Joyce had the baby in her arms in the kitchen, wrapped in a blanket. She was sitting at the table trying to feed her from a bottle, and the baby was making little rooting noises. Luna told her she wanted to stay a little longer to make sure everything was okay, but Joyce told her no, if Milo said go, she needed to.
Luna said she would be available by phone, as always, and would come back in two days to check Carmen and the baby, too, if they were still here. Sometimes these babies didn’t stay here two days.
But Joyce told her not to come back unless they called. Luna asked about the birth certificate, whether she should fill out the paperwork right now before she left, but just then Milo came out to the kitchen and repeated what Joyce had said, a little more forcefully: Don’t call or come back unless she heard from them. They would take care of the birth certificate later. This was a departure from the standard procedure, but she had learned by now not to question Milo. He didn’t like anybody trying to tell him what to do, especially women.
• • •
SO . . . I left,” Luna said.
When she stepped out and saw it was still raining, she remembered her umbrella, which was propped against the washing machine inside, just off the kitchen. So she slipped back to get it. She tried to be very quiet. She didn’t want a scolding from Milo about taking too long to leave.
She paused now and frowned, as if trying to put the details in order. “Just as I picked up my umbrella,” she said, “I heard Milo tell Joyce he had given you something to help you sleep. Then he said they had to get the baby out of the house to make sure you wouldn’t hear it. At first it sounded like a thoughtful thing to do—so you wouldn’t be so upset about not keeping her. I could have left then since I had my umbrella in my hand. I can’t really explain why I didn’t.”
She looked back at Carmen. “Joyce asked him if he had gotten you to sign the papers, and he said no, he hadn’t even tried and wasn’t going to, it was clear you weren’t going to cooperate, so he had gone ahead with plan B. That’s what he called it. Plan B. Joyce said, ‘So you told her?’ She sounded scared. And he said yes. And the only sound for a while was the rain coming down.”
Luna stopped talking and took several deep breaths, expelling them slowly each time. Then she continued. “Of course I was wondering what he had told you. Joyce suggested taking the baby to the Thorntons’ house, but Milo said no, they were out of town until the weekend. And Phyllis couldn’t help either. She was the office girl at Babies First. Milo wasn’t happy. You’d really messed him up having the baby early. Then Joyce said she was worried, she didn’t think they ought to do this, she had a bad feeling about it, and Milo said it was too late, he’d already called the couple in Michigan and told them they had a new baby and they were already making plans to leave. And Joyce must have started crying because Milo said, ‘Stop that, you know this is what we have to do. Babies need stable families.’ And Joyce said the money wasn’t worth it, this just wasn’t right, and he said maybe she would change her mind when she heard how much it was this time. He said he only wished the people weren’t from Michigan because their laws were harder to work around.”
Carmen was taking in every word. She sat motionless, hardly breathing as she looked up at Luna. Though her mind must have been full of questions, she never interrupted. Occasionally she turned her head for a quick look at the clock, as if not knowing which she wanted more—to hear her own story or to see her child.
By now Luna had heard enough of the Shelburns’ conversation to know something very wrong was going on. But she couldn’t think of what to do and she certainly didn’t want to be caught still hanging around, so she left very quietly. She got in her car and wound her way to the end of their long drive, then sat there a good while instead of pulling out onto the road. It was still raining hard.
“I should have called the Pittsfield police right then,” she said. Rat thee-in. “That’s what I should have done. I should have told them what I had just heard and what I suspected—and then let them take it from there. If I had, you would have left the Shelburns’ house with your baby.”
She was looking down at her ring now, running a thumb over the stone as she talked.
But there was something holding her back, she said—maybe fear of Milo, maybe the slightest doubt about what she heard, maybe just her habitual timidity and indecisiveness. She hated confrontation. What if she was wrong?
So she was sitting at the end of the drive in a dilemma, but afraid to do anything about it, when her cell phone rang. It was Milo. In his usual domineering way, he told her they needed her help. No apology for the fact that he had just pointed her to the door. He went on to say they had a “timing issue” with the adoption and needed someone discreet and trustworthy to keep the baby for a couple of days, and would she mind? There would be compensation, of course.
She agreed. This would give her time to weigh the matter, maybe get up her nerve to do what she knew she ought to do. She agreed to help, so she waited for what seemed the right amount of time, then returned to the house.
As she drove home later, the baby slept in the backseat. She thought of Carmen soundly sleeping in the Shelburns’ house, totally unaware of what they were plotting—if her suspicions were right. She thought of what it was Milo might have told her before he put her to sleep—what he must have told her. It was too horrible to put into words. She argued with herself. Surely he wouldn’t tell her a lie like that. But surely he must have.
She thought also of the couple in Michigan who had received a phone call they had been longing for, who were already making plans to drive to Massachusetts to see their baby, then carry her home after the interstate approval was processed, who probably had a fully equipped nursery waiting with every luxury money could buy.
And then, of course, she thought of her son and daughter-in-law, who also had a nursery waiting, who had come home from the hospital in Framingham only a few months ago without a baby, who were still grieving so much they could barely function.
• chapter 23 •
ALL THE PARTICULARS
Just then Luna’s dog appeared at the back door, jumping up with short peremptory barks, his claws scratching against the screen door of the sunroom, as if used to running the show around here. Luna rose and let him in, at which time he immediately erupted into a frenzy over the discovery of strangers inside his house. Two snaps of her fingers and a stern “Go,” however, sent him into the kitchen, where he lay down under the table, with a few resentful woofs to let them know he was still on guard.
Thankfully, Luna left the back door open so that cooler air wafted in through the screen, along with sounds of traffic from the road above the embankment. It was an ideal October day, with some early autumn reds and golds. Somewhere nearby a bird was chirping aggressively. It was hard for Julia to believe she had shivered under blankets through the previous night in Massachusetts.
Luna excused herself and went to the kitchen. She returned with three glasses of ice water on a tray, which she set on the wooden chest. Carmen moved back to sit on the love seat, and Luna pulled her chair a little closer, then took a long drink of water and settled herself again, arranging the folds of her purple robe. Another deep breath, and she resumed.
Milo called the next day to check in and to tell her they still needed her help. He reminded her that it was best not to be taking the baby out of the house, that if she needed anything, to let them know and they would bring it over. The adoptive parents were on the road now. They would arrive the next day sometime. It was a long way from Michigan.
Meanwhile, though Luna was still in a quandary, she was clear on this point: She knew she had to talk to Carmen. She had to find out if Milo had told her the lie she suspected, and, if he hadn’t, whether she had willingly agreed to place the baby for adoption. She also knew that in Massachusetts a birth mother couldn’t sign relinquishment papers until four days after the birth, so if they had gotten her to sign anything yet, that was a major red flag. Depend
ing on what she found out from Carmen, Luna would know whether to notify the authorities. But if she couldn’t talk to Carmen, she would have no choice but to call for help. She couldn’t take a chance since time was running out.
So she told Milo she needed to talk to Carmen briefly and remind her of some instructions they had gone over. He said she was sleeping and he didn’t want to wake her up. Joyce was checking on her regularly and she had eaten a good breakfast, so things were fine. Another “don’t call us, we’ll call you,” and he hung up.
Besides being tied in knots with worry, something else was going on with Luna. “She was the sweetest baby,” she said. “I was falling in love with her.” Her voice quavered a little, and she smiled, the first smile she had offered. “Milo hadn’t counted on that, and I hadn’t either. Of course, I liked babies—they were my life’s work. But I was always happy to hand them over and go back to my quiet house. This one, though—she was different.” She paused. “I called her Little Princess.”
• • •
MILO phoned late the next morning, greatly agitated, and reported that the adoptive parents had been involved in a freeway accident, nothing serious but they had to switch out cars and it was holding them up. He talked as if they had done it on purpose. It was clear that his only concern was for the inconvenience this was causing him. He sighed and said they probably wouldn’t be here until early the next morning now, so he would be back in touch. Did she need anything? Could she keep the baby a little longer? It was the first time he had asked instead of telling.
She told him she could, and then said if they didn’t want her to come over, then at least she needed to talk with Carmen by phone. Not now, he said, she was taking a little walk in the driveway and needed her exercise, but maybe Carmen could call her back later. Another brush-off.
“So then I asked to speak with Joyce just a minute. I told him I wanted to review with her the special problem these young girls had with breast milk—unless he wanted me to explain it to him and he could relay the message. I hoped that might embarrass him enough to let me talk to her, and it worked.”
He handed the phone to Joyce, but it was clear that he was standing there monitoring things. Luna asked several questions about Carmen’s progress, and after one of them Joyce hesitated and said she didn’t know. Well, could she go out to the driveway and ask her? Luna said, hoping Milo wouldn’t follow and she could get Joyce to hand the phone to Carmen. She wasn’t in the driveway, Joyce said. Then she immediately changed her story and said, oh, well, maybe she was, or maybe she had walked a little farther.
So they weren’t going to let her speak directly to Carmen. No use driving out there. Milo would simply meet her at the door and tell her to leave. She still had a little time, but not much. She had already looked up the phone number for the Pittsfield police and had it written down. And she still had the baby—another reassuring thought. She could use the baby for bargaining if she had to: I keep the baby until I talk to Carmen.
Milo took the phone back and told Luna they had to hang up. They would be away from home for a few hours that afternoon but would be back by early evening, and Carmen was going with them.
Carmen interrupted. “That’s not true. They drove to Briggsville, but I didn’t go. That was the day I left.”
“He was cagey,” Luna said. “He just wanted to make sure I didn’t call back or come over while they were away.”
That same night she got another call a little after eight o’clock. Her heart started racing when she saw it was from Milo. She assumed he had been in contact with the couple from Michigan and now he was going to give her a time to meet them tomorrow. She knew this was it. Time for a showdown. She was taken aback, therefore, when he told her they were heading over to get the baby in a few minutes and would keep her at their house from now on.
“Then it hit me,” Luna said to Carmen. “I knew you must not be there anymore, or else they wouldn’t want the baby there. I felt so stupid. I had never thought of this happening. Sometimes the girls did leave after a day or two, but those were always the ones whose parents came to get them. I knew you didn’t have any family, so I guess I was just thinking . . . well, I obviously wasn’t thinking.”
Meanwhile, Milo was on the phone waiting for a reply and wondering why he wasn’t getting one. He raised his voice and told her again they were getting ready to leave, so have the baby ready in about fifteen minutes.
“So I made up something on the spot,” Luna said. “I told him I had to go pick up a prescription at the drive-through pharmacy, so I would just bring her over to save them a trip. He said well, okay, but not to forget to bring all the things they had sent along—the blankets, the diapers, formula, and so forth. Knowing Milo, he was probably going to take inventory to see how many diapers I’d used.”
But she had to know if her hunch was right, that Carmen had left, so before they hung up she asked him. Not “Did Carmen leave?” but “When did Carmen leave?” Two questions in one. He paused just a second, then told Luna what she knew must be another lie, that Carmen had caught a bus in Briggsville and headed off to New York City to start a new life.
Carmen nodded. “Yep, another lie. I did catch a bus, but in Pittsfield, not Briggsville, and not to New York.”
“If only I had driven out to the house that day,” Luna said. “I might have seen you before you left.” She heaved a sigh and picked up with the story. Milo told her to hurry up and bring the baby, they would be waiting. They were both tired and wanted to go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep.
She laughed dryly. “Milo always expected everybody to follow his timetable. Even a little baby.”
• • •
SHE was kneading her hands as she talked. “So, there I was. You had disappeared, and I was convinced Milo was about to have a big payday off your baby. I had failed to save her for you.” Remorse was written all over her face. “I should have gotten help right away. That was my mistake. Hindsight . . .” Her hands went still. “I was beside myself when I hung up. But . . . then I saw something.”
She paused. “This is the part that’s hard to tell.” Hard to tay-ell. “I saw a picture on the table beside my sofa. Of my son and his wife. They were living in Massachusetts at the time, close to Boston, in Framingham. Later his job transferred him down here to Roskam.”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to say this except to just say it. I was scared to death of what I was thinking, but once I started justifying it, I couldn’t stop. You were gone, and nobody knew where. Maybe you could be tracked down, but maybe not. Probably not, I told myself. And even if you could, maybe you would tell them yes, you had thought it over and agreed to give the baby up and had signed the papers early so you could leave.”
She stopped again and hung her head. Her hair fell around her face. After a few moments, she looked up. “I’ve never been a very daring person, and I’ve always moved slow. But that night I hatched a plan faster than you would believe.”
Sitting on the sofa staring at the picture of her son and daughter-in-law, she seized the idea, thought about it for a few frantic moments, and then stood up and proceeded to carry it out. She jotted a few notes to herself, then got a drink of water to calm herself, checked on the baby—she was sleeping—and picked up her telephone.
“I don’t know where I got the courage,” she said. “I’ve never been a risk-taker. Well, I take that back—I do know where I got the courage. I was looking into the room where Princess was sleeping. There were two things on—a night light and a CD of Mozart. And as I dialed the Shelburns’ number, I kept my eyes on her, and I never took them off the whole time I talked.”
It wasn’t a long phone call in that there wasn’t much two-way talking. Joyce answered, and Luna was glad for that, though her script would have remained the same either way. She asked her to put the phone on speaker and call Milo since this was for both of them. Joyce said he was sitting right there.
“I knew this would be the speech
of a lifetime,” Luna said. “I had to be strong, I couldn’t grope around for words, I couldn’t act unsure for even a second. So I kept my eyes on the baby and started talking. I know it helped that it was over the phone, not face-to-face. I might’ve lost my nerve if I’d had to look at him. First, I said I knew everything. I repeated it: Everything. I said, ‘You told Carmen the baby died, but I’m looking at her right now and she’s very much alive.’ I told them I knew they were planning to forge and notarize your signature on the surrender papers and secure a false birth certificate. I said I knew all about the exorbitant amount the couple from Michigan was paying for the baby. And even though I hadn’t planned to say this part, I took another gamble and told them I knew this wasn’t the only time Babies First had been involved in something like this.”
She paused, shaking her head. “I’ll tell you the truth, I could hardly believe I was saying those things since I didn’t know any of it for sure. I still can’t explain it. I really can’t.” I rilly cain’t. “Milo must have wondered what in the world had happened to me in the space of a few minutes since we’d last talked. I still can’t believe I did it.” She picked up the glass of water and took another drink.
Julia didn’t know what to think. She thought of Luna’s earlier words: No, I just took your baby and Her father is my son. She wanted to despise this woman. She didn’t want to be drawn into her story. And what a story anyway. Far stranger and less plausible than many she had doubted in the past. She looked at Carmen. No time now for even a quick consultation with her: Do you believe her? Do you think she’s making all this up?
To See the Moon Again Page 28
