need in storage.

“Feeling better?” Natalie asked now, after their server delivered their meals.

Brooke nodded. “Much. Thanks again for coming.”

“No problem.” Natalie smiled and took a bite of her salad. When she had finished chewing, she spoke again. “I have to eat quick, though, so I’m not late picking up the kids from school.”

“Are you going to tell them about meeting Jennifer?”

“No. I don’t see any reason to, really. They have their grandparents.”

Brooke felt a twinge of sadness, realizing that her daughter wouldn’t have the same thing. How she felt must have shown on her face because Natalie then said, “I need to introduce you to my parents. When you’re ready, of course. I’m sure my mom will love having another baby in the family to spoil.”

Brooke was about to respond, to express her gratitude for such a generous offer of inclusion, when she felt a flash of something in her belly—a rippling movement, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. She gasped, and pressed her hand over it.

Natalie put down her fork. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “I . . . felt something.”

“The baby’s moving?” Natalie asked with a smile. Brooke gave her sister a helpless look, and Natalie tilted her head, slightly. “You haven’t felt it before?”

“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “Maybe. It’s a little like bubbles moving around.” She paused and then lowered her tone so the tables around them wouldn’t hear her next words. “I thought it might just be gas.”

Natalie laughed. “I thought the exact same thing. Here,” she said, scooting out from her side of the booth to come sit next to Brooke. She held out her hand, hovering over Brooke’s belly. “Is it okay if . . . ?”

Brooke nodded, indicating that it was fine for Natalie to touch her, and then her sister set a gentle palm on top of her burgeoning stomach, moving it lightly from one spot to the next.

“There!” Brooke said, when she felt the movement again. She pictured the flash of a silver fish underwater, and imagined her daughter swimming around inside her. She took Natalie’s hand and pressed it on top of where the sensation had been. The two women held their breath—waiting, both of them smiling—and Brooke felt more gratitude than she knew her heart could hold. Even though seeing her mother hadn’t ended as she’d hoped it would, along the way she and Natalie had found each other. And the next time her baby moved, Brooke’s eyes welled up and she hugged her sister, excited for what the future might bring.

After Brooke and Natalie left, I dissolved into hysterical tears. Evan didn’t push me to talk, he only led me inside the house, took off my clothes, and put me to bed. He curled up behind me and murmured into my ear that everything was going to be okay. I pressed myself against his body, trying to feed off of my husband’s inherent strength. Eventually, he fell asleep, but even as exhausted as I was, I lay awake into the early hours of morning, staring into the dark, replaying the events of the evening inside my head.

“I think it’s the flu,” I told Chandi the following morning when I called to tell her I wouldn’t be coming in to work. I’d cried so much the night before, my sinuses were plugged and my voice sounded as though I’d gargled rocks; there was no need to fake being ill.

“Oh no,” Chandi said. “Poor you. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have Paula and the other techs handle what they can of your appointments and reschedule the rest.”

“I might be out a few days,” I said. My body ached, feeling as though it had been poisoned.

“I won’t put anything on your calendar until Friday,” she promised.

I thanked her and then hung up, rolling over to tuck the covers under my chin. Two of our dogs, Gypsy and Cleo, curled against me near my feet, while their brothers, Sammy and Chuck, sat next to the bed, whining a little and wagging their tails, unsure what to do. It was seven o’clock, and typically, both Evan and I were in the kitchen drinking our coffee by now; my staying in bed was far from our normal routine.

Evan stood across the room, already dressed in tan Carhartts, black, steel-toed work boots, and a brown flannel shirt. His brow furrowed, watching me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I just need to sleep.”

“Okay,” he said, but the word was full of doubt. He took a couple of steps closer and then crouched down so our faces were level. His hair was still wet from the shower; his skin smelled of the woodsy, pine-scented soap he preferred. “Should I take the dogs?”

“No,” I said. “Leave them, please. They’ll take care of me.” As though on cue, both Sammy and Chuck leapt back onto the bed, circled twice, and lay down. Gypsy lifted her head from the mattress and set it on top of my leg. Cleo didn’t move. None of our dogs weighed more than twenty pounds, but there was a reason Evan and I had a California king-size bed—we needed the extra room. “See?”

“All right.” Evan smiled, then leaned over for a quick kiss. “I’ll come and check on you at lunch. You need to eat.”

I nodded, despite the fact that the thought of food was enough to turn my stomach.

“Love you,” he said, and he left a moment later, after I said I loved him, too. When the front door shut and I heard his car start in the driveway, I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. But all I saw was the pained look on Brooke’s face when she’d confronted me on the deck—the anger that had flashed in her eyes. All I heard was the way her voice strangled when she spoke. The damage I’d done to her clung to her like a second shadow.

Everything I’d thought about the new life I’d given my children was wrong. Hearing that Natalie hadn’t even known about Brooke until a few months ago, and that my elder child had spent her childhood in foster homes, had sucked all the air from my lungs. I pictured my younger daughter standing next to Brooke last night: Natalie’s blond hair, petite frame, and large, doe-brown eyes, eyes that must have come from her father, a man whose name I’d blanked from my mind, whose face I couldn’t recall. She seemed so capable and strong as she attempted to calm Brooke down. Seeing her like this, I had no doubt that Natalie was a wonderful mother—patient and loving—something she must have learned from the woman who raised her. She certainly didn’t inherit it from me.

I knew in my gut that I couldn’t live up to their expectations, and it only took a moment for me to ruin whatever meet-my-birth-mother fantasies they might have had. I wasn’t strong enough to be their mother when they were babies, when they needed it most, and after my response to seeing them last night, it was clear I couldn’t be strong for them now. What they sought, I couldn’t give them. The truth was, no matter how far I’d come, how much I’d accomplished, a huge part of me was still that young woman who fell apart when she gave up custody of her children. I was still the troubled, unstable girl who thought she heard her daughter’s voice that day in the park. Having them in my life now would only magnify that girl, bring her to the surface again, after I’d worked so hard to keep her contained.

This was how I spent the next forty-eight hours, remembering, crying, and sleeping, burrowing beneath the covers, replaying every moment of the short time my daughters stood in front of me, reliving every one of my past mistakes. As he promised he would, Evan checked on me throughout the day, bringing me water and bits of food.

On the third day, he entered our bedroom about noon, bringing with him half of a turkey sandwich and a glass of ice water, which he set on the night table. He called the dogs off the bed, ordering them outside, then sat down on the edge of the mattress.

I righted myself and leaned against the headboard. He grabbed the water and gave it to me. Obediently, I drank almost half of it and then took two bites of the sandwich before I set it back on the plate. He waited while I got up and walked to the bathroom and then watched as I washed my hands and climbed back in bed.

“You aren’t going to get up?” he asked. “Maybe move to the living room?”

“I’m fine here,” I said. I looked at him with wide, glassy eyes.

“You know you can’t do this forever,” he said.

“I know,” I snapped, and then, regretting my tone, I reached out and grabbed one of his rough-skinned workman’s hands. No matter how well he scrubbed, his cuticles were always slightly darkened by engine grease. “I know,” I said again, softly. “I just need a little more time.”

He stared at me, then squeezed my fingers in return, but didn’t say anything more.

After a moment of silence, I spoke again. “Do you think I did the right thing?” My heart banged inside my rib cage, waiting for his reply.

“That’s not up to me to decide,” he said.

Frustrated by the neutrality of his response, I let go of his hand and pulled my own hands back into my lap, curling them into fists. “Tell me what you think, Evan. Please. I need to hear it. They came here looking for a relationship with me . . . with their mother . . . and I just . . . freaked out. I disappointed them. I hurt them, even more than I already had. I’m a horrible person, right?”
Go ahead,
I thought.
Say it. Confirm everything I already know. All the trained dogs in the world can’t make up for the fact that I abandoned my children. Twice.

Evan ran his fingers through his shaggy silver-brown hair. “No,” he said, and I could tell from his tone he was a little frustrated with me, too. “You’re not. You thought you’d never see them again, but now you have, and this is what happened. You went with exactly how you felt in the moment. It was a genuine reaction. A real one. You were overwhelmed, and scared. You realized you couldn’t handle it. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you honest.”

“But—” I said, and my voice cracked before I could go on.

“But, nothing,” Evan said. “You are so many things to so many people, baby. To me, to Randy and Lisa, to Chandi and to Paula, and all your other employees. To the women you work with through the prison. Not to mention the animals you take care of every day. I feel like you don’t see any of how much you mean to us. How good you are. How loved. You can’t keep letting one decision define the whole of who you are. Whether it was right or wrong, you have to forgive yourself. You have to accept that it’s healthy to know your limits.” He leaned toward me and cupped my face in his large hands, locking his hazel eyes on mine. “You gave your girls their best chance. Even if their lives didn’t work out the way you hoped, you can choose to be happy they found each other now. And I’m telling you that what you need . . . your best chance . . . is to forgive yourself. You need to find a way to be okay with your decision. Really, truly, deep-down okay.”