Baby Girl

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Um… May,” I answered. “But how—”

  “You’ve got the glow,” she said. “I noticed it the last time you were here.”

  “Now I get it!” Margaret chimed in. “This is why you’ve been so close-mouthed.” She gave a grin. “Thank goodness! I’ve been worried sick you were going to move out and leave me.”

  The funny thing about that afternoon is that neither of them asked who the father was. They asked how I felt and if I knew whether I was having a boy or girl. They also asked if there was something they could do to help out, but neither of them turned up their noses or looked at me with a disparaging glare.

  I thought about how my own mama had slammed the receiver down in my ear when she heard the news and was reminded of something Daddy once told me.

  “God doesn’t always give you what you want,” he said, “but he always gives you what you need.”

  I had everything I needed. Good friends and a family I could call my own. That night after I tucked Violet into her crib, I said a prayer and thanked God for giving me what I needed instead of all the other things I’d been wishing for.

  A Family of Three

  Felix arrived two weeks early as a middle-of-the-night baby. Wearing her nightgown and robe, Margaret scurried up the stairs to stay with Violet while Nicole whisked me off to the Sisters of Mercy. By the time we got to the hospital, I was well into labor and went straight to the delivery room. He was born within the hour.

  Two days later I was home with two babies. By then Violet was walking, had started to say a few words and graduated to whole milk. Felix was now the baby at my breast. With two cribs and toys scattered about, the little room was crowded but manageable.

  For the second time in just over a year, I was out on maternity leave. It was during the last week before returning to work that I began thinking I should tell Vince he was a father. As far as I was concerned I would have been happy to leave things as they were, but I worried about Felix. I imagined him as a young man asking why I’d never even told his father about him.

  “Were you ashamed of me, Mama?” he might ask. Of course I would answer no, but still I would have no excuse to give.

  I thought about this for three days; then I called Amy Elkins. Months earlier Nicole had mentioned that Vince was Amy’s friend.

  “Vince, the fellow who was at the Horsehead party last September,” I said. “I’d like to get in touch with him; do you have his last name and phone number?”

  She did and gave it to me.

  I let another day go by before I finally called him.

  On the Thursday before I was to return to work, I waited until both babies were sleeping; then I went into the living room and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hi,” I said. “This is Cheryl Ann.”

  There were a few moments of silence; then he said, “Do I know you?”

  I could feel the lump rising into my throat. “Last September, the party at the Horsehead, you and I…”

  Again there was silence.

  “The motel on Route 23…”

  “Oh, geez,” he said, laughing. “Yeah, I remember. How are you?”

  “Good,” I said. “Real good. But I think there’s something you should know.”

  He waited but said nothing.

  “I had a baby,” I finally blurted out.

  “Oh, shit! I hope you’re not trying to say it’s mine, because there’s no way in hell—”

  Before he could continue I said, “It is yours. I’m sure because you’re the only one I’ve been with.”

  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m not falling for it. That kid isn’t mine, and I’m not giving you a dime! If you’re looking for—”

  “I don’t want your money,” I said. “I make enough to support my family. But I thought since you’re Felix’s father you might want to be involved in his life.”

  “No, I don’t!” he said and slammed the receiver down.

  For a moment I sat there too stunned to speak. Then I began to cry. I cried not for me but for Felix and perhaps for my own daddy, the man Felix had been named after. It was a painful thing to be without a daddy. It left a hole in your life.

  A short while later I heard Felix starting to whimper and I wondered if on some plane of consciousness, an understanding far beyond that of mortals, he’d grasped the words his father said.

  I lifted him from his crib, carried him to the living room and held him to my breast. Hours later as he lay sleeping in my arms I swore that neither of my children would pay for my mistakes. I would see to it that they had a good life, even if it was without a daddy.

  ~ ~ ~

  The days turned into weeks and the weeks into years. The spring Violet turned three and Felix celebrated his second birthday, Margaret set up a birthday party in the backyard. It was only our little group and a handful of friends, but she decorated with balloons and had party hats for everyone. We laughed and played games all afternoon. Auntie Nicole gave Felix a hobby horse with wheels and Violet a tricycle. That afternoon she took pictures of the kids and me.

  Those pictures were almost magical. I could actually see the happiness in their faces. I chose a shot where Felix had a piece of cake stuck to his cheek, had it blown up to poster size and hung it on the living room wall as a reminder of the family we’d grown into.

  During those years I did very little socializing. Once in a while I’d have Margaret stay with the babies so I could have dinner with Nicole or the girls from the Tribune. But those instances were few and far between.

  Somehow I had evolved into something that could only be described as neither fish nor fowl. I was single but had little in common with my single friends. I had plenty in common with other mothers but I was the sole provider, so when they did playdates or mom get-togethers I was out calling on customers. Evenings were spent at home because people seldom invited a single woman to tag along or be a dinner guest unless it was a fix-up. A blind date. No, thanks.

  I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times when I longed to feel a man’s arms around me, to feel the warmth of his body next to mine or be touched in the way that only a lover touches you. In the last hours of the evening when my babies were asleep and I sat alone on the sofa, a romantic movie would remind me of those things and a feeling of loneliness would come upon me. When that happened I would go into the nursery and watch my babies sleep.

  God gives you what you need, not what you want.

  I had exactly what I needed, a family where I could love and be loved.

  The House

  I have heard it said that the love of a child can inspire you to do things far greater than you might otherwise have done, and I believe it’s true. I spent my childhood years on a street where making do was the best you could hope for, and I grew up believing I deserved nothing more than what I had. When life ran roughshod over me I accepted that as my lot. Then my children came along. That changed everything.

  I had two small lives entrusted to my care, and I wanted it to be better for them than it had been for me. I allowed them to experience all the things I hadn’t. I said it was okay to build a Lincoln log fort in the middle of the living room or have a lineup of baby dolls sitting on the sofa. People were more important than things, and caring trumped neatness. These are the things I tried to teach the children. I wanted them to understand what it meant to love and be loved

  But as they grew, so did the size and number of toys. They filled the small bedroom and spilled out into the hall. On any given day you could find scooters, blocks and balls strewn from one end of the apartment to the other. We were rapidly outgrowing our space.

  For Violet’s fifth birthday, Margaret gave her a grown-up bike with training wheels and that seemed to be the thing that pushed us over the edge.

  “I think we need to find a larger apartment,” I told Margaret.

  “I never thought I’d say this,” she replied, “but I think you’re right.”


  For almost a month I searched for a three-bedroom apartment fairly close to where we were. The nursery school was nearby, I had an easy commute to work and Margaret was always willing to babysit. The problem I ran into was that we didn’t live in an apartment building area. Cape cods, ranches and two-story houses lined every street this side of town.

  On an afternoon when I was weary from looking at apartments smaller than what we had, the kids and I met Auntie Nicole for lunch at McDonalds. While the kids explored the playground, Nicole and I sat and talked.

  “This search for an apartment is turning into a nightmare,” I said. “I haven’t seen one any bigger than what we’ve got.”

  Nicole stuffed an extra-long French fry into her mouth and said around it, “Apartment bullshavicky, what you need is a house.”

  “A house?” I laughed in disbelief. “What makes you think I can afford a house?”

  “What makes you think you can’t?” she answered.

  I thought about that question for a moment and then admitted I didn’t have an answer. I guess it was one of those things I thought I wasn’t entitled to.

  That evening, after both kids were asleep, I sat down with my checkbook, the last two years’ income statements and a list of monthly expenses. I looked at the average home cost in the area, figured the mortgage payment, added insurance and allowed for a small margin of repairs. Much to my surprise, I discovered I could do it if the cost of the house was $85,000 or under. Preferably under. I gathered up the newspaper real estate sections where I’d been searching under “Rental Apartments” and turned to the page that listed homes for sale.

  For well over a month I looked at homes that were smaller than an apartment. Or drastically in need of repair. Or somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Or butting up against a highway. Then I saw an ad for a three-bedroom ranch. It didn’t list the price but offered a deep discount for a quick sale and gave a phone number for Cindy Callahan of Morris and Morris.

  I called and she said the house was listed at $109,900.

  “But,” she added in a whispery voice, “I know for a fact the owner is being transferred and anxious to get moving. If you offered ninety-nine, I think he’d take it.”

  I explained that was higher than I could afford to go.

  “I’m looking for something in the seventy-to-eighty thousand range,” I said.

  Cindy said she had a few houses in that general price range, and we made a date for Saturday.

  The prospect of moving to a house excited the kids almost as much as it did me, so they were full of questions when we got to the real estate office. The minute I sat down at the desk, Felix gave Cindy his million-dollar smile and said, “I’m five; can I have my own room?”

  “You’re not five,” Violet argued, “you’re four. I’m five!”

  “Cute kids,” Cindy said. “Your little guy reminds me of my nephew.” She turned her computer around and showed me the picture on the screen. “See. That’s Elgin; don’t they look alike?”

  I didn’t see that much of a resemblance but nodded nonetheless. “You said you had a few houses in the seventy-to-eighty thousand range?”

  “I do,” she replied, “but they’re basically dumps.”

  She pulled up a few pictures and showed them to me. When a halfway decent cape cod came on screen she shook her head and said, “Sewer problems. Backs up all the time.”

  “Oh, too bad,” I replied, and she moved on to the next one.

  We looked at five pictures, and there wasn’t one house that looked inviting. A house with the front porch leaning to one side needed work. More work than I could afford.

  “It’s really tough to find something decent in that price range,” Cindy said. “If you can go up to ninety-five or maybe ninety-nine, I’ve got a nice cape cod on Hillmoor. And you know about that really sweet ranch on Prescott. The owners of the ranch are very anxious to sell, and I know they’d be willing to talk deal.”

  If I hadn’t already looked at more ugly houses than I could count, I might have turned away from such a suggestion. Instead I shrugged and said I’d be willing to take a look at it.

  Of course, one look was all I needed. I fell in love with the house. More importantly so did the kids. As Cindy and I stood in the kitchen talking price and bargaining possibilities, I looked out into the backyard and saw the kids playing on a swing set. It was one of those moments that grabs hold of your heart and refuses to let go.

  That night I refigured my budget six ways from Sunday, and the absolute most I could swing was $87,000. I wrote a letter to the owners and e-mailed it to Cindy to pass along with my offer. In the letter I explained how we had all three fallen in love with the house and although I knew it was worth what they were asking, I was a single mom and this was all I could afford.

  “I can see the love that’s gone into your house,” I wrote, “and if we are fortunate enough to get it, I promise to treasure and care for it just as you have.”

  I hit Send and started to pray.

  Three days later Cindy called.

  “They accepted your offer,” she said.

  A Forever Place

  On moving day the two burly men from Budget Moving carried out seventy-six cartons plus all the furniture we’d accumulated over the years. Once the truck pulled out of the driveway, I loaded the kids into the car and turned back to give Margaret one last hug.

  “This isn’t goodbye,” I told her.

  “I know,” she said sadly. “But you’ll be a half a mile away, and that’s not the same as having you upstairs.”

  I knew what she said was true and hugged her all the more tightly. “We’ll be back to visit every weekend. I promise.”

  She gave a tight little smile. “Anytime you need a babysitter…”

  “You’ll be the first one I call.”

  We gave each other one last hug, and I climbed into the car.

  “Take care of yourself,” she said, “and remember if you need anything…”

  “We’ll be fine.” I waved one last goodbye and backed out of the driveway.

  ~ ~ ~

  The first day in our house was bedlam. We focused on getting things set up for our most immediate needs. Dishes in the cabinet, sheets on the beds, toothbrushes and pajamas unpacked. It was almost nine when Violet and Felix crawled into bed, happy and exhausted.

  Later that evening when everything was so quiet I could hear the crickets in the backyard chirping, I walked through the house looking at every room, noticing every small detail: the moldings, the brick fireplace, the built-in bookcase in the living room. I ran my hand along the shelves and imagined them one day filled with books, pictures and the memorabilia we’d collected in the years of our life.

  There is no way to explain the pride I felt at that moment. My heart was filled to overflowing, and as I stood there looking into the future a tear slid down my face. It wasn’t sadness but an overwhelming feeling that everything was better than I ever imagined it could be. I had the family I’d always wanted, and now we even had our very own home.

  I thought back to my days on Spruce Street and how Mama had said if I didn’t find myself a man and settle down I was never going to amount to a hill of beans.

  You were wrong, Mama. Look at what I’ve done. I have a fine family and a lovely little house, and I’ve done it all by myself. Without a man in my life.

  The first two weeks we were in the house I was on vacation. I couldn’t imagine a vacation better than cleaning every little corner and putting each piece of our life in precisely the right spot. Violet is a bit like me. Before the second day was done, she had emptied out all of her cartons and arranged her room exactly as she wanted it. Baby dolls sat along the windowsill, a dollhouse against the back wall and her little table and chairs set in the spot where sun dappled the carpet.

  Felix was the opposite. He opened the cartons, took out the dump truck he wanted and left the rest to be unpacked another time.

  The furniture we’d brought with us was okay
, but it wasn’t enough. The house was quite a bit larger than the apartment, so the dining room sat empty and we needed a dresser for Felix’s room. We also needed a few more lamps and some nightstands. On our fourth day in the new house, the kids and I headed for the Salvation Army Thrift shop.

  I was hoping to see the sweet woman who had taken me under her wing years earlier when I came with Ryan, but this time an elderly man was behind the counter. I had no name and only a vague description of the woman.

  “She had silver hair, on the short side, a pleasant smile,” I said. “You know of anyone like that?”

  He gave a shrug and shook his head. “A description like that fits most of the volunteers who work here. Now if you had a name…”

  “No problem.” I thanked him for his time and moved on.

  We spent the afternoon wandering through aisles piled high with furniture of every shape, size and color. I selected a rectangular-shaped dining room table with a badly scratched top, four matching chairs and two that didn’t match but were close enough. Felix was supposed to pick out a dresser for his room, but instead he chose a toy box. In the end I added a dresser because regardless of preference, he needed a place to put his clothes. I also added three lamps and two nightstands that needed to be sanded and refinished.

  The following day the Salvation Army truck pulled into our driveway and delivered everything.

  I spent the next five days doing countless runs to Home Depot as I sanded and refinished the tabletop and nightstands. Long after the kids had gone to bed, I’d still be sanding and polishing. It might sound like a lot of work, but it didn’t feel that way. I suppose because it truly was a labor of love.

  By the end of the second week, everything was unpacked and put away. We were ready for company, so I invited Nicole, Ophelia and Margaret to dinner.

  Each of them came with gifts to celebrate the new house. Margaret gave us a box filled with fluffy white towels. Nicole brought a wrought iron wine rack and six bottles of wine.