by Leslie Gould
“What?” Take Binh back? What is Maggie talking about?
“The birth mom went to the orphanage last week. She took Binh home. She’s decided not to relinquish him.”
Decided not to relinquish him? Can she do that? “I thought it was a done deal.” Never in her wildest fears had Gen imagined the birth mom changing her mind. That was what American birth moms did.
“Gen,” Maggie said with a hint of irritation in her voice, “it’s not a done deal until you get that final approval from the United States Consulate after you’ve gone through all the Vietnamese procedures and the U.S. INS.” Maggie’s voice grew softer. “I’m sorry. Sometimes these things happen.”
“You said you’d never had a Vietnamese birth mom change her mind.”
Maggie paused. “You’re right. I did say that. And I haven’t, until now. You have to think that these things happen for a reason.” What reason? Gen wanted to scream. “At least he’s with his mom,” Maggie added.
Gen thought of the little girl that Robyn and Sean had planned to adopt. The last word on her was that the mom couldn’t take her back, that she would stay at the orphanage.
“Can Binh’s birth mom provide for him? You said she was destitute.”
“The adoption worker says that she loves him very much.”
“But can she take care of him?” Gen felt a flood of resentment.
“That’s for her to decide.”
“What about Mai?”
“She’s at the orphanage. The adoption worker said the birth mother has no intention of taking Mai back.”
“How can we know for sure?”
“Mai is a newborn. Binh is four years old. It’s harder to give up a child that you’ve lived with.”
Gen turned from the counter and leaned her back against the doorframe. She slid to the floor.
“Gen.” Maggie’s voice surged with concern. “Are you okay?”
No. No, I’m not okay. He was my child. She thought of Robyn. She’d thought she had understood when Robyn and Sean lost their referral. Now she really understood.
“Gen?”
“I’m okay.”
“I know you’re not okay, not really. It will take time. When you’re ready, we could look for another child if you’d like.”
“Can we still travel next week?”
“No, you’ll have to wait. Or travel twice.”
Gen’s head began to pound. They couldn’t afford to travel twice. “If we wait, Mai will be older.” What if she gets sick while we wait? What if she gets tuberculosis or even polio? They couldn’t wait.
“Talk to Jeff,” Maggie said. Had Maggie waited to call until late in the afternoon, thinking Jeff would be home? “Call me back tomorrow. If I haven’t heard from you by the time office hours are over, I’ll call you.”
Gen stood at the window and gazed out over the orchards. Why God? Why did you let this happen? Why, when they hadn’t thought of adopting an older child in the first place? Why, when she’d fallen in love with Binh’s startled face?
Jeff’s pickup pulled into the driveway. She left the window and walked slowly into the kitchen, squeezing through the swinging door, not wanting to push it wide open. The washer with the load of children’s clothes began to spin. She opened the door to Jeff. “Maggie called,” she said.
He smiled.
Gen shook her head. “It’s not good.” Her words tumbled out over each other as she relayed the news.
“Maybe Binh’s birth morn will change her mind,” Jeff said.
There were times when Jeff’s optimism sustained Gen, but not this time. “I can’t think that way.”
He took her hand, and they sank, side by side, to the kitchen floor. Gen rested her head against Jeff’s flannel shirt. She began to cry. He put his arm around her shoulder.
“At least we still have Mai.”
“I feel so empty without Binh.”
“I know.” Jeff ran his fingers through her hair.
Gen thought of the birth mom and felt a flicker of compassion. If Gen felt this way about losing Binh, whom she’d never met, how did the birth mom feel about giving up Mai, whom she had birthed? “This adoption thing is so hard,” Gen said. Her head pounded harder. “Why does it have to be so hard? Why after infertility do we have to go through all this? It’s too hard.”
“Don’t think of them as one ordeal. Try to separate them, okay? Infertility is all about loss. Adoption is about loss and gain.”
“Right now it feels as though they’re both all about loss.”
Jeff peered into Gen’s face.
“Why do we have to want this so badly?” Gen said.
Jeff shook his head. “Maybe because God really wants us to be parents.”
On the freeway, headed toward the Columbia Gorge Hotel, Gen said she didn’t want to tell their families about the birth mom taking Binh back.
“We have to,” Jeff said. “They’ll know something is wrong.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. They’ll have questions we don’t have answers to.”
Jeff shook his head.
“What?”
“They’ll feel bad for us, that’s all. Your dad will pray for us. If we don’t tell them tonight, it’ll be harder to tell them tomorrow.”
Would her father chalk it up to the country, that only bad things come from Vietnam? Would Aunt Marie think that they had “asked for it” in agreeing to take an older child? “You’re right; we should tell them,” she relented. “But please don’t let the conversation center on Binh all evening. It’s too hard.”
Gen sat and stared at the whitecaps on the Columbia River through the restaurant window. Her father and Aunt Marie studied their menus. Storm clouds scudded over the rim rocks across the Gorge. The young pine trees clung to the cliffs outside the window and bent in the shapes of bows, ready to fire their arrows. A kaleidoscope of windsurfer sails turned in unison—first north, then south—riding the waves. Gen folded her arms, trying to ward off the chill.
Sharon asked Jake about his latest girlfriend. “I’m going to pop the question,” Jake said.
Sharon clapped her hands. “When?”
Jake laughed. “Give me a few months. Probably this summer.”
Sharon shook her head and turned to Gen. “Janet called last night. They’ve been trying to get pregnant for months. I had no idea. She’s starting to feel a little frantic.” Janet had finished her doctorate last spring and was teaching at the University of Houston.
“That’s too bad,” Gen said. “Have they gone to the doctor?”
“She has an appointment next week.”
“Tell her to relax,” Jeff said.
The conversation shifted back to Jake and then on to Japan and other Asian cultures. Jake asked what airline Jeff and Gen would fly to Vietnam and what cities they would visit. Jeff hadn’t said anything about Binh yet. Jake asked if they would land in Hanoi or Saigon.
“At Tan Son Nhut Airport in Saigon,” Jeff said.
Gen shot a glance at her father. He seemed unfazed. They would land where her mother had died. On most days she purposely kept herself from thinking about it. She looked back out onto the whitecaps of the river. A windsurfer dipped his sail into the water and fell off his board. Gen watched him struggle to climb back on.
Jeff reached for her hand. “Your turn,” he whispered. Sharon stared at her. The waitress stood, pen poised to take the order.
“The trout,” Gen said. “I’ll take the trout.” She always ordered the trout.
“What’s wrong?” Sharon asked.
Jeff glanced at Gen, and she gave him a small nod. “We’re not going to be able to adopt Binh.” Jeff’s voice cracked as he said it.
Sharon’s hand flew to her mouth. “What happened?”
“The birth mom took him home.”
“Oh, no,” Sharon said.
Aunt Marie dropped her menu on the table. Dad lowered his slowly.
“What about the baby?” Don asked.
&nbs
p; “She’s still at the orphanage.” Jeff’s voice grew stronger.
“What about all the things you have for Binh?” Sharon asked. “What will you do with those?”
“We could still take them with us,” Gen said as she looked at Jeff. He nodded. Gen stroked a short strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll take all his stuff. The toys and clothes. The books.” Gen smiled a little. That felt a bit better, to think of Binh with his things. They’d leave his photo in the locket for the birth mother too. That way she’d have photos of both her children.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Aunt Marie said.
Jeff shook his head. Gen pulled another strand of hair behind her ear. Here it came.
“You know, Gen, you wondered if you should take an older child,” her aunt continued.
“Marie,” Dad said.
Sharon stared at her. Don shifted in his chair.
Aunt Marie flung her napkin open in her lap. “It has to be for the best. Better for this to happen now than when you’re over there. And taking an older child is full of risks.”
Gen took a deep breath and let it out. She knew Aunt Marie had tamed her response because they were with Jeff’s family Otherwise, she probably would have said it wasn’t too late to back out of adopting Mai, that it was time for Gen to learn to be content, and that losing Binh’s referral was confirmation of Gen and Jeff’s foolishness. She frowned at her aunt and then softened, thinking of the shower, of Aunt Marie’s good intentions. “At first I wondered what issues he might have too,” Gen said, “but after I saw his picture, none of that mattered. I just wanted to be his mom.”
Sharon reached across the table and squeezed Gen’s hand. “Honey, we know. We’re so sorry.”
“I’m just trying to look on the bright side.” Aunt Marie took a sip of water.
Gen blinked quickly. There is no bright side. Except for Binh’s birth morn. And Binh. It was all such an emotional tangle.
“Will you request another child?” Sharon’s gaze was gentle.
“No. We’d have to wait to travel We don’t want Mai to be in the orphanage any longer than necessary.”
“One little girl is all it takes,” Aunt Marie said, smiling around the table, her eyes falling on Gen.
One child is a blessing, a miracle. God, I don’t want to be ungrateful. But Gen’s heart ached for Binh.
“Jeff. Gen.” Her father cleared his throat. Gen turned her head toward her dad. “I’m sorry. Sincerely sorry for your loss.”
Chapter 24
Lan stood on the roadway, out of breath. Hang played with a stick and a shell in the dirt yard. “Hang, get your brother.”
She had kept Hang home from school again to watch Binh. He’d been out of sorts since she had brought him home from the orphanage, clinging to her one minute and then wandering off the next. Yesterday he had darted into the street in front of a scooter. The driver had swerved, skidded up on the sidewalk, and almost hit two women walking near the beach. Lan was afraid to have Mother watch him, afraid she wouldn’t be able to control him. She couldn’t take Binh to the market where Mrs. Le would see him.
The midafternoon sun beat against Lan’s shoulders. She had stopped by the shack to take the children to the beach so Hang could help carry the baskets filled with lychee nuts and coconut drinks. She hoped the beach would be crowded with tourists who had money in their pockets.
Binh ran up to her and shook his head from side to side. He grinned. His hair covered his eyebrows. He held up his arms and flexed his muscles. “I’m strong!” he shouted. “Let me carry the baskets.”
“In a few years,” Lan said to him, her irritation growing. “Come with me. Hurry, we need to get to the beach while the tourists are still hungry.”
Binh fell to his knees in the road and rolled onto his back. “What are you doing?” Lan asked. He smiled. “Get up,” she said.
“I want to watch the sky.”
“Come on,” Lan said.
Hang grabbed her brother under his arms and pulled him to his feet. Binh squirmed away from her and ran down the street. At the beach Binh ran into the water over and over. Hang finally threw up her hands, exasperated. “Mama!” she called out. “I can’t control him!”
“Let’s go,” Lan said quietly. Binh ran away from them into the waves. Lan hurried after him, soaking her pants. On the way home they stopped by the market to pay Mrs. Le. Lan told Hang to wait with Binh a block away. As she hurried away from the market, after bowing quickly to Mrs. Le, she heard Binh yelling. “I want grapes!” Hang held the younger child by the arm; Binh pulled and pulled, trying to escape his sister. Lan began to run, her stomach aching; she hoped Mrs. Le’s ears and eyes were as bad as they seemed.
Lan spooned the rice into the plastic bowls and then dipped the spoon into the container of bean curd and spread a little over the top of the rice. Mother had picked morning glory leaves from the field at the end of the road. Binh shook his head at the cooked green leaves. Hang held out her bowl. Lan put the greens in each child’s bowl and then took Binh’s from him. She filled the spoon and moved it toward her son’s mouth.
“No, no,” he said. “Chopsticks.”
“Let Mama do it,” Lan said. She mixed the rice and greens and bean curd. He opened his mouth, and she filled it with food. Hang squatted beside her mother and held her bowl close to her mouth. She shoveled the food in quickly with her chopsticks. Binh opened his mouth like a baby bird. Lan fed him spoonful after spoonful. Every third or fourth turn she took a bite. The food settled her stomach.
“Eat, Mother,” Lan said.
Her mother lay in the hammock with her eyes closed. “I’m too tired to eat.”
“Here, Hang.” Lan handed her the third bowl. “Take this to your grandmother.”
During the night Binh cried out in his sleep. “Mama,” he sobbed, “don’t leave!” Lan reached over and found him in the dark, off the mat and out from under the mosquito net. She pulled him to her, tucking his thin body under the protection of her arm. Later he cried out again, this time in pain.
“Binh, Binh, go back to sleep. Let all of us sleep.” Lan stroked his arm.
“He’s been whimpering half the night,” Mother said.
Lan felt Binh’s forehead. It was hot. She would take him to the doctor in the evening, to the one who saw patients in her home after ten hours at the hospital. The government paid her little for her work; she made up for it by seeing patients after hours.
During the day Lan left Binh with Mother while she hurried from tourist spot to tourist spot selling lychee nuts and souvenirs. She caught herself watching for the couple from the photos, the tall man with curly hair and the woman with caring eyes.
“Fifty-thousand dong,” the doctor said.
“I only have thirty thousand,” Lan said. She shifted Binh on her hip and pulled the money out of the bag she carried around her neck.
“Then you owe me the rest before I treat your son again.” The doctor took the wad of currency from Lan. “Give him the pills morning and night for three days. His ears and throat are infected. And his lungs don’t sound good. Has anyone told you that he has asthma?”
“You’re the only doctor who has seen him.”
“Bring him to me if his wheezing gets bad. More little ones have asthma now. It’s the pollution.”
Lan bowed to the doctor and turned to leave the shop. Hang followed her into the humid night. Binh whimpered and reached for Hang. Relieved, Lan slid her son into the arms of his sister. A block later Binh reached for Lan. They still had a kilometer to walk. They turned off the sidewalk onto the dirt road, and soon a scooter slowed beside them. “Hello, Lan.” It was Cuong. A pretty young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with a short, stylish haircut rode behind him.
Lan nodded. Binh yanked on her single braid as she carried him.
“How are you?” Cuong asked.
“We are well.” She wanted to ask when he had come back, whether he had work for her. She didn’t want to tell hi
m about Mai, about the baby.
“I wanted to say hello. I’m in town for a few days. Then I’ll return to Ho Chi Minh City. Business is good there.” When Lan did not answer, he revved the engine and sped off. He didn’t work in the sugar refinery, Lan was sure. He’d been in the city all this time making lots of money.
Selfish and stubborn, Mother would say if she knew Lan hadn’t responded to Cuong. Surely she could have gotten something from him, perhaps money or black-market goods. Lan transferred Binh to her other hip. His head bounced against her shoulder.
Hang went to school the next day while Binh stayed with Mother and Lan sold cigarettes along the beach. It was Friday, and crowds of people from Ho Chi Minh City had arrived by bus for a long weekend. Again Lan looked for the American couple but didn’t see them. When she arrived home, Binh sat at the doorway to the hut with a bottle of Coca-Cola in his hands and a smile on his face. “Grandmother bought Coca,” he said impishly. A plastic container of half-eaten orange rice sat beside him.
“Where is Hang?” Lan peered behind him through the doorway.
“Playing down the road with her school friends.”
“Mother,” Lan called out, adjusting her eyes to the dim interior of the hut. Where had Mother gotten the money?
Lan walked toward the form in the hammock. “Mother.” She reached over and shook her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t stir. “Mother!” Lan’s heart quickened. “Mother!”
“Let me sleep.” Mother’s raspy voice startled Lan, and she pushed against her mother’s body. The hammock swung back and forth.
“I thought you were dead.” Lan’s heart raced.
“Not yet.”
“Where did you get the money for Coca-Cola?” Lan asked,
“Cuong stopped by.”
“You took his money?”
“Of course.” Mother sat up.
“Don’t take it again. I don’t want him coming by.” She missed him, missed being with a man, missed his money, but his money meant his company and then another baby. She didn’t want any more babies. She couldn’t give another one away. Let him spend his time with the teenage girl.
