The Same Sky(62)

This was the worst day of my life.





50




Alice


THE PAPER TURKEYS on the wall flutter as we walk down the hospital hallway. Since my mother’s death, I have always hated hospitals, but for some reason I am not scared this time. It’s true: this birth mother could also change her mind, as Mitchell’s did. We might be getting our hopes up only to have them dashed. But something has shifted in me. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or ten minutes from now, but I am calm. A faded banner above the nurses’ station (likely brought out every year) says, “Be Thankful, for You Are Blessed.”

I reach for my husband’s hand. It is warm.

A heavyset woman in a pink sweatshirt pushes a wheelchair past. The girl—no older than twelve—glances up. Her expression is so sad it stops my breath. I feel her sorrow enter me, slow and terrible. As she is wheeled toward the exit, the girl watches me over her shoulder. She reaches the end of the hallway, and when the door is opened, she turns from me, toward the light.

Jake has allowed me to pause. But now he squeezes my fingers—a question. I meet his eyes and nod.

There is a glass window a few feet ahead of us. I pull Jake forward. In the nursery, only one tiny cradle is occupied. Swaddled in a pink blanket, a baby is asleep. Her round face is so lovely. Jake pulls me close, his breathing ragged. “There she is,” says Jake.

A woman approaches, her heels clicking smartly on the floor. “Mr. and Mrs. Conroe?” she calls.

“Yes,” says Jake.

She reaches us and crosses her arms, staring, as we are, at the baby. “Ah,” she says, “I see you’ve found her.”

“Yes,” says Jake.

Machines whir and buzz, a strange lullaby. My blood roars in my ears. The baby girl yawns, showing us her petal of a tongue. And then she opens her eyes. They are caramel-colored. It seems she is looking at me.

Her cheeks, her curls, one tiny exposed fist!

“I’ve got you,” I whisper to my daughter.

She gazes at me for a moment, then exhales deeply and closes her eyes. Her tiny chest rises and falls as she finds her way to newborn dreams.





For my Ash, my Harrison, and my Nora





Acknowledgments


Without Alexia Rodriguez, who enabled me to meet immigrant children and to attend a Homecoming football game and dance, this book would not have been possible. Thank you so much, my dear friend.


The soul of this book comes from the work of Father Alejandro Solalinde Guerra, whose shelter, Hermanos en el Camino in Ciudad Ixtepec, Oaxaca, provides a safe place for migrants, offering them food, shelter, medical and psychological attention, and legal aid. His work and his words are the meaning of grace.


For the gift of time and glorious silence, I am tremendously grateful to Madro?o Ranch, the MacDowell Colony, and the Corporation of Yaddo.


Michelle Tessler, your guidance, kindness, and encouragement mean everything to me. Also, thanks for the bourbon.


Kara Cesare, I am blessed to have your sharp editorial insight and your enthusiasm and love for my characters. You dream of Carlos and Junior, but every author dreams of an editor like you.


Many thanks to Ben Tisdel, Jenny Hart, Paula Disbrowe, Claiborne Smith, Stacy Franklin, Erin Kinard, Laurie Duncan, Dalia Azim, Mary Helen Specht, Erin Courtney, Samin Nosrat, Jodi Picoult, Dr. Joe Gonzales, John Mueller, Daniel Vaughn, Nina Schmidt Sells, Ellen Sussman, Leah Stewart, Jennifer Hershey, Kim Hovey, Libby McGuire, Gina Centrello, Benjamin Dreyer, Liza Bennigson, Sarah McKay, Mary-Anne and Peter Westley, Barbara and Larry Meckel, and my beloved barbecue research team, Nora, Harrison, Ash, and Tip Meckel.


Para todos los ni?os que han compartido sus historias conmigo: gracias por ense?arme el verdadero significado de la fe. Deseo que todos los que lean esta novela aprendan de su valentía, y que, un día, todos Uds. encuentren su hogar.