I returned to work the week before Violet had her spot at Sara’s Playpen, and Margaret happily volunteered to be my babysitter for the week. She had a bad knee and one blind eye, but those things weren’t enough to dissuade her.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” she said. “I won’t be driving, just rocking.”
She reminded me that she’d raised two boys who’d moved off and raised families of their own.
“I miss having the little ones more than I miss my dear sweet Harry,” she admitted sheepishly.
I loved working and looked forward to seeing my customers again, but that week I had a tough time staying focused. In the middle of talking with Iris Weinstein about a two-page spread for the September back-to-school supplement, I started worrying that maybe I hadn’t pumped enough milk for Violet.
I wrapped up my presentation in two shakes of a lamb’s tail and went home to check on Violet. When I walked in Margaret was easing herself back and forth in the rocking chair, Violet sound asleep in her lap.
I can only guess I had a look of panic on my face because Margaret looked up and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Apparently nothing,” I said, laughing at my own foolishness. “I thought maybe—”
Margaret chuckled. “You’re a new mama. New mamas worry about everything. But after you’ve had two or three more—”
I started laughing before she could finish the thought. “I doubt I’ll ever—”
“Don’t be so sure,” she said. “Don’t be so sure.”
I went back to work that afternoon, but twice more that week I came home in the middle of the day just to check on Violet. I knew Margaret was taking good care of her, but the truth was I missed her.
~ ~ ~
As weeks turned into months, Violet and I settled into a daily routine. It began before the sun was fully across the horizon. I would lift my sleepy angel from her crib, snuggle her to my breast and cuddle her while she filled her tummy. Before she was two months old she’d begun to smile. Not the sort of smile that can be attributed to baby gas, but a real smile. A smile that lit up her face and made her eyes shine. In those early morning hours I held her and talked to her and told her of all the wonderful things we would one day do.
“Next summer when you’re walking we’ll go to the park every Saturday,” I’d promise. “We’ll sit by the pond and feed the ducks…”
Every day there seemed to be a new wonder to marvel at, and I never tired of holding her or carrying on my one-sided conversations.
The days were long and woven tightly together. I spent the mornings and evenings caring for Violet and the days working. There was no longer time for dinner with the girls or a night at the movies. My conversations were limited to specifications for quarter-page ads and double truck spreads or the baby talk promises I made to Violet.
Weekends were used for playing catch up. I did the laundry, ran errands and got ready for the coming week, which was almost always like the one that came before it. On a really good week I might be able to squeeze in a quick visit to the apothecary or a kitchen table lunch with Margaret, and even then I carried Violet strapped to my chest.
The Party
A few days before Violet turned three months old I found Nick’s wristwatch. It had dropped down behind the nightstand. I scooped it up and put in in my handbag thinking I would drive by the gas station and drop it off.
That morning I took special care with my makeup and wore the same blue silk dress I’d worn the day we met. I told myself to expect nothing, that if he wanted to come back he would have done so of his own accord. That’s what I told myself, but even I didn’t believe it.
Being alone all the time was more difficult than I’d imagined it to be. As much as I enjoyed every moment spent with Violet, I missed having someone to talk with. I missed hearing Nick tell about the book he was reading or the joke he heard. I missed the back and forth of a male-female relationship and the comfort of having a companion.
That afternoon I scheduled a meeting with Ridgefield Trust, and on my way there I stopped at the gas station where Nick worked. When I pulled in, Herb, the owner, gave me a big smile and a wave.
“Hi, stranger!” he hollered. “What’re you doing in this part of town?”
I got out of the car, crossed the lot and gave him a casual hug.
“Hi yourself,” I said. “I found Nick’s watch and I thought…is he around?”
For a moment Herb just stood there looking at me strangely. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew? Knew what?”
“Nick quit three months ago. Moved back to Baltimore.”
“No problem,” I said lightheartedly. “The watch isn’t all that great. I just figured—”
“Want me to look and see if I’ve got his address?”
I shook my head. “Don’t bother; he’s probably forgotten about it anyway.”
I got back in my car and drove off.
It’s strange, but knowing Nick had left town like that made me stop missing him altogether. It was kind of like a light bulb turned on inside my head, and I could see what a foolish romantic I’d been. Although there had been times when I shied away from believing what Ophelia had said about Nick, I now realized she’d seen what I hadn’t.
That afternoon when I left Ridgefield Trust, I drove over to Ophelia’s. We sat on the back porch and drank dandelion tea.
“You were right about Nick,” I told her. “Seeing as he was Violet’s daddy, I didn’t want to believe he’d completely turn his back on her. I thought maybe in time…”
Ophelia shook her head. “It’s time for you to say goodbye to those troubles and move on to the next batch. Every road has potholes. You can’t change that. All you can do is keep going and not let yourself get stuck in them.”
As I drove home that day I opened the window of the car and heaved the watch into an overgrown wooded lot.
“So long, Nick!” I shouted and kept on moving.
~ ~ ~
A week later Nicole called.
“Somebody is turning twenty-five this coming weekend,” she teased.
“Good grief,” I said. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t given my birthday a thought.”
“Maybe you haven’t,” she replied, “but we have.”
I knew “we” meant the girls at the Tribune. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Not another word,” she cut in. “This Saturday we’re taking you out for a birthday celebration, and don’t even think about saying you can’t go because of Violet. She’ll survive one night with a babysitter.”
I laughed; Nicole had read my mind. “Okay, I’ll ask Margaret and see if she’s available.”
“I’ve already asked,” Nicole said, “and she’s happy to do it.”
We chatted a few minutes longer, and by the time I’d hung up the phone I was looking forward to my night out.
That week I splurged—bought myself a new dress and had my hair done. This was the first time I’d pampered myself in months, and it felt good. Very good. Dressing up and going out to party made me feel like I was shedding the weighty cloak of responsibility. For this one night, I would be Cinderella going to the ball.
I brought Violet and her equipment down to Margaret’s where she would spend the night.
“I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning,” I said, then kissed Violet goodbye and left.
When I arrived at the Horsehead Brewery, the party was already in full swing. Not only had Nicole invited the gals from the Classifieds but there were also a bunch of newcomers, people I’d seen around the office but barely knew in passing, and a few other faces that were totally unfamiliar. The music was loud and the laughter even louder. For a moment I felt out of place, but before I could turn and leave Nicole spotted me and hurried over. She grabbed my hand and pulled me back through the crowd.
It started harmlessly enough. I ordered a glass of wine and stood there chatting with the girls from
the Tribune, showing them pictures of Violet in the little album I carried around.
“She’s sitting up now,” I said proudly and thumbed through to the page where she was propped between two pillows.
Francine, a plump brunette from the features department, came over and gave me a sloppy hug.
“Forget baby pictures,” she said. “There’s someone you gotta meet.”
Vince was that someone. He was the kind of man I found myself attracted to all too often, one who oozes charm and considers himself prettier than you.
“So, you’re the birthday girl,” he said. “Well, then, let’s get you a drink!”
There are some men who have the kind of sexiness that draws you in; Vince had it in abundance. He flagged the bartender, then turned and looked at me as if I was standing naked.
“Let’s see,” he mused. “I’m thinking you’re the kind of woman who could handle bourbon on the rocks.”
He ordered the drink before I had time to say otherwise. It was much too strong for me, and after not drinking for a year I had little tolerance for even a glass of wine. The bartender set the drink in front of me, and I sipped it slowly. When my glass was half-empty, Vince ordered me another.
The Horsehead had a musical trio that night, and as a throaty singer belted out Baby One More Time he pulled me onto the dance floor and we gyrated to the beat of the music. I danced as if I was Britney Spears and Vince mouthed the words, “Let me show you how I’ll do you…”
I’d tell you more about the party, but there’s not a lot I remember. I recall the pulsing beat of Drop It Like It’s Hot and the burn of bourbon as it slid down my throat. I also remember Vince, his hand strong against my back pulling my body into his as we moved with the music. Most everything else is a blur of music, laughter and passion.
The one thing I still cannot remember is leaving.
I woke at dawn as I always did, but before my eyes focused I felt an arm draped across my waist. I knew something was wrong, and a sense of panic rose in my chest. Without moving I opened my eyes and looked around the room. My new dress was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. Someone else’s clothes were scattered about. I heard the sound of traffic on the highway and knew we were in a motel.
I shifted my eyes to the side and saw Vince’s face. He was sound asleep with his mouth hanging open. When I eased myself from beneath his arm, he snorted and turned on his other side. I waited until he settled again then climbed from the bed, pulled on my dress and hurried out of the room. I was hoping my car was in the parking lot, but it wasn’t. It was back at the Horsehead.
Thank God I had my pocketbook. I pulled out my phone and called for a cab.
My car was right where I’d left it, two blocks north of the Horsehead. I climbed in and drove straight home. The shame I felt was overwhelming.
Never again, I vowed. I hated myself for being weak-willed and vulnerable. How could I, a supposedly intelligent woman, sleep with a man whose face I could barely remember? Whose last name I didn’t even know? I reminded myself I was a mother with a baby to raise. I had responsibilities. Over and over again I promised myself I would never again do something so stupid.
Margaret must have heard me when I unlocked the front door. She opened her apartment door and poked her head out.
“I was getting a bit worried,” she said. “Are you all right?”
I gave a forced smile and nodded. “I had a few drinks, so I slept at Nicole’s rather than drive home.”
“Well, that was smart,” she said. “I’m glad you girls had a good time.”
I had little to say. I felt certain the truth of what I’d done was written on my face in bright red neon letters. I could almost imagine the word “whore” blinking on and off like a stoplight.
After I put Violet down for her nap, I showered and scrubbed my skin until it was almost raw. Even then I could still feel the slime of the previous night stuck to me. Luckily I kept a supply of breast milk in the refrigerator and freezer. For three days I used that stored milk to feed Violet and poured the bourbon-laced milk I pumped down the drain.
There was no way I was going to let my baby suffer the consequences of what I’d done. I’m a mama, I kept reminding myself. I’ve got responsibilities.
The Consequences
Mama used to say, “Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.” Of course, back then I was wishing for things like curly hair or a boyfriend. But her words came back to haunt me when I missed my period three weeks after the party.
Impossible, I thought. It was a one-night stand. A drunken orgy with a man I’d just met. I reminded myself I wasn’t a woman who conceived easily. Ryan and I tried for a year. I timed my cycles as closely as you’d time a roast in the oven, and still we’d met with failure.
My getting pregnant for the second time in a year had about the same odds as winning the lottery, so I fluffed it off and waited another two weeks. Still no period.
Friday afternoon I was on my way to pick up Violet and stopped at the drugstore. Reluctantly I purchased another pregnancy test.
It remained stuck in the side pocket of my purse until late Sunday evening. Once Violet was sleeping and the house so quiet I could hear my heart beat, I carried the kit into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. This time I prayed the strip would not change color. I had my hands full with one baby and couldn’t imagine how I’d handle two. But the thought of having a second baby wasn’t nearly as frightening as the thought of explaining where it had come from.
The strip turned blue, and I began to sob.
After Baby Girl left my life, I had pleaded with God to send me another baby. Now I would have not one but two. Be careful what you wish for…
That night I didn’t sleep a wink. I kept thinking about my life, about all the things I’d done wrong, the poor choices I’d made. I also pulled up the few things I’d done right. I’d loved Baby Girl enough to put her happiness ahead of mine. I’d left Ryan and discovered I could make it on my own. I’d chosen Violet over Nick. And now, even in the midst of turmoil and fear, I knew I would love this baby just as I loved Violet.
My three best friends were Nicole, Margaret and Ophelia. I needed to talk to someone and I couldn’t bring myself to tell Margaret or Ophelia, so I told Nicole.
“No bullshavicky?” she said. As I’ve said before “bullshavicky” is Nicole’s favorite word, and she knows a dozen different ways to use it.
“I didn’t even know you were seeing anybody,” she added.
“I’m not,” I said. “It happened the night of the party.”
Her mouth fell open. “Vince?”
I nodded. “Yes, but don’t say anything about it because I’m not telling him.”
“That is such bullshavicky! You’ve gotta tell him, it’s his kid, make him pay—”
I cut her off. “No! I make enough to support two kids and myself. I don’t need him or his money.”
“But—”
I shook my head before she even got started. “You’re not going to talk me into it. I’ve had enough of men like that in my life. First Ryan, then Nick. I’m tired of being stupid about relationships. From here on in, it’s going to be my family and me. That’s it.”
“You’re bongo crazy.” She gave me her raised eyebrow look. “If it was me, I’d make him pay.”
Nicole could be rough around the edges, but she was a good friend and when I needed to talk she was always there. She promised to be my birthing partner.
When a woman is pregnant she goes through a lot of changes; not just her body, but her emotional needs change also. Nicole was there for me. Week after week she came to visit, sometimes with a pizza or a container of Chinese take-out, sometimes with a movie we could sit and watch while Violet snuggled at my breast.
I dreaded the day I would have to tell Margaret and Ophelia. They were not like Nicole; they were older and lived more respectable lives. Ophelia had no children, and Margaret’s first boy had been born a year after she’d
married Henry. I imagined they’d view one baby out of wedlock as a permissible lapse in judgment, but two babies might make me seem to have little or no morals.
By the beginning of January my waist had grown thick, and it was obvious that I’d added some weight. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I telephoned Ophelia and said I’d like to take her and Margaret to lunch.
“I’d much rather you come here,” she said. “It’s too cold for the porch but the kitchen is toasty warm, and I’m anxious to try my new recipe for chicken fricassee.”
“Only if you promise to make dandelion tea,” I replied.
She laughed and said she’d have the tea and ginger cookies as well.
That Saturday with Violet safely buckled into her car seat and Margaret riding up front with me, we headed for Ophelia’s house.
Keeping such a secret from a friend is more difficult than you might think. You watch every word that comes from your mouth. You wonder, if I say this thing or that thing, am I giving myself away? The easiness of your friendship becomes strained, and before long they start to wonder if perchance they’ve done something to offend you.
Margaret and I rode in silence most of the way. Once or twice she started to say something, then turned it off as if it were a thought not worth pursuing.
When we turned onto Haber Street she gave a deep sigh.
“It’ll be good to see Ophelia again,” she said.
“Yes,” I replied. “It will.”
I waited until we had finished our lunch, and then as we were having our tea and cookies I told them I was expecting another baby.
Margaret sat with her jaw hanging open for a moment. Finally she sighed. “Oh, dear.”
Ophelia smiled. “I know. Are you due in May or June?”
Baby Girl Page 13
