“How about I tell you a story and you focus in on the parts you’d like to dream about. Hopefully, that will keep your nightmare away.”
She nodded sleepily, her eyes drifting closed again, as she whispered, “Thank you.”
Rory took a few seconds to enjoy this softer, sweeter, more vulnerable side of Neve before beginning. “Once upon a time there was this soldier serving overseas in Afghanistan.”
Her lips curved into a tired smile.
“He’d only been over there about a month, but had already seen so much combat in such a short time, he honestly didn’t think he’d survive until the end of his deployment.”
She gave his hand a little squeeze.
“Things had seemed pretty bleak. Until the day he received a letter from a woman who wanted to be his pen pal.”
Rory went on to talk about how much he’d looked forward to her letters, how after receiving them he’d search out a quiet, private place so he could read them uninterrupted—not an easy task. How he’d pasted the different pictures she’d sent of herself up on his locker, and how his buddies gave him shit when they caught him staring at them, how they’d cut out magazine pictures of random women’s faces and tacked them up where hers should have been.
He recalled snippets from specific letters and emails, conversations from their rare phone calls, and thoughtful items she’d sent in care packages that really stood out for him. He wasn’t sure when she drifted off to sleep, or how much she actually heard, but he kept talking, recounting happy memories, hoping his words penetrated her dreams, until Nate returned and dragged him down to the cafeteria to eat something.
—
Neve came gradually awake from a nice, relaxing sleep, with a vague recollection of one very sexy dream involving the U.S. Army soldier she expected to find sitting beside her bed. But he wasn’t there. In an unsettling turn of events, it seemed the recurring nightmare that’d plagued her fevered mind had started when she opened her eyes instead of when she’d closed them. She blinked, trying to clear the image. No such luck. “What are you doing here?”
“I came as soon as I heard,” her birth-mother said, sitting in the chair where Rory or Nate should have been.
And where the hell was her overprotective brother when she was in actual need of a little overprotecting? “Heard what?”
The woman who shared her eye color, nose, and dark curly hair shifted nervously in the guest chair, a red coat spread across her lap, a black pocketbook on top of it, hands clutching the shoulder strap. “Your primary care physician contacted Aiden’s doctor to report you’d been hospitalized.” Aiden was Neve’s half brother. “He said he thinks you have a post-harvest bone or marrow infection. So of course I had to come to make sure you’re okay. To see if you need anything.”
“Aiden is all that matters. How is he?”
“That’s not true.”
“How is he?” Neve asked again, with more force this time.
The woman who sat beside her bed looked away almost guiltily. How odd that Neve didn’t know her name, that no one close to her ever spoke it. The big family secret, kept from Neve and her brother. The woman’s name remained taboo even after her existence and Neve’s parents’ deception had been revealed. And on the rare occasions she thought of her, Neve applied her own names—her mother’s sister, her birth-mother, or, on bad days, the selfish bitch who’d given birth to her.
“He tolerated the infusion of bone marrow well.” She met Neve’s eyes. “He’s still in the hospital, confined to a clean environment. They’re monitoring him closely, and his doctor is pleased with his progress. Hopefully, he’ll be coming home soon.”
Her birth-mother tilted her head down, unzipped her bag, and pulled out a piece of paper. “He made this for you.” She held it out.
Her half brother had drawn her a picture using colored pencils, a well-done, very realistic portrait, the two of them sitting on a bench, outdoors, maybe in a park, with two large trees, lots of grass, and pretty butterflies. They were holding hands. Across the bottom he’d written, “Thank you. I hope that someday you’ll come visit me. Love, Aiden.”
Tears filled her eyes at the sweetness of his innocent words, the kindness of this thoughtful gesture. Then it occurred to her. “How does he know what I look like?” Neve had been adamant that the bone marrow donation be handled as coming from an anonymous donor. After their brief conversation at the studio she purposely hadn’t had any further contact with her birth-mother. Only the doctors involved knew the truth. At least that’s how it was supposed to be, because Neve didn’t want all this emotional bullshit. She wiped her eyes with the sheet.
“He’s known about you since he was old enough to understand he has a sister. He visits your website, watches videos of your performances on YouTube, and follows you on Instagram.”
Ack! Not Instagram. For the first time Neve regretted some of the more overtly sexy pictures she’d posted there. Things not at all appropriate for a nine-year-old boy, even less so for her impressionable nine-year-old half brother.
“You’re a beautiful, talented dancer and acrobat. He’s very proud of you,” her birth-mother said. Then she lowered her head and added quietly, “So am I.”
Neve didn’t want this woman or her son spying on her or being proud of her. She didn’t want this woman to take one bit of credit for Neve being a beautiful, talented dancer and acrobat. She wasn’t the one who’d nagged Neve to work hard and practice her routines, who’d dried her tears after nasty falls, who’d taken her out for frozen yogurt to celebrate wins or made fudge brownies to cheer her up after a loss. She hadn’t driven Neve to dance classes and strength training and the gymnastics studio day after day after day, regardless of the weather.
Her mom had done that. Not her “adoptive mom,” but her real mom, the woman who loved her, supported her, and took care of her, who never gave up on her, even when Neve had gone wild and become almost impossible to live with. Her real mom, who loved her, whom she loved and wanted to call right then to tell her so. Her real mom, who would be hurt if she found out Neve was having any type of relationship with the sister who’d caused her so much grief and anger over the years.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Neve let the picture fall to the floor. “And I don’t want Aiden following me on Instagram.”
“Of course I should be here. I’m your mother.”
At hearing those three words—“I’m your mother”—come out of the mouth of this virtual stranger, at her absolute audacity in saying them, Neve struggled to sit up. “Don’t call yourself that.” She flung her legs over the side of the bed, not wanting to appear weak, not wanting to be looked down upon. Pain shot into her hip, but she ignored it. “You are not my mother. You gave me up when I was one week old. Who does that?”
“I was only nineteen, estranged from my family, abandoned myself by the young man who’d gotten me pregnant, heartbroken and alone. I wish I’d done better.”
“But you never actually tried to do better, did you? I had no idea you existed until I turned thirteen. Thirteen years without one phone call or birthday card—or any since, for that matter.”
“When I left home to pursue a path my parents didn’t approve of, my entire family disowned me. Even before that, my relationship with your aunt was…complicated.”
“She’s not my aunt, she’s my mother,” Neve screamed. “My real mother. And how dare you call yourself by that name when I have met you all of three times in my life? Two of those because you needed something.” Neve glared into the same eyes that stared back at her from the mirror. “Which makes me wonder—why are you really here? What do you need this time?”
A wave of dizziness hit her, and she grabbed on to the bedrail to keep from falling back to the mattress.
Her birth-mother stood. “Are you okay?”
Heart pounding, nausea building, Neve swallowed hard to keep from vomiting.
Then Nate’s booming voice called out, “Back off.”
Th
ank goodness.
Rory hurried to the bed, leaned in close. “What can I do?”
“I need to lie down.”
He helped her lift her legs back onto the bed, then tucked her in.
When he tried to straighten up she grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him down, and whispered, “Don’t let him hurt her.” Aiden needed his mother. Then she held her thumb in front of her face and stared at the nail, using it as a focal point to help stop the dizziness, a trick she’d learned in college after a nasty fall from the balance beam had left her with a mild concussion.
“Get out,” Nate yelled, the words throbbing in her head. “And don’t come back to this hospital, this town, or even this state.”
“Calm down, big guy,” Rory said.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” her birth-mother said from somewhere behind Neve, sounding close and remarkably composed despite Nate’s blustering. “We have very good health insurance. It covered the cost of the bone marrow harvest and will pay for this hospitalization and any subsequent treatment you require. If you receive any bills, forward them to me, care of my husband. I’m leaving his business card on your table here. My home and cellphone numbers are on the back. Please call if you need anything.”
“If she needs anything her family will take care of it,” Nate snapped. “Like we’ve been doing since she was an infant.”
“Come,” Rory said. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”
“Wait.” Neve swallowed hard, then lifted her head. “I did this to help Aiden. Not because he’s my half brother or because you gave birth to me, but because it was the right thing to do. I’m not looking to reconnect or start some type of relationship.” She loved her family and didn’t want to cause any problems. “I have my life and you have yours. Go back to forgetting I exist and I’ll do the same. It’s easier that way.” To her surprise, she had to fight back tears. “Tell Aiden thank you for the picture and I hope he makes a full recovery and has a happy life.”
Her birth-mother stepped closer. Nate went to grab her. Rory stopped him.
“I never once forgot you existed,” she insisted, her voice firm, adamant. “Not for one minute. And I have regretted giving you up since I watched my brother-in-law carry you into his home, even—”
“Wait.” Neve couldn’t help but interrupt. “You were there?”
“It’s not like I tossed you on the porch in the dead of night and disappeared into the darkness, leaving you all alone until morning,” her birth-mother teased. Until she realized that was exactly what Neve had always thought. “What did your parents tell you?” she asked cautiously.
Her parents hadn’t told her anything. It upset her mother to talk about her sister, so Neve never brought her up and acted like she didn’t care about the specifics of her adoption. Only she did. Dad wasn’t any help, always putting off Neve’s questions, too busy, wanting to wait until he and Mom could sit down and talk to her together. Only they never did. And Grandma refused to acknowledge her only other child, said it wasn’t her place to discuss Neve’s adoption and if she wanted to know about it she should talk to her parents. No help at all.
When Neve didn’t answer, her birth-mother stared down at her hands, which clutched the bedrail. Appearing lost in thought, she explained, “I’d dressed you in your softest sleeper that morning, a yellow one with a giraffe on the belly that my upstairs neighbor had given me.”
She smiled at the memory, and Neve found herself touched that she’d remembered that small detail.
“I’d packed up all your things, which admittedly wasn’t much, and folded your clothes with such care. I’d written a long letter to my sister, introducing you, telling her about your first week of life, giving her the name and phone number of the pediatrician who’d taken care of you at the hospital. I attached your birth certificate and other legal papers I’d gotten from a social worker I’d been working with.”
“Who named me?”
“I did. After a dear friend who had died much too young. I’m so happy your parents didn’t change it.”
Neve was too, especially after finding out the significance of her name.
“We took the bus into White Plains, and I splurged on a taxi to get to my sister’s house. I’d timed it just right. Knowing she’d be going to church that morning, I arrived a few minutes before they returned home.”
She reached down and fixed Neve’s covers. “The taxi parked down the street, close enough that we could see the front porch perfectly, far away enough that we wouldn’t be noticed. After they’d gone inside I waited a few minutes for them to change and take care of Nate.”
Neve hadn’t expected that her birth-mother would have put so much thought into it. She glanced at Nate, who stood silently, seeming as interested in the story as she was.
“During those last few minutes I cuddled you close and kissed you and told you I loved you and would come for you when I could, even though I knew I wouldn’t.” She reached into the pocket of her sweater, took out a tissue, and blotted the corner of each eye. “When the time came I carried you in your little portable bassinet, your clothes, diapers, and formula tucked in a bag by your tiny feet, and placed you right in front of the door so they wouldn’t miss you. The one thing that calmed you down was riding in a car so you slept through the whole thing.
“Then I rang the doorbell and ran like the coward I was back then. I had the taxi driver wait until you were safely inside before driving away.” She sniffled and blotted her eyes again. “Leaving you in the care of my sister and her husband was the only way to ensure you’d grow up in a stable home with two loving parents, who were much better people than I was at the time.” Without warning, she leaned over and kissed the top of Neve’s head, lingering there as she said, “I hope someday you can forgive me and you’ll change your mind about us having a relationship. But I’ll understand if you choose not to. I won’t bother you again.”
“Why did you sign those papers agreeing to have nothing to do with me?” Neve heard herself ask. “Why didn’t you fight to be a part of my life back when I was a hurt, confused thirteen-year-old who’d just found out she’d been adopted, only to have her birth-mother leave her all over again?”
“I’m not proud of some of the decisions I’ve made over the years.” With a small laugh, she added, “A lot of decisions, actually. But they’re done and in the past and there’s nothing I can do to change them. Except to say I’m not the same person I was back then.”
“If Aiden hadn’t gotten sick,” Neve said, “would you ever have made the effort to reach out to me?”
Her birth-mother looked confused. “I thought I was abiding by your wishes in leaving you alone.”
Wait a minute. “It’s you who wanted nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not true at all,” her birth-mother said. “At your parents’ insistence, I signed a document agreeing that I would not have any contact with you until you reached the legal age of eighteen. I further agreed to let you initiate first contact after that and to accept your decision if you chose not to.”
Neve glared at Nate. “Did you know that?”
Nate held up both hands in surrender. “No. I swear.”
“You mean no one told you?”
Neve shook her head, overwhelmed, trying to process everything she’d just learned. A hand slipped into hers, Rory’s hand, and she squeezed it tight, held on to it for dear life to keep from spinning out of control.
“I’m sure your parents had their reasons for keeping it from you,” her birth-mother said diplomatically. “Maybe it’s time we all move forward and leave the past where it belongs—in the past.” She leaned in lovingly and gave Neve another kiss on the top of the head. “Rest and take care of yourself.” She looked from Rory to Nate. “It’s obvious you’re in good hands.” She looked back to Neve. “After you get home, when you’re feeling stronger and you’ve had time to digest everything, consider calling me. If nothing else, I’d love for you to meet Aiden and I know he’d
love to meet you.”
“I’ll think about it.” Which was the best she could do right now.
“That’s all I ask.”
Chapter 6
On Wednesday afternoon, four days after she’d been admitted to the hospital, Rory followed Neve down the hallway toward the one bedroom in her condo, bone-tired, eyes gritty, body achy, and mind foggy, all from lack of sleep.
“Watch out for my pull-up bar.”
He looked up to see a silver-colored metal bar with black foam handgrips set across the doorframe, a few inches below the top, and walked under it, standing tall, without a problem.
“Sorry.” She turned to face him. “Most guys…”
“Most guys what?”
“…hit their heads if they don’t duck.” She shrugged.
He carried her small duffle to the bed. “Not me.” He gave her a big smile to show he accepted his height, taller than some, shorter than others. No big deal. “I’m the perfect height to come in and out of here without a problem.”
She gave him a small, tired smile in return. The trip home had taken a lot out of her. In the end a CT scan followed by a biopsy had confirmed the diagnosis of acute osteomyelitis—an infection in the marrow of her right pelvis—compounded by influenza. Two days after the confrontation with her birth-mother, Dr. Glassman had determined that she was responding well to antibiotics and could be discharged home, with assistance until her strength improved, her pain decreased, and she “demonstrated a proficiency in self-administering her antibiotics and caring for her PICC line”—his exact words.
To take his mind off the inviting bed and redirect his body’s fierce yearning to lie down and rest for a little while, Rory walked over to a small square folding table in the corner to his immediate left. “The good luck shrine.” She’d really made one. And she hadn’t trashed it out of anger after the storeroom incident, which surprised him as much as it warmed his insides. She still cared about him, whether she wanted to or not.
“I’ve been meaning to throw all that stuff away. I ran out of trash bags.” She lowered her voice on that last part, probably realizing how lame the excuse sounded.
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