A Mother's Goodbye_A gripping emotional page turner about adoption and a mother's love

by Kate Hewitt

  Stella comes to my apartment when Isaac is at camp, and when I open the door she hugs me – hard at first, and then more gently.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, did that hurt?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I step back, trying to smile, moved by the tears trickling down Stella’s face and feeling my own crowd in my throat.

  ‘I’m a wreck, sorry. It’s just such a shock. Grace.’ She squeezes my arm. ‘How are you coping? What can I do to help?’

  ‘Come inside.’ I usher her into the kitchen and make tea while Stella slumps onto a stool.

  ‘I should be making the tea,’ she exclaims after a few seconds, springing up, full of panicky guilt. I wave her back down.

  ‘Stella, it’s okay. I like to do things while I can. Soon enough I won’t be able to.’ A tremor enters my voice and I focus on getting out the teabags and mugs. It’s been two and a half weeks since my surgery. Since my life started to end.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Stella blurts as I hand her a mug of tea. ‘I’m still in shock. I just can’t…’ She gulps and shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me if I say the wrong thing, I don’t mean to.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You seem so calm.’

  I shrug. ‘Numb, maybe. I’m trying not to think about it too much.’ I don’t know if that’s a good idea; some things have to be thought about. Dealt with.

  Stella shakes her head again as she takes a sip of tea. ‘I’m feeling so sad for myself,’ she admits after a moment. ‘How absolutely selfish of me.’ She glances up. ‘I know you don’t have family…’

  I wonder what she’s trying to ask. ‘No, it’s always just been me and Isaac.’ My voice wobbles and I blink hard. I hate thinking of him alone. But of course he won’t be alone if he’s with Heather.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Stella asks in a low voice, the question halting. ‘I mean, about Isaac?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ That sounds so awful to admit. My son’s whole future, and I’m dithering. ‘I think I’ll probably ask Heather, his birth mother, to be his guardian.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense.’ She releases a shuddery breath. ‘You know, if you needed me to… well, anything…’ She lets out an uncertain laugh. ‘Of course you might not want that.’

  I realize what she’s suggesting, and I am touched. ‘Oh, Stella.’ I reach over and squeeze her hand. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But Heather makes sense,’ Stella says quickly. ‘I understand. So will Isaac move out to New Jersey?’ She can’t quite keep it from sounding as if I’m consigning him to Antarctica, and that almost makes me smile.

  ‘Yes. I’m not sure how it will work.’ I’ve spent far too much time trying to figure it out, but my mind and heart both keep looping in endless circles. ‘I have a very good life insurance policy, and plenty of money in trust for Isaac. He’ll be provided for, no matter what.’ Heather and her family would have to move to a bigger house, but I’ve consulted my lawyer about the management of the trust fund, and what it could and couldn’t be used for.

  It feels a little bit like those good old days, when I was contributing to the household expenses when Heather was pregnant, only on a much bigger level. The McClearys could use my money for a new house, or for anything that would directly benefit Isaac, but my lawyer assures me it can be tightly managed, so no one can take advantage. Not that I think they would… except in my darker moments, I sort of do. I’ve pictured Kev getting his hands on my money to go to the racetrack, or Amy siphoning it off for God knows what, or Heather justifying using it to pay for some little extras, new shoes for her girls, a vacation for all of them. Then I ask myself if I’d mind. There’s enough money, God knows, for stuff like that, and I don’t really think Heather and Kevin are going to blow through my life savings. Still, it hurts. It’s hard to know after all these years, I’m going to have to hand her everything. The most generous thing I could do is make it a gift.

  ‘And what about school?’ Stella asks. ‘Will he have to leave Buckley?’

  ‘I’m still trying to figure that one out.’ He could stay where he is and the trust could be used for a driver back and forth, but I’m hesitant to do something like that. It will make Isaac seem like even more of a stranger in his community, but maybe there’s no avoiding that.

  But deep down I know the schools aren’t the problem. I know I need to let Heather take care of Isaac, but the truth is that I still don’t want him to be hers. He’s only seven. By the time he’s a teenager I’ll be a distant, blurry memory. Elizabeth will feel like his home. His sisters will seem like his sisters. And Heather will be his mom.

  These are thoughts that should ultimately comfort me, and sometimes they do, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they just make me feel like I’m losing even more than I thought I was.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do…’ Stella says. ‘I can have Isaac over, you know, whenever. Absolutely whenever.’

  I smile. ‘How about tomorrow, when I have to see my lawyer?’

  The next few weeks pass by all too quickly. Stella steps in, taking care of Isaac whenever I ask, and even arranging a special, cancer-oriented home spa day for me – a facial, massage, the whole works. Heather helps too, calling, texting, always in the background. And still I stall.

  Then, the first week of August, I decide I am feeling well enough to go on our annual trip to Cape Cod. I know I’m not well enough, however, to go alone with Isaac. I’m so tired, and my hand is still numb, my vision sometimes blurry. I don’t trust myself, and Dr. Stein has warned me that all these lovely symptoms are only going to get worse.

  I wish I could spend the week alone with Isaac; it feels so unbearably bittersweet, the last vacation we’ll ever have together, but the truth is I know I can’t. Stella would offer to go with me; Stella and Will together, and I’m tempted. But I know, deep down, who really needs to go with me. And so I call Heather.

  ‘I have a favor to ask.’

  ‘Of course,’ she says quickly. ‘Anything.’

  ‘Every year Isaac and I go to Cape Cod…’

  ‘Yes, he’s mentioned it. During your visits.’

  ‘Right.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I want to go this year. I’ve booked the cottage for next week.’

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘I want you to come with us.’ A thunderclap of silence greets this announcement. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, a whole week away from your family. But I think it would be good for Isaac…’ I pause, because I’m not ready to verbalize why. We can talk about that on the Cape.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Heather asks carefully. ‘Don’t you want to be alone with him…?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admit, ‘I do. But I can’t be. I’m not well enough. I need help, Heather. Your help.’

  We are both silent; I can hear her breathing. I know I am asking for a huge favor, just as I know she will do it. Of course she will. One thing I know, one thing I’ve always known, is that Heather will do whatever she needs to for Isaac.

  ‘I’ll need to talk to Kevin,’ she says. ‘Just to check. But I think I can. I mean, of course I can. I will.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, and Heather draws a quick, hitched breath.

  ‘Thank you,’ she answers, her tone heartfelt.

  We leave a week later, with Heather driving, me in the passenger seat covered in a blanket because I’ve been getting cold a lot recently and also I will need to sleep. But I’m going. Dr. Stein waved me off with a smile and a fistful of prescriptions for management of pain and the worst of my symptoms. I’m so drugged up it takes me twenty minutes to get through my pills. I’ve given Heather a schedule of all the doses, because sometimes I forget. My memory, along with everything else, is starting to slip.

  Isaac was nonplussed but accepting about Heather coming with us; I know, over the next week, I’ll need to let them spend time together. Logistically it won’t be hard, because I sleep so much anyway, and yet emotionally it will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Letting go of
my son.

  Heather seems tense and nervous as we drive away from my apartment building, the trunk loaded up with suitcases and sand buckets. A lot is weighing on this trip; the air feels heavy with the expectation to make every moment count. I crank up the music, just to lighten the mood.

  ‘This isn’t a dirge,’ I tell her, knowing Isaac won’t know what I mean. ‘We’re celebrating.’

  Heather gives me a quick smile of acknowledgment. ‘Okay,’ she says, and starts to sing along. By the time we cross the RFK Bridge, we’re all singing at the top of our lungs to Bruno Mars’ ‘Uptown Funk’, even Isaac. And I’m smiling, laughing even; feeling freer than I have since I can ever remember.

  Twenty-Eight

  HEATHER

  As the car eats up the miles my heart gets impossibly lighter. I came into this week desperate to get away from the tension at home and also knowing what a huge price I was paying.

  Over the last two weeks things have spiraled down and down, and I have felt helpless to stop it. After Kev blindsided me with the pregnancy test news, I sat slumped on the bed, staring at him.

  ‘Is she…?’

  ‘She refused to tell me.’

  I closed my eyes. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Just like we were.’ There was no humor or lightness in Kev’s voice; he sounded grim. ‘Except she’s two years younger.’

  ‘I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend.’ I felt faint, sick, all thoughts of Isaac vanished from my mind.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t.’

  ‘Should I talk to her…?’

  ‘Someone needs to.’

  It was late, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep without knowing, and so I pulled on my bathrobe and went in search of Amy. She was sitting on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, earbuds in. In the bed next to her Emma was curled up, already asleep.

  ‘Amy,’ I whispered. ‘Talk to me.’ She just shook her head without even taking out her earbuds. ‘Please.’ Still nothing, but I’d had enough. I crossed the room and stood in front of her, yanking out the earbuds with one quick jerk of the cord. She looked up at me, her eyes narrowed in anger, like a cat about to claw.

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ I kept my voice low even though Emma was asleep.

  ‘Do you really care?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Because it seems like all you care about is your darling boy Isaac.’

  I blinked, trying to absorb that accusation. ‘You know that’s not true,’ I said calmly. ‘The reason we gave him up was out of care and concern for you and your sisters.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Amy.’ I put my hand on her shoulder, letting her feel the weight of it. ‘Are you pregnant?’

  She blew out a breath, not looking at me. ‘No.’

  Relief poured through me, making me sag. ‘Okay.’ I tried to marshal my thoughts, figure out my next steps when the truth was I had no idea where I was going. ‘Do you… do you have a boyfriend?’

  She let out a hard huff of laughter. ‘No.’

  ‘Then…’

  ‘Grow up, Mom.’ Amy rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not like how it was with you and Dad, all lovey dovey underneath the bleachers, or whatever.’

  I blushed, because even now, nearly nineteen years later, I felt a little bit ashamed of my past. I got knocked up in high school. I did it the wrong way around. And I didn’t want that for any of my daughters.

  ‘Who is the boy, Amy?’

  ‘You don’t know him.’

  I felt like I was battering a brick wall. ‘Are you using birth control?’ I asked, although that wasn’t at all what I wanted to be saying. I wanted to beg her to hold on, to wait for someone she cared about, someone she could love; someone she could count on. I wanted to tell her I was sorry that she didn’t feel she could tell me, trust me. I wanted so much more for my daughter than what she had, or even what she wanted for herself.

  ‘Of course I’m using birth control,’ Amy said scornfully. ‘It was just the one time that I was worried about.’ Which made me wonder how many times she’s had sex, with how many boys. What kind of life was my little girl leading? I was so sad and swamped by this new information, this new Amy. I’d been closing my eyes to it all, telling myself she was only fifteen; surely she couldn’t be getting up to much? And now this.

  Things with Amy slumped to a standoff and so I tried to focus on other things. I called Grace several times over the next few weeks, just to check in, but I could sense she was trying to keep me at arm’s length, and in truth I didn’t mind all that much. Life felt difficult enough without adding our complicated dynamics to it.

  As for Isaac… I glance back at him now, curled up in the backseat, gazing out the window. I wonder how much he guesses. Fears. Over the last few weeks I’ve let myself imagine him in our house, the new, bigger house we’ll rent. I’ve looked up private schools in Elizabeth and have tried to picture how it will work. Somehow the pieces never quite seem to fit. But I can make them fit. Together, if he just gets on board, I know Kev and I can make it work for all four of our children.

  We backed out once before, when I was pregnant with Isaac. We said it was too hard, too much. I felt cornered, trapped by life, and I didn’t see any other way, but this time it can be different. It will be.

  Grace falls asleep as I drive, her head lolling back against her pillow. When she gave me the list of all the pills she has to take, I felt a lurch of panic. It suddenly occurred to me how in charge I was, how much she depended on me – to take care of her as well as Isaac.

  We arrive on the Cape in the later afternoon. Grace is asleep, but she stirs as we cross the Bourne Bridge and Isaac shouts in excitement.

  ‘We’re almost here!’

  I’ve never been to Cape Cod. I’ve never been out of the Tri-State area, except for that one trip to Florida. The traffic is a crawl and it gives me time to look around, but all I see is scrubby pines and stores and houses covered in shingle. I’m not quite sure what the attraction is, but whenever Grace has mentioned the Cape, her eyes light up and her expression turns all soft and dreamy.

  We drive for another twenty minutes or so before we get to Falmouth, and then Grace directs me down a narrow road that’s flanked by trees and houses so I can’t see much of anything.

  ‘Turn here,’ she instructs, and I pull the car into the drive of a house that is smaller than my own.

  ‘I know it’s not much,’ she says quickly, as if I’d complain, ‘but I love it. My dad took me here every summer since I was six years old.’

  ‘It looks great.’ I get out of the car and then help Grace, because I’ve noticed she struggles with this. She murmurs her thanks but then she gently shakes me off and walks slowly toward the cottage by herself, a pale, thin figure.

  The cottage is small and shingled, old and weather-beaten. The shutters need painting and one of them is askew. The grounds are nicely kept though, and as we walk around the house, I see right away why she loves it. There is a stretch of green grass, a couple of Adirondack chairs, and then mere steps to the beach and the ocean – all of it right there, vast and shimmering under a hazy blue sky. Grace walks toward the beach with slow, halting steps.

  ‘Isaac,’ she calls. ‘Isaac, come here.’ He trots up to her and she takes his hand. I stay back, letting them have this moment. Knowing they need it. Grace and Isaac walk hand in hand toward the ocean, the sun making the placid water dance with diamond lights. Isaac kicks off his sandals and Grace, with effort, slips off her pull-on Keds. Then I watch as, hand in hand, they step into the sea.

  Isaac starts jumping waves while Grace watches, the surf lapping around her ankles, and after a few moments I leave them to it, and go to empty the car. I call Kev after I’ve brought everything in, including a lasagna I made last night and brought from home. I pop it into the oven to warm as I listen to his cell ring.

  ‘Heather?’

  ‘We got here okay.’

  ‘Good.’

  I feel emotional, for
a whole lot of reasons. ‘I’m sorry, Kev,’ I whisper. ‘I know this is hard on you. A whole week…’

  ‘It’s hard on you,’ he says gruffly.

  ‘She’s so sick.’ I feel tears start in my eyes. ‘It’s so hard to see her like that. To know…’

  ‘How’s Isaac doing?’ He sounds even gruffer, which tells me how much he cares.

  ‘He seems okay, but I’m worried for him. Everything is going to change. No matter what, everything is going to change.’

  ‘I know.’ We haven’t talked about custody arrangements again. I haven’t dared, and Grace hasn’t actually said anything. As I turn toward the window and watch Grace and Isaac jumping through the waves, I realize I don’t know how I feel about anything any more. It doesn’t seem quite so obvious, so simple, right now.

  ‘How’s Amy?’ I ask, and Kev gives the verbal equivalent of a shrug. I sigh, and a few minutes later, we say goodbye.

  Grace comes in a little while later, looking completely worn out, but happy.

  ‘I might have overdone it a bit,’ she says as she carefully lowers herself into an armchair in the living room and closes her eyes. Outside Isaac is playing happily on the beach.

  ‘What can I get you?’ I ask.

  ‘Just a glass of water, please.’

  I fetch one and hand it to her. She looks so pale, her lips bloodless as she slowly sips. I glance around at the cottage; it seems even smaller on the inside – just one main living area with a ratty sofa, two armchairs, and a tiny TV, and a little kitchenette leading off it. The bedrooms are small too – one with a small double and another one with two twins. The bathroom looks like it hasn’t been redone since the Avocado Era of the 1970s.