The Seventh Mother (19 page)

I
sat in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, trying to concentrate on the parenting magazine in my lap. But my mind kept returning to the day before. To Jenny, digging through Brannon’s boxes in the attic. What was so fascinating up there that she would risk Brannon’s anger? I felt vaguely guilty, not telling Brannon about it. But how could I, when I was keeping something from him, too?

Shirley had become a real friend in the last couple months. We’d had coffee several times and once I’d gone to her house for lunch. With Damon gone, Shirley was coming into her own, becoming the person she had always wanted to be. And she’d been so helpful to me, teaching me to arrange flowers and helping me find the best bargains on maternity clothes and baby things. She’d even given me a big box of baby clothes that had been her kids’. Most of them looked brand-new.

I hoped Jasper’s injury wouldn’t interfere with her job. She loved working at the flower shop almost as much as I had loved working at the diner. God, I missed Resa! I even missed Harlan bellowing, “Order’s up!”

“Mrs. Bohner?” A nurse with a clipboard stood smiling at me. “The doctor will see you now.”

I followed her to the exam room, undressed, put on the hospital gown, and sat on the table, waiting and wishing that Brannon were there with me. He’d been taking on extra hours since I left my job at the diner, and I didn’t want him to miss work. He knew I had a doctor’s appointment, of course. It had been on the calendar for a month. But I hadn’t told him it was a special appointment. I wanted to surprise him.

“How are you feeling, Emma?” Dr. McLaren smiled and extended his hand.

“I’m good,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Is the morning sickness subsiding?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot better.”

“Good,” he said, writing on the chart. “Are you ready for your ultrasound?”

I nodded and smiled.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that baby.”

I lay back on the table and a nurse pulled aside my gown and smeared a cold goo on my belly. Then the doctor placed the sensor on my stomach and a sound filled the room, a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—the sound of my baby’s heart.

“There’s your baby.” Dr. McLaren pointed toward a monitor and I stared in wonder.

“Here’s the head, and those are the hands and feet.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“And . . . do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

“Yes!”

“Well, it looks like you’re having a girl. Congratulations.”

A girl . . . a baby girl who was half me and half Brannon, a little sister for Jenny.

Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t speak because of the huge lump in my throat. My daughter was beautiful and tiny and perfect.

“Is she okay?” I finally croaked.

“Everything looks good,” he said, smiling at me. “She looks right on track in terms of size. I think you’ll have a healthy little girl.”

After he’d turned off the machine and left the room, I cleaned the goo off my belly and sat, just letting tears drip down my cheeks for a minute. Then I got dressed, scheduled my next appointment, and drove toward home. Outside, the sky seemed bluer than I’d ever seen it. The returning robins sounded sweeter. The breeze felt warmer and fresher. I felt happier than I’d ever been. I stopped at Walmart and bought a pair of tiny pink booties with white ribbons. Then, on impulse, I picked up a new nightgown, long and sheer and pink, with a dangerously low-scooped neckline.

I couldn’t wait to tell Brannon.

When I got home I called Angel.

“Can you pick Jenny up after school?”

“Sure,” she said. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m great. I just . . . I would really appreciate it if she could have dinner at your house tonight. I need some time just with Brannon.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “What time should I bring her home?”

“I’ll come get her,” I said. “Is nine okay?”

“That’s fine,” Angel repeated. “You have a nice evening with Brannon.”

“Thanks, Angel. I will.”

When Brannon walked through the front door that night, he stopped and looked around in surprise. I’d set up a small table in the center of the living room, with a tablecloth and candles and two place settings. A bottle of white zinfandel stood by one plate, already uncorked, alongside a single wineglass. Soft music played from the radio. I smiled at him from across the room.

“Welcome home, handsome.”

He grinned and shook his head.

“Where’s Jenny?”

“She’s having dinner with the Johnsons tonight.”

“What’s all this?”

“I just felt like having a nice dinner with my husband,” I said. “Is that okay?”

“Sure!” He walked toward me and stopped, looking me up and down.

“What are you wearing?”

“I got it at the store today. Do you like it?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Aren’t you cold?”

He kissed me briefly. When I leaned into him, he pulled away slightly.

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling up at him.

“Dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you take a shower and shave?”

He smiled at me uncertainly and headed for the shower.

I stood a minute, steeling my nerves. Tonight, I wanted to celebrate with my husband. I wanted to feel close to him, to be close to him. And by God, that’s what I was going to do.

In the kitchen, I pulled the roasted chicken from the oven and moved it to a platter. Then I arranged the potatoes and carrots around it and garnished it with a sprig of parsley. I put the rolls in a basket and carried them to the living room. There wasn’t room on the little table for everything, so I set up a TV tray next to the table and put the rolls and the platter of chicken on it. Finally, I took the pats of butter I’d been chilling in the fridge and arranged them on a small plate.

I stood back to admire the effect. It was pretty. Romantic. Definitely not a typical Tuesday night dinner.

I went back into the kitchen and pulled the cheesecake from the freezer. I wished I’d had time to make one myself, but store-bought would be okay. I had a few strawberries and some chocolate syrup to drizzle on top.

I checked my reflection in the mirror and thought briefly about putting on some lipstick. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn lipstick, and I wasn’t sure where the one stick I had might be. So I dragged the brush through my hair and patted my cheeks. Then I sucked in my belly and looked again. If I stood just so, you could hardly even tell I was pregnant.

“What are you doing?” Brannon was watching me from the hallway, smiling.

“I’m trying to look like something other than a fat, pregnant lady.”

“You’re not fat,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “But you are pregnant. You are pregnant and beautiful and wonderful.”

I walked into his arms and he held me as we swayed slightly to the music, a song I didn’t know.

“That looks really good,” he said, eyeing the food. “I’m starving.”

“Well, let’s eat then.”

I carved the chicken and put some on each plate, along with potatoes and carrots. Then I handed him a roll and the butter.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asked as he dug into the chicken.

“Just a good day,” I said, smiling.

“Did you see the doctor?”

“I did.”

“And everything is good?”

“Everything is perfect.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and forked a potato.

“Okay,” he said, grinning at me. “I give. What’s up?”

I smiled and reached under the table to pull out the tiny booties. I set them on the table beside his plate.

“We’re having a girl!”

He stared at the booties, and for just an instant I saw what looked like disappointment cross his face.

“Brannon?”

He looked up at me and smiled.

“A girl? That’s great, babe! That’s just . . . great.”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.” I felt a lump growing in my throat.

“No, seriously, Emma. That’s great.”

“Did you want a boy?”

He sat a moment and took my hand. “It might have been nice to have another guy in the house,” he said. “But a daughter is great. Really.”

I sighed just a little. I’d hoped he would be as excited as I was.

“So . . .” he said softly. “You had an ultrasound today?”

I nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

He looked at me in silence.

“I didn’t think you’d want to miss work,” I added.

Still he said nothing, just took another bite of chicken and began chewing.

“Brannon? Are you mad?”

“Not mad,” he said quietly. “Disappointed, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I should have had you come with me.”

“It’s okay.”

Clearly, it wasn’t okay. He was unhappy. But there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it.

“Anyway, we’re having a girl. I brought home a picture of the ultrasound.”

I handed him the picture and he stared at it. Then he smiled at it.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“I think so,” I said, relieved. “And I think Jenny is going to be so excited to have a little sister.”

He nodded and took another bite.

“The chicken is good,” he said.

We ate without talking for a while. I felt hot and uncomfortable. The music that had been so beautiful before was simply annoying now.

“So,” I said finally, unable to bear the silence. “How was your day?”

“Okay,” he said. “Just a day.”

He finished his chicken, buttered another roll, and ate, never even looking up at me.

“Brannon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s all good, babe.”

He rose and picked up his plate.

“Are you finished?” he asked, reaching for my plate.

He carried the dishes into the kitchen and I followed him.

“We’ve got dessert,” I said, pointing to the cheesecake thawing on the counter. “I’ve got strawberries and chocolate to go on top.”

He turned and tilted his head, smiling.

“That’s Jenny’s favorite,” he said. “I should go get her and she can have some with us.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of any reason to object, or at least any reason he might listen to. “Okay.”

He scooped his car keys from the counter and walked to the back door, then turned.

“You should probably change clothes before we get back.”

I nodded and he was gone. After he left, I lay on our bed and cried until my stomach ached, not sure what had gone wrong, what I had done to upset him. And then, lying on my back, I felt a tiny flutter, almost like a small moth was flying around in my stomach. I put my hand on my belly and lay very still. Another flutter. The baby was moving. Our tiny daughter was moving inside of me.

“Don’t worry, baby,” I crooned. “Mama’s here. Mama will take care of you always.”

Then I rose, hung my beautiful new nightgown in the closet, and pulled on a pair of sweats.

By the time Brannon returned with Jenny, I’d cut the cheesecake into slices and topped each with a strawberry and a drizzle of chocolate.

Jenny burst through the door and flew at me, throwing her arms around my expanding waist.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna have a girl! I knew it! I knew it was a girl! Aren’t you happy, Emma?”

And I was. Standing in my kitchen with Jenny’s arms around me and my baby safe in my womb, I was happy for the first time since Brannon had come home that night.

I looked over her head to see him standing in the doorway, watching us. He winked and smiled at me, then mouthed, “I love you.”

I smiled back at him, kissed Jenny’s forehead, and we sat down at the kitchen table to eat dessert.

“Y
ou should tell Emma.”

Lashaundra’s eyes were wide and worried.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t. I mean, she’s pregnant and everything. I don’t want to worry her.”

We sat on Lashaundra’s bed, the driver’s licenses from the check box spread out like a fan on the blanket between us. Emma had some errands to run, she’d said. I think she was out buying baby clothes, baby girl clothes. So I had come home with Lashaundra after school again. Down the hall, I could hear cartoons blaring from the television in the living room. Malcolm loved
Curious George,
and he loved to watch it with the sound up loud.

I took a drink of my soda. Lashaundra just kept staring at me.

“Seriously, Jenny, you
have
to tell Emma. I mean, what if your dad . . .”

Her words trailed off, but her eyes never left my face.

“My dad loves Emma,” I said. “He would
never
hurt her. Honest, Lashaundra, my dad would never hurt
anyone
.”

“Then why does he have Jackie’s driver’s license in a box?” she asked. “Why does he have all of these?” She nodded toward the plastic squares on her bed. “Where did he get them?”

I shook my head. I didn’t have any answers for her.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “But I’m sure there’s a reason why he has them.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe they were expired or something. Maybe he was just keeping them in case . . .”

I shrugged. In case of
what?
Even I knew that wasn’t an answer.

I stood up and shook my head again hard.

Lashaundra stood and took my hands in hers, holding them tightly.

“Look, Jenny. You have to tell Emma, you know you do,” she said again. “Or we can tell my mom and dad.”

“No! You can’t tell your parents. Promise, Lashaundra! Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

She said nothing for a minute, just looking at me. Then she sat back down on the bed and picked up her laptop.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Googling Jackie,” she said. “Maybe we can find out where she is or . . . or something.”

She held Jackie’s driver’s license in one hand and typed with the other.

Jackie Marlin, Birmingham, Alabama.

We waited while a list loaded, but none of the items was about the Jackie I knew.

I drew a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

Lashaundra just picked up another driver’s license and began typing again.

Cara Montgomery, Knoxville, Tennessee.

“Look!” Lashaundra pointed to an entry on the screen that read,
Missing adults in Tennessee
.

She clicked on the link and began scrolling through the profiles there.

“That’s her!”

I recognized her as soon as I saw her.

I stared at the picture of Cara, smiling brightly into the camera, wearing a blue sundress and long, dangly silver earrings. I remembered those earrings.

“Missing since 2010,” Lashaundra read.

“That’s when she lived with us,” I said softly.

My stomach lurched, just looking at her picture. Cara had been so nice to me, and she was a really good cook. She made the best fettuccine Alfredo I’d ever had. And she always made garlic bread to go with it.

Lashaundra stared at me hard for a minute. Then she began typing again.

Briana Simpson, Erie, Pennsylvania.

Several items came up this time. At the top was a newspaper article from the
Erie Times-News
. She clicked on the link and we both stared at the screen.

I stared at the photo onscreen of a smiling, young blond woman. I hadn’t seen Briana since I was five years old, but I remembered her now. She’d had a guitar and a beautiful voice, and she sang me to sleep at night in the trailer when Daddy was at work.

“Jenny?”

Lashaundra was staring at me now, her eyes round.

“Are you okay?”

I wasn’t okay. I was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm and feeling like I might throw up.

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes tight, remembering Jackie and Cara and Briana and Ami and Trish.

“What about Trish?” I said, sitting up and shaking my head. “Look for her.”

Trish Alexander, Topeka, Kansas,
Lashaundra typed.

Nothing came up on the screen. I sighed with relief.

“I guess no one is looking for her,” Lashaundra whispered.

“I have to go!”

I stood and started grabbing the driver’s licenses from the bed, shoving them into my backpack.

“Hey, wait!” Lashaundra said. “Don’t you want to look up the others?”

“No. I just want to go home.”

“Jenny, wait. You
have
to tell Emma now. You know that, right?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I pulled my jacket on and ran from the room.

“It everything okay?” Mrs. Johnson called from the kitchen as I ran through the living room.

“I have to go home,” I yelled.

I slammed the door behind me and ran through the parking lot of the apartment complex.

Don’t think! Don’t think! Don’t think!

I repeated it to myself with every step pounding onto the sidewalk.

By the time I got home, I was out of breath and sweating, but I felt really cold.

Emma wasn’t home and the front door was locked, so I went around to the back of the house and pulled the spare key from under the doormat. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and then locked the door again behind me.

I stood in the kitchen for a long time, just trying to feel my feet underneath me. Then I sank into a chair, staring blankly at the yellow painted walls, the ceramic canisters on the counter, the little chalkboard stuck on the refrigerator. Emma kept a running grocery list on it. Just then, it read:
bread, tomatoes, toothpaste, onion powder, laundry soap, basil.

There. That was my world. That was normal. That was real.

Emma’s grocery list on the fridge in our kitchen, where we all lived together, that’s what was real. Me and Daddy and Emma were a real family, just like I’d always wanted. We were a real family and we lived in a real house and I went to a real school, just like I’d always dreamed about. Daddy loved Emma and he loved me. And Emma loved me. Emma was having a baby, a baby girl. I would be a big sister soon.
That’s
what was real.

I breathed in and out deeply, again and again, just staring at the grocery list.

“This is real,” I said out loud. “This is our house, our kitchen. Emma and Daddy and me . . . that’s what’s real.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands on the table. It would be okay. Everything was fine.

Then Briana’s face floated before my closed eyes. And Cara’s. And Jackie’s. And Ami’s. And Trish’s.

They had been real, too. Each of them had been part of my family, at least for a while. And now . . . where were they?

Briana was dead.

That was real.

I opened my eyes and stared hard at the refrigerator, but not even Emma’s grocery list could erase the article Lashaundra had found online.

Briana was dead. Cara was missing. And Jackie and Trish and Ami and . . . what was the other woman’s name? What had happened to them?

I reached into my backpack and pulled out the driver’s licenses, looking at one after another.

Laura—that was her name, the one I couldn’t remember. Laura Parker.

I stared at the photo on the driver’s license, but no memories came to me. The date on the license was 2005. I was just two then, and my mother was still alive.

My mother . . . a wave of nausea swept over me, and I barely made it into the bathroom before I threw up in the toilet.

My mother died when I was three.

That’s what Daddy had told me, anyway. She died of the flu. We lived in Greenfield, Indiana, in an apartment with a field out back where she painted beautiful pictures of a tree.

Except . . . except the letter from her mother, from Imogene Wright in Indianapolis, Indiana, had been addressed to Mrs. Hailey Bohner on Pippin Road in Cincinnati.

Daddy had never said anything about us living in Cincinnati.

I stood and walked unsteadily back into the kitchen. I stared hard at the driver’s licenses on the table, each of them a mute scream inside my head. I grabbed a knife and tape, dragged a chair into the hallway and stood on it, pulled the cord that released the attic door, and climbed the ladder.

I opened the big box first and dug through Daddy’s clothes to pull out the smaller box with the lockets and letters. I resealed the box and turned to the one I’d opened first, the one I’d found the photo album in. I cut the tape and pulled out the folder with the letters from the adoption agency. I looked through some other folders, but didn’t see anything interesting. So I resealed that box, too.

I opened box after box, but they were filled with clothes and other things, nothing I was interested in. I sealed each one after I’d opened it. When I had looked through all the boxes, I took the things I’d pulled out—the box with the lockets and the adoption file—and I climbed back down the ladder. I put the knife and tape away, closed the door to the attic, and dragged the chair back into the kitchen. Then I sat down to wait for Emma.

I had no idea what I would say to her, but I knew I had to show her what I’d found. Maybe she would have some explanation for it all. Maybe Daddy had told her all about the adoption stuff and the driver’s licenses. Maybe . . . but probably not.

When I heard Emma’s key in the door, I stood and then sat back down immediately. My legs were shaking so hard they wouldn’t even hold me up.

“Hey!” she said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at Lashaundra’s.”

“I came home,” I said.

“Well, you’ve got to see what I bought!”

She opened a bag and began pulling baby clothes out, little ruffled dresses and a bonnet and some sleepers.

“Aren’t they adorable? I know I probably spent too much, but I . . .”

She stopped and stared at me.

“Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“I’ve been in the attic,” I said. “And I found some things you should see.”

“Jenny! You promised me you wouldn’t go up there again. Your dad will be furious!”

“Emma, wait. Just look at this.”

I opened the small box and pulled out the lockets, all tangled together.

“What are those?”

She sat down at the table and took them from me. I watched as her eyes widened and her face grew pale as she read the inscriptions. When she finally looked up at me, I saw tears in her eyes.

“He got the same locket for all of these women? The same one he got me?”

I nodded.

“There’s more.”

I pointed to the driver’s licenses laid out on the table.

Emma’s hand was shaking when she picked them up. Her face paled even more.

I handed her the envelope with the letters then. She didn’t say anything, just took them and began reading.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

Tears dripped onto the letter my mother had started to my grandmother.

“Lashaundra and I Googled those women,” I said, fighting back my own tears. “Cara is listed as a missing person. And . . . and Briana is dead. They found her body in Texas. That’s where we were when she lived with us.”

Emma stared at me, her mouth open. She began crying harder, dropping her head into her hands. Her shoulders shook and a low moan rose.

I rose and walked around the table, and draped my arms around her.

“What should we do?” I asked.

She raised her head and looked at me.

“We have to get out of here,” she said, her voice shaking. “We have to get out of here now, before your dad gets home.”

She rose and steadied herself against the table.

“It’s four fifteen,” she said, looking at the clock. “Brannon won’t be home for a couple hours. We’ll pack some clothes and go . . . somewhere. Oh God, Jenny. Oh my God, where will we go?”

“We could go to the Johnsons’,” I said.

“No.” She shook her head. “He’d find us there. We have to go someplace he can’t find us, until . . . until we figure out what to do.”

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight.

“You go pack a suitcase,” she said. “Bring some clothes and your laptop, and whatever else you need.”

I stood staring at her stupidly.

“Hurry!” she yelled. “Do it now!”

I ran to my room and pulled my suitcase from the closet. I shoved clothes into it, then my toothbrush and toothpaste. I pulled the photo album from the drawer and put it in the suitcase. Finally, I stuffed Bugsy Bear in it and closed it.

I dragged the suitcase into the kitchen. Emma was on the phone.