It had been a mistake to underestimate them. Turns out they had the type of guts I never gave them credit for, or one of them, at least; Madelyn-May. She surprised me – for a stupid girl, she’d played it smart. Smarter than me. But that won’t last. They say being a mother is about teaching your kids a thing or two. Up until now she has been the one dishing out lessons, but that is all about to change. There’s still one lesson yet to come, and Madelyn-May is about to learn it the hard way.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Madelyn-May, 2006
'’Explain to me why you can’t just let it happen, when it happens?” I shouted. “What’s the rush?”
“I shouldn’t need to give you a math lesson, Madelyn-May,” Bastian said. “You’re twenty-seven this year. We’ve been trying for three years, and you’re still not pregnant. There has to be a reason this isn’t working.”
It was our third wedding anniversary, and we had planned a romantic picnic in the park, a quiet moment between the two of us. But before we even left the office, he’d gone and brought up the one topic guaranteed to start a fight.
“In fact,” he continued, “I think it’s time we got you checked out.”
“Me?” I shouted back, defensiveness quickly becoming a state of mind. “What about you?”
“Okay, alright,” he conceded. “We both should get checked out.”
I thought back to the kitchen table covered in plastic, and knew exactly what the tests would show. “And if we can’t get pregnant?”
“Can’t?” He repeated the word like a vile taste on his tongue. “That’s not an option, Madelyn-May. I want a family. You’ve known that from the beginning. Whatever it is, the doctors will find it, and we’ll get it fixed.”
“There are some things, Bastian, that you can’t just fix.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked away. “Well, that’s something I’ll have to deal with, if and when the time comes.”
Something he would deal with – not we, but he. Clearly there would no longer be a we if baby didn’t make three.
When there was nothing left to say, I took the elevator down to the street and walked out onto JFK Boulevard. I didn’t bother stalling, or looking back. He wouldn’t come after me, not after the fight we just had. Bastian didn’t like to argue, and it was clear we both needed time to cool off.
As I made my way toward the park, I silently cursed myself for not telling him the truth back at the start. But there was so much to tell, and I knew without a doubt he wouldn’t be okay with any of it. We had fallen in love so quickly. One moment it was just me, and then, before I knew it, for the first time in my life, the word ‘us’ found its way in. I had never felt the warmth of being an us before, the way it could wrap its arms around you, even when you were alone. When he asked me to marry him, I knew I should’ve told him the truth, but who would love a girl like me? Instead, I promised myself to be the best wife he could ever want. I would dedicate my life to making him so happy, that eventually children wouldn’t come into the equation. I hoped if I loved him with all my heart, then maybe I would be enough.
I sat down on one of the park benches, and watched a man and woman strolling toward the iconic red Love sculpture, a little boy swinging happily between them, each of their hands taking his weight. They were perfectly balanced. Man, woman, and child, just as Bastian wanted us to be. But as I watched the family, I felt the weight of eyes on me, and glanced over to see a young woman looking in my direction. She was one bench over, and when our eyes met, she immediately looked away. I had so much on my plate, and the last thing I needed was some girl staring. I got to my feet, determined to go over and tell her as much, but as I drew closer, puffy eyes told me she had been crying.
“You were looking at me,” I said, in a voice softer than I had intended.
“I was, and I’m so sorry,” the girl mumbled. “I was… looking for a distraction I guess.”
I pointed to the space beside her, and when she made the obligatory motion, even though there was more than enough room, I sat down beside her. I didn’t know what I was going to say, and it was clear from her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin that things were not going well for her either.
“Do you think they’re happy?” I eventually asked, looking over at the family.
She followed my gaze, and thought for a moment. “I think everyone is happy sometimes.”
“Are you?”
“I was… before.”
I nodded, and folded my hands into my lap. “Can I ask what happened?”
“My mother is dying,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I have no money left for her care. I feel like…”
“…a failure.”
“Yeah, pretty much. And you?”
“My husband wants children.”
“And you don’t?”
I fiddled nervously with my wedding band, sliding it up toward my knuckle, then down again. “It doesn’t matter whether I want to or not. I can’t.”
“There’s other options,” she suggested.
“Not to him.”
We sat quietly, both lost in our own thoughts and I searched for something comforting to say. I knew what it was like to watch someone die but had no idea about how to save a life.
“And your husband, he can’t accept the idea of you guys not having kids?” she asked.
“He doesn’t know, and I can’t find the words to tell him. Having a baby is all he cares about.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“You don’t know him.” I paused for a moment. “And your mother? There’s no hope?”
She shook her head and gazed out over the park. “Not for recovery, no. I want to take care of her until it’s time. She’s always taken care of me. I just… don’t know how to give that back to her.”
We both stared out across the park and a part of me wished I could help her somehow. “Can I ask what condition she has?”
“Cancer. It started in her cervix, then spread. We tried every treatment possible, but all we can do now is keep her comfortable and provide end-of-life care – if we could afford it, that is.”
“That’s tough.”
“Tell me about it.” The girl threw up her hands in frustration. She told me how she had used all her money having thirteen eggs cryogenically frozen, in case the hereditary condition inevitably came calling for her as well. As I listened, my heart began to beat faster. “How much do you need for her care?”
But she just shrugged and pushed back her hair. “Too much.”
“Ballpark?”
“$20,000, give or take.”
And just like that I knew what I had to do. “I have money.”
At first, she didn’t react, and I wondered if I had said the words out loud, or just rehearsed them in my mind. “I have money, and what I’m about to say might sound crazy, but I believe that things happen for a reason.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have money, enough for what you need. Maybe we could help each other?”
“Help each other how?”
I took a deep breath and surprised myself by reaching for her hand. “I could buy some of your eggs. If we kept it a secret, my husband would never have to know.”
“What?” She pulled her hand away as though she had been burned. “You’ve got to be joking?”
“Think about it,” I began, adrenaline pulsing through me. “I buy your eggs, for $20,000? I tell my husband I want to try IVF, but we use your eggs instead. He would never have to know.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “That’s crazy, and it’s lying. Just tell him the truth, and use an egg donor. It’s still his baby. I couldn’t….”
Bastian and his family were practicing Lutherans, who believed the introduction of donor eggs or sperm would violate the one-flesh rule of marriage. The best I could hope for was his agreement to IVF, because it was still my egg and his sperm, just as God intended.
“No, he would never allow
that,” I told her.
“But I don’t understand?”
“You don’t have to understand. All you need to know is that you can pay for your mother’s care, and the child my husband and I have will be loved. He or she will never want for a thing. You have my word.”
She searched my face clearly trying to figure out if I had gone mad. “That’s… no, I couldn’t.”
“Tell me something,” I said. “Why did you come to this park?”
“Huh?”
“This park. Why did you choose here to come and think?”
“I don’t know, I guess I like the sculpture.”
“Yes. Because it makes you think of what love can do. The way it can turn everything on its side?”
She looked at me closely. “I suppose you could say that.”
“Don’t you see? There are no coincidences. Sometimes things just happen for a reason.”
I had no idea what she might say next, but it came to mind that I hadn’t even introduced myself.
If by some chance she might agree to this, I couldn’t risk her knowing my identity. If Bastian ever found out, it would be over between us – worse than that, it would hurt him in a way that could never be healed. Instead, I searched my mind for a name to give her. If I could be anyone, who would I want to be? I thought back to the night of the fire, and the woman who saved me. She had introduced herself as Mary but later told me her friends called her by her middle name; Jane.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “All this and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Jane.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sophie
I’d planned on chatting with Samara over dinner about my fictional plan to find a donor for my frozen eggs, just to cover my tracks. But instead I find myself at a crossroads. What I found in the file is beyond anything I can handle alone, and I need my best friend. On the other hand, if I ask for her help, it means betraying Gerard, and exposing what we did all those years ago.
After spending the entire afternoon agonizing over what I found in Gerard’s medical files instead of cooking for my friend, the kitchen feels lifeless. There is no spicy paella aroma floating up from a dinner that I promised to make, or warm smell of homemade flatbread. Of course, right on time she knocks at the front door.
“Talk to me,” she says, before she even gets inside. “What’s all this sperm donor talk about?” On her way in she glances through to the kitchen, and if its stillness surprises her, she doesn’t show it.
“Samara, I have no idea where to start.”
“Well, you can start by telling me why you’ve been lying to me all day.”
“Lying?”
She dumps her bag on the couch, and stares at me. “Girl, we’ve been best friends since college. Did you really think I’d believe you’re planning to have another baby, and with a sperm donor? Please, give me some credit.”
I want to smile – and I want to cry. I should have known Samara would see right through my story. She’s my best friend, and that’s what friends do sometimes – they call you on your shit.
“Tell me, has this got anything to do with that egg donor caper you and Gerard pulled like a million years ago?”
Without meaning to, I push her shoulder in surprise. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew Sophie… jeez.” She shakes her head, and looks disappointed. “You really think my husband has the balls to propose to me with a ring bought with ill-gotten gains, without telling me first?”
“I can’t believe it,” I tell her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Gerard and I don’t have secrets, Soph, you know that. It took him a few days to work up the courage, of course, but eventually he told me.”
“So why didn’t you say anything? It’s been thirteen years, and you’ve never mentioned it once.”
“Because I know why you did it. Gerard did too, that’s why he agreed to go through with it. I know you Soph, and if it was something you wanted to share with me, you would have. I also know you didn’t tell me because you wanted to protect Gerard. I figured one day when it felt right, you’d confess.”
“I don’t know what to say…”
“Well, you can start by telling me what’s going on now. Gerard was busy with Jada from the moment he got home, and he couldn’t say much when I called him earlier. So, what the hell is happening, because I know you’re not planning a pregnancy?”
I drew a deep breath. Samara knowing what we did is a monumental relief, but there is still so much I need to tell her. “We may need a drink for this,” I warn her. “At least, I will.”
Knowing my house inside out, Samara grabs a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen, and pours two glasses. “Aright, I’m listening.”
“Okay, so you already know the back story, which makes this a lot easier,” I say. “But what you don’t know is how this all started, and who used my eggs.”
“A woman you met at Love Park, right? At least that’s how Gerard told it back then.”
“Right. Jane. And she told me her husband’s name was Ian. But there’s been a development.”
I explain about the manuscript, the effect it’s had on me, and why I wanted to find Jane. When I reach the part about my fake appointment with Gerard, she immediately frowns, and clicks her tongue. “You lied to my husband? Shame on you, Sophie. Now, why would you go and do that after what he risked helping you?”
“I’m sorry, Samara. I didn’t want to involve him in this all over again. I thought I was doing you both a favor by keeping my plans to track Jane down a secret. I never intended to contact her. I just wanted to see the child, even from a distance. I know you understand why.”
“I do understand, but I don’t like it, especially the lying. But keep going… You said there’s been a development?”
“Right, so when I looked at the files on Gerard’s computer, I found out Jane wasn’t really Jane at all.”
“She used a fake name?”
“To me, yes, but obviously she had to use her real name for the appointment, because her husband was there. Did Gerard ever mention their names or anything like that to you, back when all this was happening?”
“He told me enough so that it wasn’t a lie, but I didn’t ask a lot of questions, Soph. Seemed like the two of you had it under control, so I left well enough alone. Figured the less I knew, the better.”
“Well, brace yourself, because it turns out Jane, the woman in the park, is actually Madelyn-May.”
Confusion pulls at her brow. “And Madelyn-May is?”
“Madelyn-May Marozzi. As in… the wife of Bastian Marozzi.”
Her hand freezes, mid-sip. “You mean….”
“I mean Bastian’s twins were conceived using my egg.” We stare at each other in silence, until I can’t take it anymore. “Samara, say something, please.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that his kids are really your kids, like together?”
“Well, that might be a stretch, but yes, you could say that.”
She takes another moment, and lets the information sink in. “Have you told him?”
“Are you serious? Of course not.”
“Are you going to?”
“Well, that’s why you’re here – to tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”
She finishes what’s in her glass, and immediately refills it to the top. “Wait, I’m confused – you said before her husband’s name was Ian?”
“BastIan,” I explain. “It’s just a clever way of covering up his real name, by shortening it. They do say all lies have a portion of truth to them.”
“Wow, Sophie,” Samara says, with a shake of her head. “Curiosity really has killed the cat this time. And right now, the cat is you.”
I rub at a headache starting to form behind my brow. “The thing is, all I can think about is how much I want to see them. Is that awful? I mean I know they’re not my kids, but this is huge. When I decided to look for Jane, it was because I wanted to se
e if there was any part of Josh in the child I helped conceive, but now….”
“…there’s Bastian to consider,” she finishes.
I search my mind, trying to make sense of the multitude of questions vying for my attention. “I think the main thing I need to remember is that they’re not our children, right? Thinking about it as though they are Bastian’s and mine makes things so much more confusing.”
“Honestly? I have no idea.”
“Okay, that’s not helping.”
Samara puts down her drink. “But I don’t know how to help, Soph, not with this. It’s not as though we have a precedent to draw on here. I mean, come on, this is unbelievable, right? The chances of this happening are….”
“… a million to one?”
“I don’t know. Do clichés go any higher than that?”
We finally laugh, and the release feels good. “I guess it’s not that strange,” I begin. “His office has always been right near Love Park. If they had a fight, it’s not a stretch to imagine she might go to the park to think. On that day, I had been at Penn and needed to clear my head. I guess it’s not so absurd to think we crossed paths.”
“Soph, I have to say,” she says, “as much as I hate that you lied to Gerard, and broke into his medical files, which I have to say is completely and utterly unacceptable, I’m actually proud of you.”
“Proud of me? Why?”
“Have you stopped to think about what you did? You drove to Gerard’s surgery, came up with a way to get him out of the office, then hacked into a medical database – all without having an anxiety-fueled meltdown. Can you imagine yourself doing that a year ago – shit, forget that, a month ago?”
Samara is right. I hadn’t stopped to think about what I did. I just knew I had to do it.
“It is pretty out of character, I guess.”
But Samara gives me a smirk. “Not for the Sophie I knew before the accident. She was a fighter, and one hell of a great mom. The Sophie I knew would’ve fought a lion for someone she loved. What you did, I’d say, was in perfect character.”
What I did was extreme and off-the-charts crazy – but it was a lot more proactive than anything I’ve done in the past five years. I wonder quickly if acting crazy might be the only way to find your sanity.
The Secrets We Keep Page 16
