Somewhere Out There(109)
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.
Jennifer
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.