Carry Her Heart

by Holly Jacobs

  “At sixteen you had the strength to do what was right for Amanda, not for yourself. It’s another reason why I love you. As for marriage—”

  “I want to marry you,” I told him again. I did. More than anything I’d ever wanted. “But I have to be clear on the issue of children. I need you to understand that I won’t have any more.”

  “Given the circumstances, I think Amanda would realize that you gave her to parents who could raise her because you loved her.”

  “But what if she doesn’t? What if she comes to find me and finds I have a houseful of children to love? What if I can’t make her understand? I can’t take that chance.”

  “Pip—” he said.

  Just my name. I could hear the pain in his voice and knew that the idea of not having children hurt him. He’d be a great father. He’d be the kind of dad who’d be there for his kids. He’d go to their school activities, read them bedtime stories. He’d make them a priority.

  He deserved to have a big family.

  A family I couldn’t—maybe wouldn’t—give him. “Ned, I—”

  He held the journal in his hand.

  “I’ll understand if you want to back out,” I said. “You want kids and I see—”

  He snorted and shook his head. “No, you don’t see anything if you can’t see that I’d rather have you than any yet-to-be-conceived children.” He leaned down and kissed me. “I love you, Pip. And you love me. I know that. And I know you in a way most men will never know the women they love.”

  I shook my head.

  “I have read every book you’ve ever written. I’ll read Amanda’s journal. But now that I know about her, I realize every book you’ve written has been for her. I can see her—and I can see your love for her—in every page. I know you, Pip. And I love you enough to wait for you to figure things out.”

  “Don’t go into this thinking I’ll change my mind on the having children issue,” I warned him. “I’m being honest when I say I won’t. I live in hope that someday Amanda will come find me. I’ve put my name on the adoption registries, so it shouldn’t be too hard for her to find me. I need to know I made the right decision. That she was happy. And I need her to understand why I made that decision. I won’t have her hurt by because I’ve had other children and kept them.”

  “I can’t imagine that’s how she’d feel,” he said.

  “I make my living imagining. And I’ve played that scene over and over again in my mind. Maybe you’re right and she would be thrilled to have siblings. I know that’s a possibility.”

  “But maybe I’m wrong?” he asked gently.

  I nodded. “I can’t take that chance. I want to say yes to your proposal, but I need to be sure that you understand.”

  “Like I said, I understand you better than you understand yourself. I get it. Right now, though, I need some sleep.”

  “I knew this should have waited until after—”

  “No, you’re wrong. It shouldn’t have waited another minute. Is it okay if I crash here, or would you rather I go home so you don’t have to tiptoe around the house?”

  “It’s up to you,” I said. What I wanted to say was, Stay. Don’t ever leave.

  “I’ll be back over after I get some sleep.” He kissed me and then left. Just walked out of my door with Amanda’s journal in his hand.

  For the last four years, I’d written to Amanda after so many big and small moments.

  I knew the pages were almost filled, and I’d told myself that when it was full, I’d be done.

  But right now, I wanted to write to her. I’d tried to explain things to her in the journal before, but I wanted to try again. Maybe try to explain myself better to her than I’d explained myself to Ned.

  I loved him.

  And I wasn’t sure that was going to be enough.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next few weeks were awkward.

  Ned didn’t mention marriage or families . . . or Amanda. He also didn’t mention having read the journal, but one day after he left for another outing, I found it in the center of the bed.

  I picked it up and sat cross-legged in front of the faded blue trunk. I traced the T. P. E. 1837.

  Talia Piper Eliason. I wondered what this woman I’d been named after was like. And then I thought about Rose. Rose who’d sent her son away to a better life.

  What would her son have said if he’d met her again? Would he have thanked her for her sacrifices? Would he have blamed her because he’d grown up feeling the lack of a mother in his life?

  I thought about writing in the journal, but for the first time in four years, I didn’t know what to say to Amanda. I gently placed it in the trunk, along with all the books and letters—all the pieces of Amanda’s story—and I shut the lid.

  I stood and looked out the window at my garden. Everything was blooming. It was that fresh, spring green that would deepen over the summer, until turning into a tired green by fall. I thought about going out back, but even that didn’t appeal. Nothing felt right.

  I needed to fix things with Ned, but I didn’t know how. He was out of town somewhere again, so I wouldn’t be fixing anything today.

  I knew that although he still said he loved me, our relationship had shifted when I told him about Amanda. I just wasn’t sure what it was shifting to.

  He felt distant. But maybe it was me. Maybe I was pulling back in order to protect myself.

  Ned claimed he knew me, but if he did, he’d know how much this awkwardness between us was hurting me.

  To really stir my jumbled emotional pot, it was Mother’s Day.

  Despite having had a daughter, I knew that I wasn’t a mother. That knowledge had always made Mother’s Day one of the hardest days of the year for me.

  As I had so many other years, I decided to concentrate on my mom. I took my parents down to Smuggler’s Wharf, a lovely little restaurant that sat on the bay.

  Dad talked about his classes and his book. I listened and nodded at the proper places.

  I realized my mother sensed my mood when she reached across the table and took my hand. “Piper . . .” That’s all she said, my name, but I knew she was telling me she was sorry and that she understood. I’m pretty sure that for the first time she understood that it wasn’t regret that made the day hard, it was simply missing Amanda.

  How could I miss someone I’d only held for an hour? I wasn’t sure, but I did.

  I gave Mom’s hand a squeeze and wondered about the woman Amanda called mom.

  I looked at my mother and hoped that Amanda’s was like her. Strict, but reasonable. Loving. Always so loving. And understanding.

  After lunch, we drove from the bay to the peninsula and took a long walk. My mother always swore she was a simple soul. A day when she didn’t have to cook and got a trip to Presque Isle was enough to celebrate any holiday in her mind.

  We stayed for the sunset. As it lowered in the sky, I felt the pulse of missing Amanda with each breath I took. Maybe it was amplified because I missed Ned, too. Not just because he’d been traveling so much, but because I felt as if the distance between us grew wider every day.

  Ned and Amanda.

  Amanda and Ned.

  “Piper,” my mother said again.

  She wrapped her arm around me as we stood, watching the sun sink into Lake Erie.

  My father seemed oblivious to my turmoil, which was fine with me. I thought maybe I’d go write in the journal, but my parents had barely pulled out of my driveway when Ned came in the door.

  “Happy Mother’s Day, Pip,” he said as he handed me the flowers. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Forget-me-nots and white roses—my favorites.

  And out of nowhere I felt a burst of anger flare in my chest. “I am not a mother. I gave up that name years ago when I gave up my daughter.”

  Even as I said the words,
I realized that calling Amanda my daughter when I’d always denied being a mother—being her mother—didn’t make sense.

  Ned didn’t call me out on the contradiction. He simply pulled me into his arms and said, “You are most definitely a mother.”

  “I gave Amanda away and gave that name to another woman.”

  “Pip, you know that I think your mother’s great. She reminds me of my mom in so many ways. And do you know what quality shines through in both of them? The thing that makes them such outstanding mothers?”

  When I didn’t respond, he said, “A good mother—like both of our mothers—is someone who puts her own wants and needs aside in the interest of her child.”

  I still didn’t say anything. He didn’t need me to agree to something we both knew to be true.

  “If that’s the definition of a mother, then you have been a mother since before Amanda was even born. You gave her up—gave up that piece of your heart—so that she could have a better life. You’ve missed her ever since.”

  He held my hand and allowed me to simply mull over his words.

  After a long time, my hand still in his, he said, “You are a mother. You’ve always been one, Pip.” He let go of my hand, leaned down, and picked up the slightly banged-up flowers. “And every Mother’s Day from now on, I will bring you flowers on Amanda’s behalf. If she knew what you’d done for her, she’d bring them herself.”

  He was quiet again, giving me time to compose myself and more than that, time to let what he said really sink in.

  “I am Amanda’s mother.” I’d never said those words before. In my heart, she’d always been my daughter, but I’d never allowed myself to think of myself as her mother. I’d always forced myself to think of her other mother as her mother. I was simply the woman who’d given birth to her and then given her away.

  She’d been my daughter, but I’d never been her mother.

  Until now.

  Until Ned.

  That was a greater gift than any flowers.

  It was the best Mother’s Day present I’d ever received.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. And this time, I didn’t wait for him to pull me into his arms. I walked into them willingly. I stepped into his embrace and knew that he’d open his arms to me.

  And he did.

  I wasn’t sure we’d settled anything, but I knew he loved me. I knew I loved him.

  And for now, that would be enough.

  Dear Amanda,

  Sharing biographical stats with someone is easy. Your name, the city you were born in, what high school you went to, jobs . . . all those things I can share with ease. I share them with readers and friends alike.

  But getting to your truths . . . those pieces of yourself that you keep hidden from sight because they’re so fragile that an unkind word or scathing look could damage them—damage you—is so much harder.

  Amanda, that’s why I started this journal. I hope and dream that someday we’ll meet. I can tell you my blood type, my family’s medical history. I can even give you some cursory information along those lines about your father. And maybe that’s all you’ll want from me. But I hope you want more. You’ve been part of my daily life since the moment I learned I was pregnant. We might not be together, but your existence has shaped and formed me. It has sent me in directions I might never have gone.

  If all you want is those statistics, I will happily share them. But I will give you this journal and the chest of letters from people you helped. And maybe through them, you’ll know more about me . . . about the things I hold closest and dearest to me. And you should know, of all those things, you are at the center.

  There are only a couple of pages left in the journal.

  But once, before I tuck this journal away in the chest, I want to sign an entry the way I feel. Not to take anything away from your mom, but to express what Ned finally drove home for me.

  Love,

  Your Other Mother

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ned and I settled into a new normal after Mother’s Day. And though we didn’t talk about it anymore, we lived together.

  He put his house on the market, but we still we didn’t talk about engagements or marriage or future children.

  We fell back into our routine. I should have been happy. It seemed I had what I wanted—Ned with no strings or expectations.

  And yet, I wasn’t happy at all. I felt like we’d lost something. Maybe the sense of possibility. I’d cut off an entire potential future for us.

  Ned was still gone more than he’d ever been. Not just local stakeouts, but gone out of town. He called every night while he was away, but I missed him so much I ached with it. My writing had suffered this spring. For the first time in my writing career, I’d had to ask my editor for an extension on this contract. I tried to force the words, but they wouldn’t come.

  I didn’t sit on the porch in the mornings because if I did, I simply stared at my laptop screen. I felt like a fraud.

  I’d helped out at the clinic a few days, read at the school and gone through the motions at the pantry, but for the first time, I felt disconnected from everything I did that gave my life meaning.

  I felt lost.

  On Monday afternoon, I heard someone at the screen door and knew Ned was home.

  As I had the thought, he walked in.

  I drank in the sight of him. “You’re home. I’ve missed you . . .” Words came tumbling out of my mouth, one after another. None of them what I really wanted to say. I love you. Ask me again to marry you, please.

  Ned hugged me, but I could tell that things had shifted again and I wasn’t sure why or how now. I let my arms drop to my sides and stepped back. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not wrong,” he said. “I did something, and I hope when you find out you’ll understand why and forgive me for going behind your back.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  Rather than answer, he said, “I have something for you,” and thrust a DVD jewel case toward me.

  I had no clue what he could possibly need me to see. I stood there, frozen, a DVD in my hand, and the man I loved was standing so close that I could smell his cologne. It smelled woodsy. Ourdoorsy. It smelled just the way Couch Couch might have smelled.

  I must have stood there too long because Ned shook me from my musings by asking, “Can we watch it now, Pip?”

  I smiled, though I wanted nothing more than to go back into his arms. Maybe, if he held me long enough, I could say all the things I needed to say. “It’s your show.”

  “No, it’s yours,” was his cryptic response.

  I put the DVD in and he sat on the couch next to me as I turned on the television, then hit play on the remote.

  It was a graduation. I paused and looked at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Watch.”

  The camera panned to the aisle and students, wearing their blue-and-white caps and gowns, strolled into view. Only a couple kids walked by before I saw her.

  I hit pause. There she was, frozen on my screen. I knew it was her in the same way my heart knew it was Ned on the other side of the door.

  Amanda.

  Her hair had never faded to a browner shade. It was red, but not as crazy red as mine. I’d call it more strawberry blond. But red. She smiled in that frame I’d frozen on the screen.

  Oh, she smiled so hard it looked as if her face might break from all the happiness that was trying to spill out.

  She had different colored cords draped over her gown.

  “You found her?” I didn’t know how to feel. Thrilled to see her. Angry that Ned had gone looking for her.

  “I didn’t say anything to her or her parents,” Ned said quickly. “I know I overstepped, but you needed to know. I’ve watched you write in that journal since I met you. And now I’ve read it. You needed not just
to hope she was all right, but to see it. To be able to feel it in the depths of your bones.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I found her a couple weeks ago. I was just going to give you a report, and a few pictures. But when I realized I could go to her graduation and film her and no one would be the wiser, I knew I had to. No one would know. I’d be just one more family member with a camera in his hand. I didn’t know when I went just how much the camera would capture.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You’ll have to watch. I couldn’t do it justice if I tried to tell you,” he said.

  “I was willing to wait and hope . . .” I was crying so hard I couldn’t say anything else. I stared at the screen again. There. Amanda.

  She looked so utterly happy. And beautiful. And the cords meant she’d done well in high school.

  Tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t attempt to stop them or even brush them aside.

  Ned said, “I know you were waiting for her. You would have waited forever. And I believed you when you said you did what was best for her, but you still worried. We’ve talked about you making your living from your imagination. That what-if is a tool of your trade. Every book you write is a what-if scenario for Amanda. What if she’s bullied in school? What if her feet are big and she feels ugly? What if she’s hurt, or scared, or unhappy? What if she was hungry or lost? I wanted to give you peace of mind while you wait for her.”

  “So you found her and went to her graduation.” It was more a statement than a question.

  “I found her so you would know she was okay. And if she wasn’t—” Ned paused. “We’d have crossed that bridge together.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Do you have to ask?”

  I didn’t have to ask. I saw his answer in his eyes. More than that, I felt it. It was such a deep, intimate part of me. It had always been there. Even this last month or so when things had felt off-kilter, it had been there. He loved me and I loved him.

  I hit play on the remote again.

  “You can fast-forward through the speeches,” Ned said.