The Blinding Light (28 page)

“Why would you need to give me up? Do you think our love for each other cannot stretch?”

“It’s not about stretching, Patrick. If Mum wanted to keep the baby, I’d need to move back home with her. I wouldn’t be able to trust her with him at all. She could get the urge to drink and leave him alone while she drove to the liquor store. She nearly burnt the house down once by leaving a cigarette on the lounge. I don’t want to be her unpaid slave anymore. I love my sisters, but I can’t keep putting my life on hold for them. I want you. I want to build my life around you. I want to make you so happy that you never imagined that so much happiness existed. I want to marry you. I want to care for you. I want to grow old with you. I want to get a dog and a cat and even a goldfish that you can’t see. I want to pick out better curtains than the colorless crap you have up now. I want to spoil you on your birthday and make love to you on Valentine’s Day. I want to take you with me when I take all my nephews and nieces to the zoo, even if we have to hire a minibus because there are so many kids. I want to be the best I can and fight you for the title of ‘Favorite Uncle’.”

Patrick was laughing out loud now. “That sounds like a plan. I like it.”

I rolled over and straddled his strong body, running my hands up and down his bare chest. “I want to do lots of things, but I don’t want to be the one everyone simply expects to do all the work while they merrily do their own thing.”

Patrick stared up at me. “I agree, Jake. Adoption is a good idea. Two parents for the baby. Two devoted, loving, and caring people who will work together to raise the child. He will never have to wonder about whether he is wanted. He will never go hungry. He will know the love of a family. I was adopted and I can honestly say it was in my best interests.” I leaned down and feathered a kiss across his mouth. He pushed our lips together momentarily before pulling back. “And you have six months to make Maria see it like that.”

I groaned and collapsed on top of him, any passionate thoughts I had been entertaining vanishing in the remembrance of my youngest sister’s tears. “How am I going to survive it?”

He hugged me close again and whispered in my ear. “With love. That’s all we need.”

I
N
J
ANUARY
I settled into a new routine with startling ease. Patrick and I were like an old married couple. We lived together so easily I was afraid that we were doing something wrong. I began to pay off my personal loan at a faster rate with the extra income and reduced expenses from my new living circumstances. It helped that my sisters no longer needed assistance financially.

Ellie and Luke’s relationship deepened and they began to make plans to buy a house of their own. I wanted to caution them about rushing into it, but Patrick pointed out that they had actually been dating longer than we had, so I kept my mouth shut and helped them work out how much they needed to save for a deposit.

Lizzy landed her dream job in Sydney, and for two weeks, I was busy helping her pack and fill in all the paperwork she needed to make the move. I thanked Patrick profusely—using my mouth and tongue with great skill—that my new “job” of being a househusband left my days mostly clear to deal with the emergencies with my family. The whole tribe drove to the airport to wave a tearful Lizzy good-bye amid promises of plenty of e-mails and Skype calls and text messages. I didn’t cry. I swear I didn’t. That was just dust in my eye.

January also meant I helped Maria buy a car and went with her to Orientation Day at university. She was practically bouncing with excitement as we toured the buildings and gathered her books. I smiled brightly at her, confident in the decision I had made to support the adoption wholeheartedly. Maria needed to get out and spread her wings, and a newborn at home would stifle her.

With Maria off to university, I popped in to visit with Mum most days. She was tired and fatigued from the growing baby, so I made her a couple of meals and took her grocery shopping to show her the healthy products she needed to eat. I made an appointment with her GP and spoke at length with him about the risks the pregnancy posed—both to Mum’s physical and mental health, as well as the risks to the baby. I wasn’t comforted by his answers and made plans to try to be ready to deal with any difficulty that might arise.

Mum asked me to go with her to Pregnancy Problem House, and we went weekly so Mum could continue seeing her counselor, and they could keep an eye on her. The charitable organization helped women with all stages of their pregnancy and child rearing. They knew the rights of the parents, the government help that was available, and all the latest parenting techniques. For women who had no money, they also had a shop with everything you needed for a baby—from cots and prams, to clothes and blankets. Expectant mothers could earn points to spend in the shop by attending classes and seminars about parenting. I wished that they had been around twenty-six years earlier.

I spoke to Mum’s counselors, and although they couldn’t give me specifics on Mum’s case, they told me all about the ins and outs of private adoption.

“Can I meet the couple Mum has picked out?” I asked Melanie, the counselor who dealt with adoptions.

“No.” She smiled at me kindly. “Only the biological parents of the baby can do that. Perhaps once the adoption is through, the new parents will consent to keep in touch with the biological family and you can meet them. But unfortunately, under the law, you have no rights over this baby.”

It broke my heart.

In February I drove Mum to the hospital for her full scan. Although the scan at twelve weeks had shown that the baby looked healthy and that he didn’t test positive for chromosomal problems, this was the big scan to make sure that he was growing right. They would be checking everything from whether the baby’s heart had four chambers, to evidence of club feet and growth abnormalities.

The waiting room was full of women in various stages of their pregnancies, many of them with their partners. Beside me my mother looked old. I wondered what the other people thought—did they assume I was the baby’s father?

“Corrine Manning?” the uniformed sonographer called from the door. Mum stood, her pregnancy hardly noticeable despite her slight frame. She approached the door, and the woman pointed to a room along the corridor. I sighed loudly and grabbed a magazine, prepared to wait a while.

“Mr. Manning?”

I looked up at my name and saw the woman beckon me to her side. Surprised but worried, I hurried over. “Yes?”

She smiled and grabbed my arm. “Come on, now. There’s no need to be shy. You’re very welcome to come and have a look as well.” She marched us down the hallway and ushered me inside a darkened room. Mum was already seated on the high bench-like table.

“Oh,” I protested. “I didn’t expect….”

“Fathers are important to the baby. I’m sure Baby will love you to see a sneak peek.”

My mother laughed from the table. I hadn’t heard that sound for a while. “What Jake is trying to tell you,” she informed the woman, “is that he’s my son and therefore only the big brother to this baby.” The sonographer turned a delicate shade of red and tried to apologize. Mum waved her off. “It’s not a problem. I want him here, and you saved me from arguing with him.”

So I sat beside the bench for the next hour, entranced by the sight of the child growing inside my mother.

“Would you like to know the gender of Baby?” the woman asked at one stage. I had noticed how she referred to the little fella as a non-gender specific of just “Baby.” I wondered how many times in her life she’d slipped up and accidently told the parents the sex of their child.

“No,” Mum said. “I want it to be a big surprise. I’m sure it’s a boy, but I like to keep everyone guessing.”

The sonographer declared the baby perfectly healthy. I cried in Patrick’s arms that night.

I sobbed and grieved for the baby, safely away from the eyes of my sisters and mother, knowing that Patrick would not tell my secret or judge me. “I always wanted a brother. And there he was on the screen. They tell me that we will probably get a photograph of him once a year from the adoptive family, but not meet him in person until he’s at least eighteen. I’ll be in my forties by then, Patrick. And only if he wants to meet us.”

In March Patrick paid for two first-class plane tickets to Sydney, and together we visited Lizzy for a week. I checked out her new apartment and her new friends. She joyfully told me all about her new job and showed us the sights—well, showed me since Patrick was blind—blind humor, build a bridge and get over it, as Lizzy told Patrick when he took offense. For him we visited various luxurious restaurants, rode ferries and buses, and experienced the Opera House. On our last night, I dressed us up and we braved Kings Cross’s gay scene. Lizzy was crying once again when we left, but my heart was lighter.

“Thank you,” I told Patrick as we settled into our seats on the plane, Gregor curled at our feet. “I don’t know how you knew I was stressing about her, but I feel so much better now.”

Patrick shoved his dark sunnies to the top of his head and turned his bright blue eyes in my direction. “No, thank
you
. I’ve never been to Sydney before and I loved it so much I’m planning to visit all the other capitals now that I have you to watch out for me. Maybe we’ll try England next year and Disneyland after that?”

I kissed him. “As long as you’re by my side, I don’t care where you take me.”

Despite the relief of knowing Lizzy was settled, by April I was struggling with my emotional state. I checked up on Mum almost daily, still uncertain that she was sober until I clapped eyes on her each day. She experienced mood swings, which worried me, but the doctors and counselors assured me she was coping.

She might have been coping, but not all of us were. My heart shattered when I found that Maria was hoarding a box of baby clothes and accessories under her bed. She had been spending all her spare money on the items, desperate for Mum to change her mind about the adoption. We fought bitterly when I told her the adoption was going through.

We still were not speaking to each other the following week when Mum rang me in a panic. It was Tuesday afternoon and I was driving Patrick home after picking him up from the perfumery. The new car he had bought had Bluetooth, and when my mobile rang, I simply pressed a button on the steering wheel and answered.

“Hello?”

Mum’s panicked voice came over the car’s speakers, freezing my blood. “Jake? Jake, I need you. I’m bleeding.”

Shit!
She hadn’t even reached thirty weeks. The doctor had warned me about premature labor, and I immediately responded.

“Okay, Mum. Calm down. Is Maria at home?”

“No!” she wailed.

“Fine. I’m on my way. Grab your handbag and your phone and then sit down with your feet up until I get there. I’ll be there in about ten minutes, okay?”

It was a lie, it would take me twenty minutes in this traffic, but I needed to calm her down. “Okay.”

I took the next corner at speed and then floored it as much as I could in the heavy congestion. Patrick didn’t say a word.

Soon we were at Mum’s house, and I took in her frightened eyes with a sinking heart. Her whole life revolved around bringing this baby safely into the world, and now that dream was in danger. I helped her into the passenger seat and threw my phone onto Patrick’s lap as he got into the back next to Gregor. “Phone the hospital. Tell them we’re on our way.”

At the hospital they whisked Mum away for an examination while Patrick and I remained with Gregor in the waiting room. I couldn’t sit, so I paced. I sent messages to my sisters and told them what was happening but that they didn’t need to rush to the hospital.

Yet.

“It’s okay, Jake. I’m sure it will be okay. They didn’t seem too concerned on the phone.” Patrick tried to calm me.

It didn’t work. I’d read pregnancy books in secret, certain that since Patrick couldn’t see, he wouldn’t be able to laugh at me. I told him they were cooking books and books about living with blind people. I knew that bleeding at thirty weeks was not good.

Finally a midwife approached us and asked us to come with her into an examination room. “Is my mother alright?” I asked with trepidation. The woman smiled and sat down at the desk. I helped Patrick to a spare chair and sat next to him.

“Corrine is resting at the moment,” she reassured us. “She asked me to come and tell you what’s happening. You can then see her for five minutes, but then you need to leave so she can rest.” That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, but it didn’t sound like panic stations were needed. “Corrine’s pregnancy is progressing better than we had hoped. With her age and her medical history, we have always been concerned. The fact that she’s made it this far without a major scare is great. At the moment we are monitoring her for premature labor. The bleeding is the placenta, which has come away from the wall of the uterus a bit. It’s not ideal, but it’s nothing to worry about at the moment. We will watch for further bleeding over the next forty-eight hours and give her medication that will help her stop contracting.”