by Nicola Marsh
“Absolutely.”
“The thing is, I expected to feel sad and disappointed about our infertility, but I never expected the resentment.” She shakes her head, pain glinting in her eyes. “When we first found out, I resented Dane, and that’s not good.” Her nose wrinkles. “Drinking alone late at night and using alcohol as a crutch is so not me.”
“Considering you barely finish a glass of wine at our gardening club meetings, I tend to agree.”
“Anyway, rather than wallowing I’ve taken a more proactive approach.” Her face eases into a smile. “We’ve discussed it and we’re going the adoption route.”
“That’s fantastic, sweetie.” I hug her, squashing my sandwich in the process but not giving a damn. She’s given me the perfect segue.
When I pull back, I grin like an idiot and she stares at me, one eyebrow quirked. “What’s going on?”
“Did you see that girl who turned up on my doorstep the night of the supper party?”
She shakes her head, a faint blush staining her cheeks.
I call her on it. “Were you and Dane off doing naughty things down by my pool?”
“Something like that,” she mutters, a cloud passing over her eyes before she blinks and it’s gone.
“Well, her name’s Jodi, and she’s pregnant. She’s considering giving her baby up for adoption. I thought…” I hesitate for a moment “… you might be interested?”
She startles, like I’ve electrocuted her. “Are you serious?”
I nod, glad to be the bearer of good news. I’ve been involved in several adoptions over the years and seeing a childless couple hold their baby for the first time is something that makes my job incredibly worthwhile. To think I might be able to bring that joy to Claire and Dane… helping my friends would mean everything to me.
“I’ve broached the idea with her that I have a couple in mind who are keen for a baby. And if you agree, she can stay in town until the birth and you can be there if you both want and—”
“Whoa, slow down.” Claire’s overwhelmed, her expression stunned and her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, and I don’t blame her. This has happened so fast but it seems like fate. “It can’t be that simple, surely? Wouldn’t there be waiting lists and forms and interviews and all the rest? Not to mention the expense.”
My always-practical friend asks all the right questions and luckily I have the answers. “It would need to be an independent adoption, so it’s done privately by an attorney. It can be costly, anywhere between ten and forty grand, but if she chooses you as the adoptive parents everything can be streamlined.”
“But… oh my God.” She slumps against the bench, shock making her mouth slack and her hands tremble before she clasps them in her lap. “How far along is she?”
“Five months. I’ll make an obstetrics appointment for her at the medical center to make sure her pregnancy is progressing well and the baby’s okay.”
Technically, I should’ve done this first without raising Claire’s hopes. But I wanted to garner her level of interest before I proceeded too far. We have a doctor who visits the center weekly and he has experience with our single mothers. But if Jodi agrees to give her baby to Claire, I’ll pull out all stops including private health care to ensure my friend gets the baby she deserves.
“I can’t believe this.” Claire shakes her head, absentmindedly peeling the label off her soda. “I want a child so badly but I never thought… I mean, I thought adoption takes years and even then we might not get a baby, maybe a toddler or an older child…”
She bursts into tears and it startles me. In the few years I’ve known Claire I’ve never seen her cry. She’s too stoical for that.
“Oh, sweetie.” I envelop her in another hug and let her cry it out, smoothing her back and making soft comforting nonsensical noises that I used to when the twins were little.
My throat tightens at the memory and I hold her tighter. I can’t imagine my life without the twins and if my friend wants to experience the joy of motherhood I’ll do whatever it takes to help her.
When her sobs ease to sniffles, she pulls away and swipes a hand across her eyes. “I must look a fright.”
I rest a hand on her shoulder and squeeze before lowering it. “You look like a woman who’s received some surprising news and is probably confused and elated and terrified.”
She stares at me, her smile crooked. “How do you do that? Home in on exactly how I’m feeling?”
“I’m a mom, I’ve had years of mind-reading practice with the girls.”
More memories spring to mind: Terry breaking an expensive fruit bowl and Trish lying to cover for her, Trish sneaking my favorite cashmere sweater and accidentally staining it with ink that Terry swore she’d done, both girls hiding the truth about the after-party following their prom until their dates had brought them home drunk. Precious fragments of time with my kids that I sift through at will, poignant snapshots I use as reminders to stay in my increasingly grim marriage.
“Your girls must adore you.”
Her praise makes me want to bawl. I don’t get much of it at home these days.
“I adore them.” It’s a simple statement that leaves a lot unsaid and Claire doesn’t push me on it.
Until she has a child of her own I don’t think she’ll understand the overwhelming love I feel for my girls. How I still tidy their rooms every day. How I flick through their yearbooks, pride for their achievements bringing tears to my eyes. How I sit in front of the computer for hours, scrolling through photos chronicling their growth from babies to toddlers to school-age to young adults, wishing I could turn back time.
I’m not a helicopter mom, never have been. I dote on my girls but I’m not overprotective. Heck, I encouraged their move to LA for college because that’s what they wanted. But I miss them so badly, clinging to the memories of motherhood to sustain me. They enable me to keep going through the daily charade that is my marriage.
“So what happens from here?” She lobs the soda in the nearby trash. “I mean, I’ll need to discuss this with Dane, but I’m sure he’ll be as excited as I am.”
“If he’s fine with the idea, I’ll orchestrate a meeting between you and Jodi so you can discuss the process.”
Claire presses the pads of her fingers to her eyes. “Is this really happening?”
“It might be so stay strong and keep the faith. And if this doesn’t work out, trust me when I say I’ll do everything to help you get the child you deserve.” I lay a comforting hand on her forearm and she covers it with hers. “You’ll make a great mom.”
She tears up again and I feel the burn of tears too. “Truly, Ris, I can’t thank you enough for thinking of us.” Her voice hitches and ends on a sob. Claire is rarely speechless so I can see how much my gesture means to her.
“You’re welcome.”
I’ve done the right thing in telling her and it feels good. Until I remember what’s happening in my own life and my happiness fades fast.
If only I can fix my problems as easily.
Eighteen
Claire
I’m in a daze. Ris wants to talk more but I can’t. I need to get home and tell Dane the news. She understands my flightiness, hugs me yet again and says we’ll talk soon. As if we’ll be discussing something mundane like the next party Ris is hosting or what we’ll be drinking at Gardening Club.
A baby.
In four months I could be a mom.
With diapers and night feeds and strollers and fluffy toys.
How amazing is that?
It’s not quite the scenario I envisaged – being pregnant, going through hormone swings and bloated ankles and nausea as some sort of penance for what I’d done to Dane all those years ago – but having a child of our own by any means will solidify our bond and go some way to easing my guilt.
I love my husband. I want us to be happy. I want to focus on the future and forget about the past.
A sliver of regret pierces my euphoria. I’
d watched my sisters-in-law get pregnant repeatedly over the years and had swallowed my envy each time. Not that I would’ve welcomed a baby back then; I’d been striving to cement my career in the force. But I’d been jealous of the shared confidences over the best diapers, formulas, clothes and that special glow each of them had sported while resting a protective hand over their bulging bellies.
Since Dane and I started trying, I’d find myself doing online searches for prams and cots, lusting after the cutest rompers and scouring endless lists of baby names, envisaging our very own Emma or Josh.
I’d imagined myself going shopping for maternity clothes and attending ultrasound appointments and dosing up on vitamins. Even the heartburn and swollen ankles would’ve been welcome now that I know I’ll never experience any of it. I feel… robbed somehow. I know I’ll love any child we adopt with all my heart but I’ll never know what it feels like to nurture a baby in my belly for nine months and ridiculously I miss it.
Tears sting my eyes and I blink them away. Probably just as well I can’t get pregnant. I’d be a mess with the riotous hormones.
I glance at the speedometer regularly all the way home so I don’t go over the limit like I want to. In fact, I’m tempted to break every land speed record to get home and tell Dane the news.
When I finally pull into our winding drive, tumble from the car and run into the house, he’s not there. I should’ve known because his car isn’t under the carport but I’m so damn excited I can’t compute anything beyond baby.
Momentarily deflated, I wander into the kitchen and spy the note he’s left me on the counter. I snatch it up and read the usual work excuse.
HEY GORGEOUS,
CALLED INTO WORK.
HOPEFULLY WON’T BE LONG.
LOVE YOU. X
I crumple it into a ball and lob it in the trash. I miss. This has been happening for most of our marriage, Dane being called away for work. Clients wanting to see the latest in medical equipment, doctors demanding to hear his sales spiel after-hours, bosses insisting he travel to keep up to date with the latest technological advances.
I should be used to it. I should understand, especially as I can be called out to a job any time of day and night even when I’m supposedly off-duty. And Dane has never, ever complained about that. But today is different. I have news that impacts our future and a small part of me resents him for not being here.
Irrational, but I’m consumed with the possibility of us being parents and I can’t wait to tell him. With Dane not around, I’m tempted to call Mom before thinking better of it. I haven’t told her about our fertility issues, how can I ring out of the blue and lump a possible adoption on her?
I could’ve called Griffin: if he hadn’t turned out to be a misguided asshole. Being away from work has been timely because I’m not ready to face him again. Every time I see him I’ll remember those two seconds I let him kiss me, how badly I misjudged our situation, and be mortified all over again.
Gripping the phone tight I call Dane but he doesn’t answer. Another thing that bugs me, the number of times I talk to his message service. Sure, I understand he’s meeting with clients so he can’t answer but it happens most of the time and today I really need to get hold of him.
Frustrated, I kick a leg of the kitchen table. It doesn’t help. Then the phone rings and I glance at caller ID. It’s Beau, Dane’s brother. He’s a sweetie and I’d usually answer but the way I’m dying to spill the exciting news I’ll probably blurt out the possible adoption and Beau will know before Dane. Not an option so I let the call go through to our message service and wait the appropriate few minutes before dialing in to hear the message.
“Hey, bro, it’s me. Look, we need to talk. I’ve tried your cell five times today, where the fuck are you? It’s your day off so you should be picking up at home. Anyway, I’m not in a good place after you gave me the brush off while you were at that party. So call me ASAP. We need to figure this out.”
The dial tone sounds and I hang up, bewildered. Day off? First thing this morning Dane had told me he’d probably be called into work because of a new MRI delivery and his note had reiterated that. And that night at the supper party Dane had told me he’d been speaking to a work colleague yet turns out it was Beau? Why did he lie?
I can always count on Dane’s honesty. At times he borders on bluntness but I love that about him. Now, as the doubts creep in, I wonder if I’m too trusting.
Does my husband have secrets?
Like I do?
Nineteen
Elly
Maggie is waiting in my office first thing on Monday morning as usual. As the owner of the medical center she doesn’t need to show up, she’s that rich, and she doesn’t take an active role in the everyday running – she leaves that to me – but she still fronts up every week with two lattes and gluten free blueberry muffins. I like that we’ve become friends and discounting Ris and Claire I don’t have many of those. I hope that’s why she turns up each week, because she values this friendship as much as I do.
“Hey, Mags, how are you?” I slip out of my jacket and hang it in the wardrobe, along with my handbag.
“Good. You?”
“You know me.” I sit and she hands me a takeout coffee cup. “Living life. Loving it.”
“Good for you.” She raises her coffee cup in a toast. “You’re one of the most upbeat people I know.”
“That’s because you’re a long time dead.” I sip at my coffee and sigh: extra dash of cream and a half sugar, perfect. “Sorry I didn’t have a chance to talk to you at Ris’s supper party the other night.”
“Don’t worry.” Her eyes light up. “You seemed otherwise occupied.”
I inadvertently squeeze my cup and a bubble of coffee appears on the rim. “That guy isn’t my type.”
Her eyebrows rise. “I hear he’s a good psychologist.”
I snort. “Yeah, who apparently thinks I’m a head case who needs a shrink.”
She smiles but there’s fragility behind it and I inwardly curse. I know she borders on fanatical with her cleansing obsession and has probably had her fair share of visits to a therapist.
“Anyway, do you want to take a look at the new staffing rosters?”
Thankfully she buys my change of subject. “Sure. And I wouldn’t mind going over last month’s billing.”
It’s a ruse we both indulge in every week. Maggie pretending like she’s interested in the center while I play the diligent manager.
“I’ll pull up the figures for you.” I tap on my keyboard and in a second I’ve brought up the spreadsheets. As I turn the screen to face her, my cell rings. It’s Ris.
“Do you mind if I get this?”
“Go ahead.” Her gaze is on the screen, already glazing over. She’ll make a few cursory remarks, make small talk about life in Gledhill, trade fashion advice and then leave, until next week when we’ll do it all over again.
It staggers me, how a charming extrovert like Ryan hooked up with this eccentric woman. Then again, a twenty-million-dollar trust fund explains a lot.
I stab at the answer button on my cell. “Hey, Ris, how are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Couldn’t be better.” I mime chatting with my hand and Maggie manages a tense smile. She’s not close to Ris, despite Ryan practically living at Ris’s house. Then again, I can imagine Ris doting on Maggie because of her issues to the point of suffocation and there’s only so much TLC a person can take.
“I have a favor to ask you.” She’s using her work voice, an added posh tinge to her vowels. “I need an urgent appointment with your best ob-gyn for a client here, Jodi Van Gelder.”
Ris rarely asks me for a favor so this call is a surprise. “Sure, give me a minute.”
I point at the screen and Maggie swivels it toward me while I type with one hand, pulling up appointments. “I can fit your Jodi Van Gelder in at eight tomorrow morning? We try to keep that time free for emergencies so it shouldn’t be a problem.�
��
“Thanks, Elly, I’ll email her details through to you now. I owe you one.”
We both know it’s not true. After the way she supported me following the rape, I owe her, big time.
“Jodi’s the girl who arrived unannounced at my place the night of the supper party.”
“I remember.”
I didn’t see the girl but Ris explained later when I queried where she’d disappeared to. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Ris is a do-gooder. She thrives on it in her job on a daily basis. So it doesn’t surprise me if one of her strays shows up on her doorstep.
But now I know the girl is pregnant I’m curious. Ris said it’s a first, having a client arrive at her house. This Jodi could’ve easily waited until the next morning to see Ris at work. So why did this girl do something so unorthodox and lob on her doorstep? And why would the center – or in this case Ris – pay for one of our top ob-gyn’s to see her?
“Anyway, I have to dash. Thanks again, Elly.”
“Anytime.”
I hang up, relieved that Maggie is already standing. She never stays long. It’s one of the reasons I like her visits. We both have limited patience for faux cheerfulness. She’s blunt and I like her all the more for it. I’m also drawn to her air of serenity, an inner quietness that shines through despite the turmoil she must face during her manic detox episodes. I admire her resilience. Another quality we both share.
“How’s Marisa?”
Maggie never calls her Ris. For sisters-in-law and neighbors, they’re not close. Not from Ris’s lack of trying. She’s always trying to draw people into her social circle. But if Maggie’s anything like me, I know why she’s standoffish with Ris. My friend can make the most accomplished woman feel inadequate. Not deliberately, but just because of who she is.
She works full-time, runs a busy household for Avery who constantly entertains his work cronies, serves on countless charities where she raises money like a fiend, and volunteers at several organizations. Ris is a dynamo but in my weaker moments I want to throttle her for being so damn accomplished.
