by Han Nolan
I see a light on in my cabin, and I go over and open the door. I find Lam on the couch, leaning over my trunk/coffee table, sniffing cocaine.
"Great, really great, Lam," I say.
He holds out his rolled-up dollar bill to me. "You want? You're not pregnant anymore. You're free. You can have anything you want now. I've got some beer. It's kinda warm but—"
"What I want is our daughter," I say. "I want Emma Rose."
Lam leans back over the trunk and finishes his line. Then he blinks at me. "You shouldn't have named her," he says. "She's going to get a new name, anyway. Someone will rename her."
"I think I hate you."
"No, you don't." He smiles and flips his bangs out of his eyes. "That social worker called here. She said I have ten days to decide if I want the baby." He leans back on the couch.
"I want her," I say. I take a step farther into the room.
Lam spreads his arms out on the back of the sofa and stares at the ceiling. "Go ahead. I'm not stopping you. Figures we'd create a damaged baby, huh? I never thought of that happening, but I should have guessed."
"She's not damaged. She's perfect. Did you and your parents even look at her? Did you even meet your daughter? She's beautiful, just like we thought she'd be, and she does have your eyes and she does have my mouth, so there. She's us, you—you..."
I just want to kick him, but he's too stoned to care, so what's the use? I march past him and go to his ugly chest of drawers. I yank open the drawer and pull out all my clothes. "And by the way, this is the ugliest piece of furniture I've ever seen in my life!"
"Hey, don't knock it," Lam says. "I found it at the town dump. I got it for free."
"Town dump? Well, it smells like it, that's for sure. What a loser, Lam. You're such a loser."
Lam nods. "Yeah, so my parents keep telling me."
That makes me stop. I feel for Banner's necklace and press my thumb into her thumbprint. "Hey, look, I didn't mean it, Lam. You're okay. You just have to get off the stuff. You need to get clean. You're great. All the campers think you're so hot. And you know I'll always love you. You're my first love and the father of Emma Rose—you'll always be important to me. You're important, Lam. Your parents think so, too, and that's why they're so upset. They need you, even if you never take over this camp. They need you."
Lam acts like he hasn't heard me. He turns his head and checks out the skin around his thumb. "So I guess we ought to get a divorce and move on to the next exciting chapter of our lives," he says, sounding bored.
I don't know why it should, but it makes me sad to think of divorcing Lam. What a disaster our marriage has been from day one. What a total mess.
"Yeah, okay." I go over to the couch and dump a pile of my clothes onto the seat. "I'm sorry how it turned out, Lam," I say. "I don't blame you, you know. It just was never right."
He turns his head and looks at me. "So, I guess it's you and Ziggy, huh?"
"No. No, it's me and nobody. Ziggy was never really interested in me. I was just some kind of fantasy trip for him." As I say this, I realize it's true. It's one of those truths I know deep inside before I realize I know it. It's only speaking it now that I understand.
"Sorry, El." Lam sniffs and runs his finger through his bangs to shove them out of his face. "So, I'll have my peeps get in touch with your peeps, okay? For the divorce?"
"Sure, Lam. Okay, well"—I look about the room—"I'll come by tomorrow and pick up everything, all right?"
"Okay by me," he says.
I go over and kiss him on the cheek, and Lam's hand brushes mine. We both smile, and I know we've forgiven one another. For what? For marrying, I suppose, and making such a mess of it all. Then I turn and leave.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I GET BACK to the main cabin, and everybody's hanging around having a snack of the usual carrot and celery sticks, apple slices, and iced Red Zinger, but the night is winding down. I find my parents and tell them I want to say goodbye to the campers. Then I go around saying goodbye and thanks, and I love you, and be good, and I'll miss you, and all that, and I mean every bit of what I'm saying. I want to keep all the campers with me. I want to see them grow up and find out what happens to them all. I want to come back next summer, but I doubt the soon-to-be-ex-ILs would be too thrilled to hear that.
It's a big tear-fest for everybody as we all go around saying our goodbyes. I look for Ziggy, but I can't find him. Finally I go over to Leo. I've saved him for last.
"Thanks for everything, Leo," I say. "You've been so good to me. You are the best counselor and the best kind of friend."
Leo hugs me. "We'll keep in touch, Elly, won't we?"
"Yeah, I'll let you know my address when I know it. I'll tell the Lothrops. Oh, and Leo, I haven't told anybody, but I'm going to keep my baby."
Leo looks surprised and maybe happy. He pulls me over into a corner so we can talk better. "Elly, how? That's wonderful. Are you sure?"
I laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure. I don't know how. I mean, I know it sounds impossible, but I've got ten days to get a job and find a place to live, and I'm going to do it. I am. If I can do that, then maybe my parents will realize I'm not just being contrary or stubborn. I'm serious about this. Tonight has reminded me of something I've only just realized this summer, that I'm really good with kids, and I like that I matter to these campers. I want to matter to Emma Rose, too. I want to give her a good life."
Leo looks worried.
"I know, I know, taking care of older campers for a little while and all isn't the same as caring for and—and providing for a brand-new baby. But so what? Everybody keeps telling me that Emma Rose will be too much work and I can't handle it and all that crap, but how do they know that? Why is everybody always so good at predicting my future? How do they know I can't handle it? I'm the only one who really knows what's in me. Anyway, the social worker believes in me. She does," I say, when I see Leo raise his brows.
"So I have to work hard. So what? I can do that when I put my mind to it. So it will be a struggle. So what? Emma Rose is worth it. So she has Down syndrome. Perfect! I think she's just perfect for me. And I'm going to be perfect for her."
"Okay, Elly, okay," Leo says. "I'm on your side. Let me know how I can help, all right?" He pulls one of his Sharpies out of his back pocket, and he asks me to sign his shirt and write down my cell phone number on it. Then he writes his on my hand, and it's time to say goodbye.
"Okay, well, if you know of any job that I can get where I can bring Emma Rose with me or anything like that, or if you find one, let me know."
"I'll scour the papers every day for the next ten days," Leo says. He smiles, but he looks concerned.
I don't blame him. It sounds impossible, but there has to be a way. There just has to be, because I know, I just know with everything I have, that I can give Emma Rose a good life.
***
So the days zoom by. My parents are making plans for me to go with them back to Kenya, and they're leaving before the ten days are up. They're leaving on day eight. Clearly they have no second thoughts about staying home.
We pick up all my stuff at the cabin and say our final good-byes and thanks to the Lothrops. My mom says we ought to try to sell all the baby stuff, and that's when I tell them I'm planning on staying here and keeping the baby.
So, you can imagine the scene. Once again Elly is being stubborn and unreasonable. Once again I'm doing the wrong thing instead of the right thing. Once again my mom has shut down, and she's so calm it's scary, while my dad is pitching a fit. "Eleanor, we've been through all this before! How can you be so naive as to think that you could possibly handle a baby—any baby, all on your own? It's out of the question. You're coming with us to Kenya, and that's the end of it."
I kind of wish I were stoned, because it would be a lot easier to deal with my parents, but that part of my life is over. I have to think of Emma Rose. I'm living my life for Emma Rose now, and knowing this gives me courage and hope. I let my parents think wha
t they want, but they see me every day poring over the help-wanted ads in the paper. The only kind of job I can get is at a McDonald's or KFC, or some part-time drug store job. I look at the ads for places to live, and even here in Rumford the few places that are available to rent are too expensive for me. I look at the cost of diapers and baby food, and it's ridiculous how much those things cost. I figure I'll have to buy cloth diapers and wash them by hand. But how will I have time for that, plus care for Emma Rose and get a job, and pay for gas and food and daycare, oh, and go to school? I go round and round and get nowhere, and the days keep flying by.
I call Leo, who's back at the University of Maine in Augusta doing his ceramics, and he says he's been looking but he hasn't found anything. I ask him if maybe his parents would like to be foster parents to Emma Rose until I can find something. I'm desperate and he knows it, because he can hear it in my voice, but he says no. "They're having some big trouble with Ted, my eleven-year-old brother. They've said an even dozen is it for them. I'm sorry, Elly."
"Does your mom need any help? Maybe I could live there and just kind of help out?"
"She couldn't pay you," Leo says. "But that's not a bad idea. Becoming a live-in nanny or something," he says, his voice brightening.
"Yeah, it's not. Now I just need to find someone in Rumford—ha, ha—who needs a live-in nanny, and who will hire me plus Emma Rose."
"I'll keep looking," Leo says.
Nothing happens. Nothing! I feel so desperate. There's nothing for me in the papers. Leo checks the Internet, and there's nothing there, either.
My parents want to take me to the agency to sign the forms giving up my rights to Emma Rose.
"We're leaving in the morning," they say. "Come on, Elly, you aren't going to find anything at this late date. You've said your goodbyes; it's time to let the baby go now."
"The baby? The baby? She's not the baby; she's my baby. She's my baby! She's your granddaughter. I don't get it. I don't get how you can turn your backs on her. How? How?"
"Calm down, Elly. Just calm down," my dad says, glancing around our hotel room as if he's expecting spies to be behind the doors or something.
"No, really! You've always been there for the orphans. You always have time for them, but when is it ever time for me?"
"We've given you everything, Elly, now, come on, enough of this." My dad looks tired. I know I'm being hard on him. I'm just so frustrated, though.
I try to calm down and speak in a normal tone of voice. "Okay, you gave me everything. You gave me everything Sarah got, everything but you—your time. Your attention."
This wakes my mother up. She glares at me from the bed, where she's been sitting with her arms crossed, not even looking at me. But I say this, and she's alert. I've accused her of doing something wrong. "Do you really think you've needed us more than those poor children?" she asks.
"Yeah, Mom. Yeah! And I know you've always made me feel guilty for feeling this way. I shouldn't need you, not when there are AIDS babies that need you more. Well, guess what? I did need you, and I do need you now. I need you now!"
I wipe at my eyes, where tears are threatening to spill out, and I think of Banner always wiping at tears even when they weren't there.
"Sarah's ten years older than I am. Sarah was almost all grown up before you ever even went to Kenya. She was nineteen and I was just nine when I lost my parents to the AIDS babies."
"Come on, let's not be dramatic, Eleanor," Dad says. He gets up from the chair he's been sitting in and goes to stand in front of the window overlooking the Androscoggin River. He looks thin and old. I've never thought of him as looking old before, but the wrinkly skin on his elbows looks like something off an elephant.
I close my eyes. "Why can't you do this for me? Why can't you stay home for me? Why can't you help me raise my baby? Why are you being like this?" I open my eyes and glare at my mother. "Is it because I did wrong? I wasn't supposed to get pregnant. I've been a bad girl. That's it, isn't it?"
I can see by the look in my mom's eyes that I've nailed it. I've totally nailed it.
"Oh, yeah. You don't reward a bad girl by helping her fix her mistake, right? Well, this mistake is a human being! Don't punish her because of me. Do it for Emma Rose. If you can't do it for me, do it for her."
"Maybe you're right, Elly," my mother says in this eerily calm, monotone voice. "Maybe there is a bit of punishment in our decision. Why should we constantly pay for and be punished by your mistakes? We're tired of it. You obviously have no idea what you've put us through over the years. Still, if that's all it was, a punishment, then we'd get past it and do the right thing. But Elly, to put it as plainly as we can, we don't want to parent a Down syndrome child. Even part-time. We have our work. We need to do what we feel is right for us. Working with the orphans in Kenya is our calling."
"Yeah, well, I believe Emma Rose is mine. She needs me, and I want to be there for her. I'm as committed to raising her as you are to your orphans."
I might as well have saved my breath. My parents aren't budging. I guess I should have known they wouldn't, but I had to try one more time. They tell me that it's time to go to lunch, and after that we'll go to the agency and sign the papers.
I refuse to go to lunch with my parents. I'm way too depressed. While they're gone I pack my bags for Kenya, but my mind is still racing. There has to be something.
I'm in the bathroom washing the tears off my face when my cell phone rings, and it's Leo.
"I've found a job I think you might be interested in."
"Oh, yeah?" I say, without much hope. "What is it?"
"It's in Andover, not too far away, and it's a live-in position, so it's just what you were looking for."
"Yeah? What would I have to do? Never mind, I'll do it. Whatever it is. What's the number? What's the address?"
Leo gives me all the information, and I thank him and we hang up. I start dialing the number, but then I stop. How could I possibly explain myself over the telephone? "Hi, I'm sixteen and I have a Down syndrome baby and I want to live in your house and take care of you." Right, that would go over well. I don't know why I think it will go over any better in person, but I figure it's my only chance, so I go for it. I leave a note for my parents and take Rambo, the old hunk-a-junk car we're supposed to turn over to a junk man today, and I drive to Andover. It's a beautiful drive with mountains and fields all along the way. I speed along Route 5, and I slow as I get into Andover. I see Church Street. That's the address Leo gave me. I find the house. It's like a picture-book house, white with green shutters. I see a car parked in the front. I pull into the driveway and get out. I'm shaking. I know this is my only chance. I have to get this job.
I ring the doorbell and wait. While I'm waiting, I check out the yard. The grass is overgrown, and there are flowers, but the weeds that have grown up everywhere are choking them. There's an old swing set that's rusty and lopsided, but I can imagine Emma Rose on it. I could get some Rust-Oleum and paint it, and straighten it somehow, and then I could push Emma Rose on the swing, and catch her when she goes down the slide.
I wonder about the kids I'll be taking care of in this house. What kind of parents would let their kids swing on a falling-down set like that one? Or are the kids older now? Why would I need to take care of older kids? I'm so nervous now my teeth start to chatter. What am I walking into?
There's no answer, so I push the doorbell again, but I don't hear a ring, so then I knock.
Finally the door opens, and there's a lady standing in front of me with her hair in goo, and she's got on latex doctor's gloves that have goo all over them, too. Then I realize it's not a lady, it's the MIL! It's Mrs. Lothrop!
"Mrs. Lothrop? What are you doing here?"
"I'm visiting my mother. What are you doing here?"
"I—I don't know. Leo told me to come. I—I guess he made a mistake or something."
I swear I'm going to kill Leo the next time I see him. What kind of joke is this?
"Leo? I
don't understand?" the MIL says.
"I'm looking for a job. A live-in position. Leo gave me this address." My heart has sunk all the way through the ground. I didn't know I could feel any lower than I already felt, but this disappointment is too much. Mrs. Lothrop of all people.
The MIL is dabbing at her forehead trying to keep her goop from running. "My mother's looking for a live-in nurse, but you aren't a nurse," she says. "And I don't know how Leo could have known about it, because I haven't advertised for the position yet. And anyway, my mother's in a wheelchair. She needs to be lifted in and out of it. She needs to be bathed and someone to cook her meals."
"I can do that! I can cook and clean and I'm stronger than I look. And, don't worry, I'm not quitting school. I plan to study at home and get my GED."
Leo suggested this idea, and I thought it was a good one. I could stay home with Emma Rose if I studied online instead of going to school.
"Please, Mrs. Lothrop, I'm desperate. I've got to keep Emma Rose. She's your granddaughter. Did you even look at her? Did you see her and touch her and smell her little head?"
The MIL closes her eyes and backs away from me, waving her hand in front of her face. "No! No, I won't go through that again." She opens her eyes and draws her brows together. "Eleanor, don't set yourself up for that kind of pain. Believe me, let the agency place her with a good home. Let her go. I'm telling you it will be far less painful than having to do it later."
I stand there with my mouth hanging open. Less painful? She has no idea what I'm going through.
"But she's not going to die. Just because your child died, it doesn't mean Emma Rose will."
The MIL has closed her eyes again, and I realize it's over.
She starts to shut the door, but she pauses a second. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. You'd better go on now," she says. "Goodbye." Then she closes the door in my face.
I can't move. I've just lost Emma Rose—again. The tears roll down my face. I think about having to go to Kenya. I think about helping at the orphanage. How can I work with those children, knowing someone else is taking care of my baby? Maybe Emma Rose will never be adopted. Maybe she'll live out her life in an orphanage. How ironic would that be? No, I can't go to Kenya. I won't.
