Would I Lie to You

by Mary Lou Dickinson

  Selfish, an internal judge announced. Selfish beyond measure.

  Yes, Sue thought. This is about my child and what she might be feeling.

  Well, the judge intoned. You finally got it.

  “I needed to know something about you,” the younger woman said. “I don’t know where to begin though.”

  “You were born in this city, but not because I lived here,” Sue said. “I had relatives who did and this is where my mother sent me. I was sixteen. The boy never knew. He moved away from town not long after I returned. He didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

  “I want to know about you.”

  “Health?”

  “Yes. And did you have other children? Do I have any half-brothers or sisters?”

  At that point, Sue knew she was going to disappoint the younger woman. What could she tell her that would give her a sense of connection? Here she was with only a deceased husband, a stepson she had not known about, and a married lover. Sue saw her life through this woman’s eyes and found it wanting.

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t.” She wanted to say that losing her baby was so huge that she could never face having another child. But she could not utter it out loud, the disappointment kept at bay for most of her life. Instead, she asked Gwen if she had any brothers and sisters.

  “Yes. I grew up in a large family,” Gwen said. “I’m the oldest and the only one who was adopted. My father was a pilot. He died three years ago. I miss him. My mother is still alive. She lives in Kincardine.”

  “Does she know you’re meeting with me?”

  “Yes. She knew I wanted to find you. She always said she understood. She told me what she could about your background, but it isn’t the same as hearing it from you.”

  There was something detached, almost clinical, about Gwen’s demeanour. Sue wondered if she, too, was trying to restrain her emotions. There was no script for most situations of moment in one’s life. There certainly was not for this one.

  “Gwen Bennett,” Sue whispered.

  “What would you have called me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Surely you must have thought of names when you were pregnant.”

  “Naming you never occurred to me. You were whisked away the moment you were born. I never saw you. But Gwen is a lovely name.”

  “Yes. It’s one of my mother’s names.”

  Sue tried not to show any reaction, but she tightened her lips slightly. “Do you have children?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I suppose I thought of names the way a teenaged girl would. The movie stars. Something a little unusual. There wasn’t anything like ultrasound then that told you whether your child would be a boy or a girl.”

  “It must have been awful for you.”

  “When I felt you rolling around inside me that frightened me. I scarcely knew how you got there, although I did know. I remember hearing my mother call to see if I could go to Toronto to stay with some of her relatives. She didn’t know I was listening.”

  Sue could hear her mother’s voice clearly: “This is a big mess,” she had said into the telephone. “I never thought Sue would get into this kind of trouble.” But Sue did not tell Gwen that, or that she had thought of her situation in that way also.

  “How long did you stay in Toronto?” Gwen asked.

  “Five months. I went back north a week after you were born. I never had a chance to talk to anyone. There were absences of other girls when I was in high school. If anyone was gone for five months or so, you always knew why.”

  “I have three children,” Gwen said. “A boy and two girls.”

  “Are you married? A single parent?”

  “Married. The children are actually young teenagers. I’ve worked most of their lives. I’ve been fortunate to do a lot of it from home.”

  “Are you happy?’

  “I am really. Although I looked for you because not knowing where I came from, there was this void, you know,” Gwen said, brushing her hair back off her forehead. “I always wondered. I didn’t look like either of my parents or any of my brothers or sisters. They’re all fair and I have this dark, curly hair.” She shook her head as if to emphasize what she was saying. “I’m smaller than they are. Our interests are different. Not that I thought about it every day. But I did think about it.”

  “I wish I’d looked for you sooner, but I didn’t think it would be fair to you,” Sue said, knowing she might be making excuses for herself. “And I guess I’ve lived in a shell of sorts, putting my life into compartments,” she acknowledged. “I didn’t have much choice about it for the longest time.”

  She could see Gwen was looking beyond her. Sue studied her eyes as if there would be a reflection there of what the younger woman saw. A hand touched her shoulder from behind and a male voice said, “Sue.” Looking up, she saw Martin and realized it was he who had distracted Gwen.

  “I’ve been meaning to call to see how you’re doing,” he said.

  “Hello, Martin. I’m doing fine,” she said, a little irritated at this unexpected intrusion. But she knew it was not intended that way. If she had noticed Martin and he had ignored her she would have felt worse. “This is Gwen. Gwen, my friend, Martin. Also Jerry’s friend. Jerry was my husband.”

  “Hello, Gwen.”

  Sue hoped Martin had something pressing to do and would not linger. She would not tell him Gwen was her daughter. How could she do that? This woman had never experienced her as her mother.

  “When can you come over?” Martin asked.

  “I’ll call Emily later,” she said. “I’m sorry I haven’t sooner.” She was glad that Martin did not seem to remember that she had suggested entertaining them in her home. “I’ve been busier than I expected to be. There’s a lot of catching up to do when the time comes. I’m surprised to see you out here on the Danforth.”

  “Business,” he said. “I’m just picking up a cake now, to take home for dessert.”

  “Nice to see you.”

  “Glad to meet you, Gwen,” he said.

  Gwen nodded. She watched the interaction like someone who was looking at an unfamiliar topographical map. The quizzical look, then the concentration to absorb new information. She did not appear to be at an understanding yet of what she was viewing, but how could she be? As Martin moved away, Sue turned her attention to Gwen again.

  “Jerry died of cancer almost two years ago,” she said. “I married late. He never knew about you. No one did. Until now. Jerry also had a child I never knew about. His name is Thomas. He lost his own mother just before Jerry died and came looking for Jerry.”

  That’s enough, Sue, she told herself, surprised at how her words seemed to have run away from her. She felt as if she had been babbling.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” Gwen said. “I want to know about you. You haven’t had an easy life, have you?”

  “Well, I’ve never thought about it that way. But I haven’t really looked at it very clearly until recently and when I did I realized I wanted to meet you.” She knew that was why she had avoided reflection on the past because buried there had always been the reality of this daughter. Her mother had been wrong to make her keep such a secret. Maybe some day she would be able to forgive her for acting as she had. It was surely what people referred to as “the times.” You could not judge that kind of action by the same standards you acquired as you went through life. That old saying about hindsight surely applied to the discovery of her daughter and how she might have looked for her earlier.

  “I would rather you didn’t tell your friends just yet,” Gwen said. “And not this Thomas either.”

  Those words would keep coming back to haunt Sue. Was Thomas, whose existence she had doubted, going to be an impediment for Gwen in letting Sue acknowledge and get to know her daughter?
But she owed her daughter something. Surely, she owed her, at the very least, the respect of agreeing to what Gwen was asking of her.

  “All right,” Sue said. “What is it you’d like from me?”

  “I need time to think about all of this,” Gwen said. “And I’d rather you didn’t try to contact me for now.”

  Sue drew in her breath as if she had been punctured. The words came out of no where, altering the rapport they seemed to have been building. “I do understand. And I don’t entirely.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that. I can’t expect you to. But I’ve waited a long time and now I need a bit more time. When I want to see you again, I’ll contact you.”

  “Did I do something?”

  Gwen shook her head. “No, it’s not about you.”

  But it felt to Sue as if it must be.

  “All right,” she said. “Take as long as you need.”

  *

  Even though Gwen thought her childhood had been almost idyllic, there were differences she imagined would not have existed had she grown up in a biological family. When she started to wonder about that other family, she had received love and support from the parents who had adopted her, making whatever route she chose to follow as easy as they could. Sybil Bennett was as good a mother to her as anyone could have been, but Gwen had wondered sometimes about where she came from. It might even have been easier to wonder about that when she had loved almost fiercely the father who had raised her, who had loved her as much as all his other children. Sometimes, it seemed, even more. They had shared a bond through a similar wry sense of humour. She could not imagine people anywhere who could have been kinder or more loving than Jim and Sybil Bennett. Not perfect, but almost.

  She was distracted by bright colours in a flower shop and stopped to look. A bouquet of white daisies with yellow centres caught her eye and she reached for them. Then, carrying the daisies, she walked along the Danforth toward home.

  Closing the front door behind her, Gwen let her bags drop to the floor. She breathed a huge sigh as she sat down at her computer in the small office where she wrote articles for magazines and newspapers. Here, in this house, she knew who she was. A writer, yes, but far more than that. Here, she was Tony’s wife and a mother of three. She had parents and brothers and sisters with whom she had spent all of her life before meeting Tony, with whom she had ties that were based on that shared history, but how could she appreciate who she was entirely without knowing her birth parents? This lack had plagued her for a long time. Her mom had assured her she thought it a natural curiosity. Even necessary. Yet Gwen had sometimes worried that it might destroy all her bearings.

  A breeze wafted through a window and she went out to the kitchen to open it wider. The flowers would look stately in a tall vase she found in the cupboard, a wedding present that had been given to them eighteen years earlier. She set it down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the family room. Both rooms looked out over a vegetable garden and a small birdbath.

  Gwen had explained to the children about her birth mother. They loved their Grandma and had been baffled by the thought that Gwen might have another mother. As soon as she had a cup of tea, she would phone Tony to tell him about the meeting. Still somewhat aggravated by it, but unsure why, she went through the steps of making tea in the kitchen as if on autopilot.

  At her desk again, she put down her mug and took out a sheaf of paper and scribbled some notes. A poem, perhaps. She was not sure. She hid such jottings in a drawer, always locked with a small key, her secret other life. What if she had been born to a hooker? Or a nuclear physicist? These things should not matter, but her vivid imagination painted pictures even her dreams could not envision. So these unfinished scraps expressed some of her quandaries.

  All these years of dreaming of finding her mother to find a woman without other children, only the son of a deceased husband she had not met till recently, Gwen thought. The stark reality of this woman’s life was not anything like she had imagined it might be. Would she be less uneasy if Sue had a son or a daughter, or perhaps both, who shared genes with her abandoned child? Gwen had never thought of herself as that before and tried to obliterate the thought for fear it reflected on the mom she had called by that name all of her life. She was not even sure she wanted to see Sue again.

  Mulling over these thoughts, she went down to the family room where both the rowing machine and stationary bicycle looked formidable. These were machines Tony used, neither being her preferred form of exercise. A pair of sweats hung on a hook on the wall. She reached for them, then pulled on a pair of running shoes, wishing all the while they had a treadmill.

  Tony found her sitting on the bicycle when he came downstairs half an hour later. Her hair was dripping.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  She got up slowly, her eyes glazed. “Ah well,” she said. “How much easier life must be to know one’s roots clearly.”

  He nodded. “How did it go?”

  “I meant to call you.”

  “But?”

  “I just needed to think. Or not think more likely.”

  He put his arm around her. “Where are the kids?”

  “They’re staying late at school,” she said. “A project for Ted. Catherine has a swim class. I think Sybil said she was going to a coffee shop with her friends. You’re early, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I thought you might want to talk.”

  She nodded.

  “Want a drink?” he asked.

  “That, too.”

  7.

  THE SUBWAY STATION at Broadview was milling with people of all ages and colours. As the train drew into the station, Sue found a place near the door so she would not be crushed in the rush to get on the train. As they crossed the bridge over the green expanse of the Don River and the ribbons of highways below, she stared at the tall buildings near the lake further south. She almost missed her stop and when she emerged was unaware of the familiar shops, did not even greet a man at the corner whom she knew well because he sat there every day, a pale blanket draped around his shoulders. She always smiled or said hello, calling him by name, whether she gave him change or not. This time she only thought of it too late.

  The route to the house was so familiar that she followed the tree-lined street without seeing it either. Gwen probably would not want to see her again, she thought, and wondered if her daughter would have been more receptive if she had acknowledged how much pain losing her had caused. But the truth was that Sue had been relieved not to have to look after a baby. Although she had wanted to see and hold her, she had wanted all the other possibilities strung out ahead of her to remain intact. “I’m sorry Gwen Bennett,” Sue whispered as she put the key in the lock of her own front door. “I’m sorry.” Meeting her daughter now felt almost as difficult as the birth had been. Protected by her family then, the only apparent repercussion until now were all the years of her silence. Yet she would have been a different woman if she had never had this child.

  From the front hall, Sue could hear the answering machine taking a message. It sounded like Hans’s voice. She rushed to the kitchen to pick up the receiver. “Hang on,” she said. “I’m here.”

  “I’ve been worried about you,” Hans said. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really.” At the very least, she was preoccupied with a reality that was now tangible and it felt like it could take a long time to absorb.

  “You saw her.”

  “How do you know? I mean, yes.”

  “And it didn’t go well.” He said this as if he were telling rather than asking her.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have warned you it might start off badly.”

  Sue sat down on the chair at the counter and leaned on one elbow. Tears formed in her eyes but did not fall. Until Jerry’s illness, so much had seemed simple. But if she sa
id so Hans would likely say that was based on what they had chosen not to share with each other.

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “I have to mark papers,” she said.

  “Do you want to take a walk and drop by for a hug before you start in on them?”

  “Yes,” Sue agreed. “That’s a good idea.”

  *

  Surprised with the intensity of Hans’s hug when he beckoned her into his office, Sue could feel heat rising between them. Uncomfortable that someone might see through the sheer curtains in his window, she still did not move away. Soon, a client would enter the waiting room on the other side of the wall. But what difference did her relationship with Hans make to anyone? She thought somewhat uneasily of Heather, far away in England and likely to remain there, when Hans pulled away abruptly.

  “Oh my God,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Time for an appointment.”

  She stepped back, glancing at the clock. Smoothed her clothes. “What I really want is a chance to talk with you,” she said. “Can you come by the house later?”

  He did not say anything.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Heather’s back.”

  “You’re kidding,” she said.

  “No, it’s true,” he said. “She came back early.”

  “Why do you let me get involved and then drop Damocles sword on me?” She grabbed her bag from the floor near the door, her red jacket and yellow bicycle helmet on top. Seizing them, she stormed down the stairs and unlocked her bicycle from the rail of the porch.

  “Sue,” Hans called as he came out the door.

  She pretended she did not hear him as she rode away down the side street toward Bloor. She never wanted to see him again.

  “He’s a jerk,” she muttered. “A jerk and a jackass.”

  “Sue,” Hans’s voice followed her.

  She did not pay any attention. A man who could not make up his mind was not what she wanted. Rather one who put his hand just under her left shoulder blade to lead her effortlessly through whatever the music was asking for. A waltz. The rumba. The tango. She wanted to sail around the floor in the arms of this beautiful dancer, their steps in unison and their movement graceful. This was just not happening. They tripped over each other’s feet depending on whether he was available or not. For a while, his attention had flattered her. She had enjoyed the flowers. The humour. The professions of attraction he had uttered. She should have taken the way Heather kept turning up in his conversation as an omen. Now here I am, she thought. Rejected by both my daughter and my lover.