Halfway to You(95)

Todd didn’t bring up the issue again—not while we were in the islands.

We stayed for a full month before venturing to the mainland. With a short flight, we traded blue water for green jungle. The elephant hospital Todd had mentioned when we first met was nestled in the hills of Chiang Mai. Todd stroked the elephants’ rough trunks, fed them bananas, and spoke with their caretakers. I purchased a disposable camera and filled it with photos of Todd with an elephant’s nose on his cheek, Todd touching a speckled ear, Todd in sandals on an elephant’s back, grinning so hard I thought his face would split in two. We looked into the elephants’ wise eyes and knew we glimpsed an ancient knowledge, a gentle intelligence beyond our own. It was thrilling and humbling, and somehow we’d managed to experience these profound moments together.

Could the rest of our lives be like this? Exploring the world and finding home not in one place but in each other? It all felt too good to be true.

Late December, as Todd brushed his teeth over the sink, he spoke through foamy toothpaste, unable to contain his joy. Todd had befriended the elephants’ caretakers—called mahouts—and had gotten to help with nontourist activities all day. He was relaying the play-by-play of the elephant bath he’d helped with, even though I’d witnessed the whole thing.

I was propped up in bed, only half listening, counting backward, picturing weeks on the calendar in my head. I was wondering the last time I’d had a period.

Todd spit into the sink, wiped his mouth on a towel, and stalked toward me. He was naked—thin and tan from weeks of exploration in the sun. He paused at the foot of the bed and, like a cat, climbed up my body on his hands and knees.

The calendar in my mind surpassed a month, five weeks, six. It finally stopped at eight weeks and two days.

Todd kissed me, touched me, whispered to me. “I’ve never been so happy.”

I re-counted, my body on autopilot. Eight weeks and two days since my last period.

“Todd,” I whispered against his mouth.

He mistook my meaning. “Oh, Copper,” he breathed.

“I—” Should I tell him? “Todd, I—” I couldn’t, not yet.

He stopped stroking my hip and leaned back. He was clearly ready for me. I felt my body ache at the sight, ache for him, as it had ached for so, so long. But my body wasn’t the issue—it was my mind that was suddenly racing, harried, distracted.

Todd’s eyebrows creased. “Are you all right?”

My gaze caressed his bare form. Todd was a beautiful man. But beyond his beauty, he was a kind man. I saw the care and attention on his face, his immediate concern when he heard the strain in my voice. Over the course of this blissful time of travel, I had fallen more in love with Todd than I had ever thought possible.

The prospect of becoming a mother made me anxious—for one, my age concerned me—but becoming a mother with Todd felt as natural as breathing. With Dimitri, a future of matrimony and children seemed foreign and strange, but with Todd . . . with Todd, everything felt right. And despite the tangled knot of his past, I sensed that he’d be happy when I told him.

Nonetheless, the words stalled on my tongue. I wanted to take a test and confirm it first. I needed to throw out my cigarettes. So instead of speaking my truth or my worry, I held the little nugget of hope in my belly, safe and golden.

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “More than fine.”

I reached for Todd and drew him into a long, lingering kiss.





MAGGIE


San Juan Island, Washington State, USA Friday, January 12, 2024

Ann continues to speak, but Maggie hangs on her pregnancy news like a lifeline. Her lifeline. Ann isn’t looking at Maggie—she’s staring at the recorder. A part of Maggie wants to interrupt, ask the question. It’s bobbing in the water like a life ring, red striped and stamped with the letters r-e-s-c-u-e.

Did Tracey lie to Maggie, after all? Is Ann Fawkes her mother?

She doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t reach for the buoy. She waits for it to float closer. She waits for Ann to offer it up herself.





ANN


Bangkok, Thailand

December 1999

We decided to travel to the capital for New Year’s Eve, seeking big-city celebrations to launch us into the new millennium. We’d spent nearly two months in seaside villages, silent beaches, tranquil jungle havens—healing places. Bangkok was all neon and noise. The streets smelled rancid and fire grilled, spiced and perfumed. Trucks laden with cages full of squawking chickens honked at nimble auto-rickshaws. People bartered and yelled and laughed.

Yet all of it seemed bland compared to the news I carried: the pregnancy test I had taken before leaving Chiang Mai was positive.

When I thought about having a child with Todd, an overwhelming elation washed over me . . . but then logistics would creep in. We wouldn’t be able to ignore the differences that had torn us apart before. We’d have to answer our previously unanswerable questions: Would Todd agree to raise our child in Rome, or would he insist we live in the United States? Who would make the sacrifice, and would they resent the other? Could we stitch our lives together on behalf of a baby and still harbor the same love and affection for each other?

And that old familiar worry: Could I measure up to Penny?

So I didn’t tell him, not yet. I decided to wait, process, and potentially see a doctor—just to be 100 percent certain. In the meantime, I lied and announced I was quitting smoking as an early New Year’s resolution. I carried our child like a secret through the busy markets, savoring the effortless bliss Todd and I had cultivated—holding hands, trying each other’s food, laughing.