Dear Carolina

by Kristy W Harvey

  I could feel the panic rise through my body. He was going to ask me to carry his child. I loved Scott, and he had been one of my best friends for years. But I couldn’t bear the thoughts of forming a nine-month bond with a child and then being separated. Praise God, my sister and Charlie—for whom I would have carried a child—already had children and didn’t want them, respectively.

  Scott smiled. “Does hubby have any other teenaged, knocked-up, alcoholic cousins we could help out?”

  I laughed, the tension melting away like the fluffy top of my drink. I took another sip and said, “Unfortunately, the rest of the childbearing-aged family is free from addiction.” I thought back to my conversation with Daniel a few months earlier and added, “Daniel told me surrogacy is really in right now.”

  Scott ran his finger through his hair, and said, “Yeah. That’s Plan B. But we both feel very strongly that one of our callings as a couple is to love and nurture a child that needs a home and a better life.”

  I could feel the tears rise to my eyes, when, fortunately, Scott pointed to my belly and added, “Maybe we could take one of yours off your hands. Poor kids won’t get any attention.”

  We both laughed, but, through my laughter, I thought of you, my bright-eyed, beautiful little angel. I leaned over and patted Scott’s hand. “All I know, honey,” I said, “is that when you least expect it, God will bring you the rest of your family.” I winked at him. “And then you’ll understand why I’m so crazy.”

  Jodi

  ALWAYS

  If I had my pick a’ things, you can bet your bottom dollar I’d pick somethin’ fresh over somethin’ canned any day of the week. Most of my regulars at the farmer’s market, they’d get to agreeing with me—’cept when it comes to green beans. Green beans, they sell canned two to one over fresh.

  That got me to thinking that maybe I’d be able to keep going to that market dern near all year long. Mostly, once October hit and it started getting right colder, we had to pack it up. But thinkin’ about all that time to myself, not having much a’ nothing to do, it got me to worrying. I was feeling pretty good again, not wantin’ to drink so much all the time. I didn’t want nothing to get in the way a’ that—’specially not me having too much free time.

  I couldn’t sleep one night, just staring up at the water ring on the ceiling, worryin’ about fall crops and Graham not planting none and me not having nothing to do all that long, cold winter ’cept hole up in the trailer with a bottle. So I just got on up real early, pulled on my rain boots over my pajama pants, and got to walking. I didn’t have to wonder where Graham was. That tractor was whirring in the distance, loud and clear like a train announcing its return to the station. It weren’t Graham I got to first, though; it was Buddy. I wanted to run away and hide looking a mess like I was, not a stitch a’ makeup on, not so much as a brush through my hair.

  He waved, turned off the engine, pulled his glasses off, and ran his hands through that fine, thick head a’ hair. He coulda been in a Pert Plus commercial. Or John Deere. It were a deadly combination for a country girl. And it got me to thinkin’ that wanting to do the farmer’s market all year round had as much to do with Buddy as with my drinking.

  “You miss me while you were in New York?” he asked, winking.

  That red was running right up my cheeks, giving me away. Weren’t a damn thing I could do ’bout it. Pull it together, Jodi. I wanted to be real clever and quick on my feet, fire something back kinda flirtatious and tough all rolled into one. But the best I could come up with was, “You miss me?”

  He grinned. “Always.”

  I put my hand up to my forehead like I were shading the early-morning sun. But I was really hiding my ruby slipper face.

  “Puh-lease,” I said. I was like a grade-school girl again, my first crush leaning against my locker making my heart get to flutterin’. “I just need to see Graham.”

  “Well, climb on up, darlin’,” he said.

  My mouth kinda dropped.

  “What? I didn’t figure you as too prissy to ride a tractor.”

  I fluffed my hair. It didn’t do no good. Never, ever walk out of the house again looking like a hag.

  I got to climbing on the tractor, near about fallin’ out when Buddy held my hand to help me. Oh my Lord, I prayed so hard he couldn’t smell my dirty hair. I got to figuring the fresh grass clippings and diesel fuel was smelling stronger than me.

  He cranked the engine right hard, wrapped his arm real tight around my waist, and whispered, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

  Too late. That tan arm all tight ’round my waist, it were too much for any girl not to fall, really. I was so far into my fantasies of Buddy and me splashing in the ocean, lying in the sand, reciting vows . . . When I could make out Graham in the distance all my worries ’bout them fall crops had floated on by like a bubble in the wind.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said. I climbed down real slow.

  Buddy, he didn’t let go a’ my hand when my feet hit the ground. He grinned. “I took the long way.”

  “You damn well better stay away from my cousin,” Graham called over the roar a’ his tractor. He killed the engine, his earplugs dangling ’round his neck.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Buddy called back, winking at me.

  As he drove away, Graham said, “So, something going on there I need to know about?”

  My brain, it couldn’t stop my mouth. “Oh my Lord, I hope so.”

  We both got to laughin’ like our hearts ain’t never been broken. “He’s always giving me a hard time, that’s all.”

  I waited a long minute, crossing my fingers that Graham would say Buddy must really like me. But he just nodded.

  “Anyway, I’m here ’bout the fall crops.”

  Graham looked skeptical because we both know fall crops ain’t really his specialty. He smiled. “Well, then looks like this’ll be a pretty short conversation.”

  “Just hear me out, all right?”

  He nodded.

  “I was just thinkin’ that the way I been selling so many a’ them cans, maybe it’d make sense to keep going through the fall. If we could just plant some onions and cabbage and cucumbers and maybe do some lettuces and collards and kohlrabi, we could still have some fresh stuff to sell at the market. And maybe the Piggly Wiggly’d be interested since they buy our stuff in summer. But then I could make pickles and sauerkraut and fermented vegetables and all that good stuff.”

  Graham’s face got all twisted up like he ate some bad oysters or somethin’, and I started to realize how hot it was getting. “Jodi, you know I’d do anything for you, but . . .” He jumped off his tractor, dust flying out from under his boots. “I’m just not sure we can justify that. It’s a lot of work taking care of all this land.”

  I nodded. “I know, I know. But we could just plant a little bit, and I can help you. I’m right good at plantin’ and such.” I cleared my throat. I didn’t want him to feel guilty, but I said it anyhow. “Look, Graham, girls like me, we gotta stay busy.”

  He smiled and patted my shoulder, finally catching on. “Well, you and Buddy get that all worked out and I’ll help how I can.” He winked at me, and I could feel that red rising again just talking about Buddy.

  “Hey, look,” Graham said. “You doin’ okay, Jodi? I mean, with all of it. The drinking, giving up Carolina. All that?”

  I swallowed right hard. “Yeah. I mean, it’s made it right easier for me to get to be around her. It’s hard and it hurts, but Khaki, she always treats me like . . .” I paused, ’cause I could feel them tears getting into my eyes. I swallowed, and I tried not to get choked up but I couldn’t help it. “She treats me like I’m Carolina’s momma still too.”

  In his deepest voice, Graham said, puffing up his chest, “Honey, Carolina might need two mommas, but I’m cowboy enough for two daddies.” He tipped his hat to m
e.

  We got to laughing again. Graham, he always knew the right thing to say to make you feel better right off. Couldn’t nobody dream up a better daddy for their baby.

  “All right, well, I guess I’ll just have to talk Buddy into my new fall plantin’ scheme if I want to keep working.”

  Graham squeezed my arm all supportive like. He hopped back into his tractor seat. “Yup. But I have a feeling you could talk Buddy into dern near anything.” He cranked the tractor, getting back to the long day a’ work ahead. “You want a ride back?”

  I shook my head. It weren’t that far. Plus, I felt like skipping and dancing and twirling around all the way back home, just thinkin’ that Buddy might like me too. And I tried to lie to myself about it, but me and God and all them saints, we knew the truth: I was hoping to run into a different cowboy.

  Khaki

  AMAZING GRACE

  The thing that no one ever tells you about being a mother is how unfathomably guilty you feel all the time. I felt like I had committed a crime and ruined your youth by being locked up in prison every time I left to pick faucets or approve a blueprint. I reasoned that if I were a doctor or a humanitarian, I would feel like my work was necessary, like I wasn’t leaving you and Alex for some fabric swatches.

  But now I know it doesn’t matter what you do. You feel guilty for leaving your children and going to work. You feel guilty for spending too much time with them and making them spoiled. You feel guilty for letting them learn to cry it out in their crib. You feel guilty for letting them sleep with you and never training them to sleep on their own.

  It’s a constant, vicious cycle, and no one can tell you what’s the right thing. I had spent years squelching the anxious, analyzing woman in my head; I was trying to keep her quiet, to love you instead of constantly worrying that I was doing the wrong thing.

  Alex, fortunately, was out of our bed for the most part, having taken to his new role of “big brother” and wanting to differentiate himself from the babies. Unlike our son, you didn’t care one bit about sleeping in between Graham and me. In fact, I learned quickly that you slept best in your crib in your own room. When you were nine weeks old, I woke up one morning in a panicked sweat and sprinted down the hall to your bedroom, certain that I would soon be screaming “Call 911” to Graham. My infant CPR class was running through my head like a filmstrip on a projector. The only explanation for why you hadn’t woken up all night was that you were dead, obviously. But there you were, sleeping peacefully, swaddled and glowing like a little angel. Alex hadn’t slept that long until he was two. But, like I said before, every child is different.

  I was grateful that you were a sleeper because being pregnant with baby three, taking care of babies one and two, working on two design projects in another state, and doing marketing and appearances for the sale of my latest book were keeping me busier than an ant hill intent on carrying an entire sandwich back to their queen. Why I had also agreed to coordinate the church bazaar, I can’t tell you. Needless to say, I was tired.

  Three weeks before my due date, I resigned myself to the fact that I was finished traveling and that working was out of the question. With Alex, I had been thin and fit with a little basketball on my front and, obviously, you were my easiest pregnancy and birth. I don’t know if it was something about being pregnant with a girl or being back in the South, the land of salt and pork fat, but I was swollen, exhausted, and pregnant from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

  I was thinking that I wished someone would come over and help keep an eye on you. You had recently discovered how you could pull up on the toilet, crack the lid open with one hand, and splash in it with the other. People asked me why I didn’t get those child-safety toilet protectors.

  Those people have never been thirty-seven weeks pregnant.

  When I answered the phone and it was Jodi’s voice on the other line, I was relieved. “My water is off for some reason,” she said.

  “Come stay with us!” I said, probably a little too enthusiastically. “I need a little company.”

  I think it was the first time since the adoption that neither of us hemmed and hawed over whether it was the right thing. You loved her; she loved you. We were a crazy, mixed-up, blended family. We were embracing it.

  I scooped you up under my arm, carrying you like a pile of lumber, to which you squealed with laughter, and headed off to make up the guest room. While I was changing the sheets, trying to negotiate my pregnant belly and the corners of the fitted sheet, the phone rang again. It was Charlie.

  “My power is out,” she lamented.

  That had been a common occurrence that summer, especially in the neighborhood where Charlie and Greg’s rental house was. It was so excruciatingly hot that the power system couldn’t keep up with demand.

  “Well, then you and Greg come on over and spend the night,” I said, thinking that Alex would be thrilled to be back in bed with Mommy and Daddy. I was less thrilled, as sleeping with Alex was like sleeping with Mia Hamm when she was dreaming about winning a championship.

  “I don’t want to be any trouble,” she sighed.

  “Good,” I replied. “Then I’ll let you change your own sheets.”

  I padded back downstairs and placed you in your Jumperoo, where you sang and babbled and carried on. I peered into the fridge to see what I was possibly going to feed a family of seven for dinner. Slamming the fridge door closed, I said, “Pizza it is!” to no one in particular.

  “Pizza what is?” Mother said from behind me, her voice laced with judgment.

  “Mommy!” Alex squealed as he turned around and ran to me. I leaned down to kiss him, intensifying the shooting pain from my back down my legs.

  “Charlie and Greg and Jodi all need to stay here tonight, and I can’t cook for that many people since I can’t fit behind the stove.”

  Mother rolled her eyes. “Then you’ll all come to my house, obviously.” She waved her hand and her charm bracelet tinkled like bells in a windstorm. “Pizza.” She shivered, and I realized that I could already taste those jalapeños.

  Then she said, “Do you think it’s okay if Jodi stays here?”

  “Mother, please. I’m doing the absolute best I can, and I need not to be judged every second.”

  “Fine, far be it from me, your mother, to interfere with your life,” she said under her breath. Then turning to Alex, “I’ll see you tonight, darling.”

  He replied, “Bye-bye, GG.”

  “It’s grandmother, darling. Grandmother,” she enunciated, her lips like a blowfish trying to wiggle its way off a hook.

  Alex looked up at me, and I ruffled his hair. Tuesday afternoons were his special time with Mother. They went out for lunch and orangeades and then he and Daddy rode around on the tractor. He had such an amazing time every week, and I savored those special hours with you.

  Jodi arrived as Mother was leaving and said, “I swear I paid the water bill.”

  “I wouldn’t have even considered that you hadn’t,” I replied.

  “Can I help you get ready or anything?”

  I shook my head. “Your bed is made, and I told Charlie that she can put her own sheets on.”

  “I could have put my own sheets on too,” Jodi protested.

  “Yeah, but you gave me your child,” I said, patting her on the back and winking. “I owed you.”

  Jodi laughed, and it occurred to me that that was the first time I had been able to make a joke about the adoption.

  Two hours later, Mother, Daddy, Pauline, Benny, Jodi, Charlie, Greg, Graham, Alex, you, and I were all sitting down to a lovely supper, graciously prepared by Pauline, when Mother said, “Khaki, you’d better not eat any of those collard greens.”

  “They’re the most nutrient-dense food on the planet, Mother. Why on earth would I not eat them?”

  Pauline poured herself a cup of sweet tea and s
aid, “Oh, Miz Mason, that’s just an ole wives’ tale.”

  Her husband Benny motioned for the bowl of greens and said, “Nuh-uh. My momma went into labor with all six of us the night after eatin’ collards.” I smiled, thinking of the Benny I had met all those years ago in New York and how, as soon as he had gotten back home, that neutral accent had faded right back to Southern.

  Jodi looked at the ceiling. “Come to think of it, I think I ate collards the night I went into labor.”

  I could feel myself cringe. Even though I had made a joke about it only hours earlier, I was unsettled. That warning from Mother still rang in my ears: “She can take her back for a year, you know.” It was almost like I wanted Jodi to be with you but also forget that she had ever had you, take an eraser to the chalkboard. You were my daughter, the voice inside my head screamed, in direct contrast to the outer me that said we were both your mothers.

  “Okay, okay,” Charlie said. “Collards, schmollards. This baby is coming sometime, so I think we all better get prepared.” She reached into the purse hanging over her chair and produced a spreadsheet. “I’ve worked up a tentative baby care schedule that I thought might be fair for everyone—”

  “Wait,” I interjected, my fork halfway to my mouth. “You have made a spreadsheet for the baby?”

  “They all been talking ’bout it on Facebook,” Jodi said.

  I looked at Mother skeptically. “You are on Facebook?”

  She wiped her mouth and set her napkin beside her plate haughtily. “I’m a poet, darling. Must I remind you that I have fans?”

  I smiled, thinking of how many years Mother had tried to get her poetry published, and she said, “Speaking of, my book is being released in November and, obviously, it’s too cold to do the release party in Manhattan.”

  “Obviously,” I said, thinking that November was my favorite time in Manhattan. In all likelihood, with a two-month-old baby, I would miss it this year.