From Here To Maternity: A Second ChancePromoted to MomOn Angel's Wings

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And I had brought her to a place where there was none.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE NEXT DAY was one of those perfect June days you wish you could shove inside a time capsule and pull out for your own personal pleasure in the middle of a bitter January.

  I was determined that Sasha and I would make the most of it, just as we would make the most of her visit here. We ate our breakfast next to the pool—orange juice, English muffins with almond butter and blueberry jam, scrambled eggs with crumbled goat cheese and julienned basil.

  “You are good cook,” Sasha said, spearing another bite of egg with her fork.

  “Thanks,” I said, pleased by the compliment as well as the enthusiasm with which she had all but cleaned her plate. “I like trying new things. Although I don’t cook very much anymore.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Work,” I said, shrugging. “I usually get home pretty late.”

  “You have important job.”

  “It’s important to me.”

  She considered this, and then said, “It is nice to be able to help people.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It is.”

  She studied me for a moment. “Your husband. He has important work?”

  “He’s an attorney.” When she looked puzzled, I added, “A lawyer.”

  “He helps with trouble?”

  I smiled. “Sort of.”

  She toyed with a last bite of English muffin, looked down at her plate, then out at the still surface of the pool. “He does not want me here.”

  It was a statement, not a question. As if this was not the first time she had perceived this fact about herself. I struggled with how to answer. “It’s not about you,” I said.

  She nodded once, but I could see she didn’t believe me. I wanted badly to explain, but found no words.

  Instead, I cleared the table, and we both carried the dishes into the kitchen. I rinsed and began putting them in the dishwasher. Sasha watched for a moment, then took a plate from my hand and said, “Please. I help.” She stood each one on end in the rack, as careful as if they were precious jewels.

  I watched with a lump in my throat, and when she caught me staring, I picked up a dishcloth and began wiping down the counter.

  In a few minutes, we were done, and it was nice, working quietly together that way. I felt a keen yearning for something I’d once had and pressed a hand to my middle, closing my eyes for a brief second. In a bright voice, I suggested we go for a swim. I already had on my bathing suit beneath a blue cover-up. Sasha ran upstairs to change, back in a few minutes in the adorable two-piece I had grabbed on my Target run, the boy-cut kind that only girls with no hips could wear. We went outside, and she lingered by the edge of the pool, casting worried glances at the water and then back at me again.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, unzipping my cover-up.

  She looked embarrassed, not quite meeting my gaze. “I do not know how to swim,” she said.

  “Oh.” This never occurred to me. “I’m sorry. I assumed…I shouldn’t have assumed. It just so happens I taught swimming classes to help put myself through college. Would you like to learn?”

  Her face brightened, the half smile I was starting to enjoy coaxing to life appearing at the edges of her mouth.

  We began at the shallow end of the pool, wading in and getting comfortable. The water delighted her; her eyes were lit with the pleasure of it. “I never go in pool before,” she said.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, “we can stay in all day if you like.”

  She smiled and settled lower in the water until it was above her shoulders, her chin resting on its smooth, blue surface.

  I started with the basics, getting her comfortable with putting her face under, blowing bubbles, holding her middle while she practiced kicking her feet. She learned quickly, determination clearly etched in her forehead, the set of her jaw.

  After an hour, I suggested we rest, but she wasn’t ready to stop. Another twenty minutes, and I insisted we relax a bit, afraid she might end up with cramps.

  At the far end of the pool sat a small storage house for things Clay and I never used anymore. I hadn’t been inside it in years. Dripping water onto the tile floor, I hesitated at the door, then turned the knob quickly and stepped inside. It was exactly as I remembered it, except for the addition of a few large cobwebs. An oversize inflatable whale stood propped in one corner of the room. I stared at it, tears springing to my eyes, sliding down my cheeks. I wiped them away with the back of my hand, then forced my feet to move. I picked up the whale and an electric pump, carried both back to the side of the pool where Sasha stood with her hands clasped in front of her, lips pressed together, eyes dancing.

  And I thought then that this was another of life’s cruel ironies. That the same thing that could bring one person such simple and complete happiness could bring another nearly intolerable pain.

  But then maybe it was the merging of the two that would lead somewhere other than where I had been these past three years.

  It was something to hope for.

  WHEN CLAY GOT HOME around seven, Sasha and I were back in the pool. With breaks for lunch and dinner and a few snacks in between, we had basically spent the day there. Each time I had suggested changing the activity, her disappointment was so tangible I could not bring myself to insist, although I was beginning to look like an albino prune.

  We were, in fact, laughing about our shriveled fingers when Clay appeared by the side of the pool. Our laughter ended abruptly as though an invisible mute button had been pressed. He stared at me as though I was someone he didn’t quite recognize, a face from the past he couldn’t place. It hit me then that I could not remember the last time I laughed in front of Clay. It felt wrong, as if I had been caught doing something entirely inappropriate.

  “Sasha is learning how to swim,” I said, sinking into the water until I was up to my chin.

  Clay glanced at the plastic whale now bobbing at the other end of the pool. He looked at Sasha and then me. In his eyes, I saw a dark pain that filled me with instant guilt and regret.

  Dripping water, Sasha got out of the pool, murmured, “Toilet,” and headed for the house.

  “Clay,” I began, once she was out of sight.

  “That was Emma’s,” he said, his jaw set.

  I dropped my gaze. “I know.”

  He was quiet, and then said, “Are you trying to replace her? Is that what this is about? Is that why you brought her here?”

  “No,” I shot back, anger rocketing up from some deep place inside me. “How can you say that?”

  He stared at me for a long moment, shook his head, before saying, “Is it really that far-fetched?”

  And before I could answer, he turned and walked away.

  OUR HOUSE WAS QUIET and awkward for the rest of the night. I fixed spaghetti, which Sasha ate with subdued relish, as if she loved it but was afraid to show too much enthusiasm. I wanted to tell her it was all right, that she’d done nothing wrong, but a glance at Clay’s clenched jaw sealed the words in my throat.

  We sat at our too-formal dining-room table, the three of us, twirling noodles onto listless forks until our plates were empty enough to declare the meal finished.

  Clay disappeared in his office off the living room, closing the door. Sasha again helped me in the kitchen, and then gave in when we got to the pots, asking if she could go to bed, her small face etched with weariness. I yearned to scoop her up and carry her to her room myself. But I remembered Clay’s face at the pool. And so I folded my arms across my chest instead and said, “Go on up. I’ll come tuck you in as soon as I finish here.”

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping forward to give me a quick hug around the waist. I pressed a hand to her back and then watched with a knot in my throat as she left the kitchen on silent feet.

  Nearly an hour later, I finally made my way upstairs to check on her. Her room was dark except for the closet light. I stood beside the bed, watchi
ng her as she slept, her arms thrown out from her sides in that vulnerable way children sleep. Emma had slept just like that, all the defense mechanisms the world taught her during the day dissolving into the dark.

  I turned away, stepping on the sandals Sasha had worn today. I bent down, picked them up and set them inside the closet, another pang of memory for the daily tasks of motherhood hitting me hard. Her Cinderella backpack sat at an angle in the corner. I straightened it, spotting the edge of a paper towel sticking out behind it. I picked it up. Three Oreo cookies and a half-eaten granola bar were tucked neatly inside. I lifted the backpack, found an apple and two browning bananas in the corner.

  I stood for a moment staring at the small stash of food, then folded the paper towel, put it all back as it had been and quietly left the room.

  DOWNSTAIRS, I MADE COFFEE and sat at the kitchen table, my hands embracing the warm cup even as the thought of drinking it made me nauseous. I considered calling Cathy, but it was after eleven, and I didn’t want to wake her.

  The coffee had long cooled when Clay walked into the kitchen and set a glass in the sink. He stood for a moment, his shoulders slightly hunched. He turned then, said my name, apology in his voice.

  It took this and nothing more to break the dam inside me. I leaned forward, elbows on the table, my face in my hands, the sobs pouring out of me anything but delicate.

  “Hey,” he said, beside me, his voice soft in a way I hadn’t heard it in a long time. It was the one thing he’d never been able to stand, hearing me cry.

  I tried to stop, but it was like being caught in the ocean’s undertow, impossible to fight.

  He sat in the chair beside me, put a hand on my arm, his touch light as if he were afraid I would push him away. At the thought, my tears increased, even though I was the one who had conditioned this response in him.

  We sat for a long time, just like that, until my tears were spent.

  “What is it, Rach?” he asked.

  I shook my head, trying to find the words. “She told me about her mother. She was sick for a long time. They had very little food. When she died, Sasha stayed with her for days, until neighbors found—” I ended it there, my voice breaking.

  He studied the tabletop as if there were something there that would tell him what to say. “Rachel, you had to know when you said yes to this that it wouldn’t involve a child who’d had a perfect life.”

  I slid my chair back, stood, a fresh stream of tears making tracks down my face. “Sometimes I’m not sure I even know who you are anymore. You used to be a man with a heart, a man who could feel someone else’s pain even through his own. What happened to him, Clay? Where did he go?” And with that, I ran from the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEXT MORNING, Clay left before I woke. We’d perfected this dance of avoidance, me going to bed first, he getting up first. I wondered how much longer we could keep it up.

  I said nothing to Sasha about the food in her closet. But after breakfast, we drove to Whole Foods where I intended to let her pick out some things she liked. Just inside the door, I reached for a cart, then asked her if she’d like to push it. She said yes, smiled a really big smile and gave it a test circle around a display of potted herbs. I headed for the produce department, turned to ask what kind of fruit she wanted. But she had stopped beside an enormous bin of white peaches, reaching out to touch one as if she couldn’t quite believe it was real. I walked back. “Do you like peaches?” I asked.

  “I never have one,” she replied.

  “White ones are my favorite,” I said, picking up a plastic bag and beginning to put some in. I held it out then, so she could add a few. She did so, shyly at first, as if she wasn’t sure how many were acceptable. When the bag was full, I closed it with a twist tie, and we wheeled down the aisle, adding Gala apples, plums and white grapes to our assortment.

  We had reached the cereal aisle when she looked at the array of boxes, and said, “Where I am from in Russia, people see this and think it is museum.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “So much food,” she said. “It is like art. No one can afford to buy. Only look.”

  The starkness of her assessment was striking, and I looked around at the other shoppers, people who, like me, took it all for granted. I wondered how we must look to Sasha. I did not have the courage to ask.

  WE SPENT THE AFTERNOON in the pool, and I was amazed by Sasha’s progress. She now floated on her back and swam short stretches completely by herself. She soaked up my praise like a child who had been starved of it.

  Just before five, the French doors at the back of the house opened, and Clay stepped out, a brown bag in each arm. I was so surprised to see him, I couldn’t speak, and when I did, my, “You’re home early,” came out sounding more accusatory than pleased.

  He glanced down at the terra-cotta tile beneath his feet, then met my gaze, apology in his eyes. “I stopped on the way home and bought a few things. Hot dogs, marshmallows and stuff. I thought we could cook out on the grill.”

  “I—well, yes, that would be good,” I said, glancing at Sasha, who looked as startled as I had been by the suggestion.

  “Maybe Sasha could give me a hand,” Clay said.

  “I would like to help,” she said.

  He nodded once. “Just let me change out of these clothes, and we’ll get started.”

  WHEN YOU’D KNOWN someone as long as I’d known Clay, it was easy to think there were no surprises left. Maybe married people got arrogant that way, or maybe it was just that we simply didn’t give each other enough credit.

  Sitting at the table by the edge of the pool with my laptop, I thought it more likely the latter. At some point during these past three years, I’d given up on my husband. Accepted that he was no longer the man I’d married. That he was gone to me forever.

  But I watched now as he showed Sasha how to turn the hot dogs so they didn’t fall through the spaces in the grill, listened to her soft giggle when one slipped through anyway, noted the patience in his smile when he pulled another from the pack and plopped it on. Captured by the frame, I wished I could pause the movie in this exact spot. Because here, I saw a glimpse of the man I married, and a tiny ember of something that once was began to burn in an empty corner of my heart.

  ON THURSDAY MORNING, I took Sasha into the city to register for the day camp she was to attend next week as part of the On Angel’s Wings program. Once we finished, I called Clay at the office and asked if he would like to meet us at the National Zoo.

  A stretch of silence followed the question, and then he said, “Sorry, Rachel. I’ve got a killer day.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I just thought I’d check.”

  He kept quiet for another moment, as if he were reconsidering. I held the cell phone tight against my ear and pressed my lips together, waiting.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “See you tonight.”

  “See you tonight,” I said. I clicked off, tossed the cell phone back in my purse and glanced at Sasha who had been standing with her arms folded across her chest, staring at the city streets as if she hadn’t been listening to the conversation.

  But I only had to look at her face to know that she’d heard every word, and felt the same disappointment that I felt at its outcome.

  THE ELEPHANTS WERE Sasha’s favorite.

  We stood outside their fenced area for almost forty-five minutes. They were fascinating, and I tried not to think of the times I stood in this exact spot with Emma, one hand on her shoulder, her excitement tangible beneath my fingers. The elephants had been her favorite, too.

  A young woman in a khaki uniform put out hay for the four large creatures who waited patiently for her cue to eat. The caretaker told us one of the elephants had been at the zoo since 1964.

  “I never know they live so long,” Sasha said, her face lit with wonder. “Do you think they have good life here?”

  I considered her question for a few moment
s, before saying, “Certain parts of it might be better than if they lived in the wild.”

  “They have food,” she agreed. “People who take care of them. Even if they miss their other life, it is good to have place where you are wanted.”

  I tightened my arm around her shoulder, pulled her closer, giving in to a sudden protective instinct. We stood that way while the elephants ate the rest of their hay, then lumbered to the large sliding door at the back of their building where they waited to be let inside.

  WE HAD JUST STOPPED to admire the giraffes when I heard my name and looked around to see Clay walking toward us carrying two mounds of cotton candy, one pink, one blue.

  I was so surprised to see him I couldn’t speak.

  “Hey,” he said, lifting both shoulders the way he did when he knew he’d just done something completely out of left field.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Zoo’s not really the same without the junk food.”

  “No,” I agreed.

  He held both colors out to Sasha, told her to pick one. She chose pink, her face breaking into a smile of shy delight.

  “What is called?” she asked.

  “Cotton candy,” Clay said. “Try it.”

  Sasha touched her tongue to it, then took a small bite, her eyes closing. “Mmm,” she said. “Good.”

  Clay smiled, and I could see in his eyes that he was glad to have introduced her to something she’d never had, something capable of bringing such simple happiness.

  He glanced at me then, held my gaze, and I felt the memory between us. We were seventeen, and he’d taken me to my first circus, bought me my first taste of cotton candy. It was also the first night he ever kissed me, and I remembered lying awake after he brought me home, not sure which had been sweeter.

  In that moment, I missed us with a keen sense of loss, of who we had been, what we’d once had. I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, beg for just a single chance to go back. But the words were locked up inside me.

  We walked on in silence, the sun high and bright above us. Sasha wanted to see the seals. Clay, the wolves. She ran on ahead. We followed, side by side, our elbows brushing, the cotton candy sweet against my tongue.