Hannah frowned and crossed her arms. She clearly didn’t believe her.
“I’m being honest. If I was trying to placate you, Hannah, I’d tell you everything was just fine.” She took a breath then forged ahead. “I know that he’s angry with me.”
“For what?” Hannah was indignant. “For going on this trip?”
“Yes. And for other things that have been building over the years. It’s hard to explain, even to myself, what went wrong.”
“What do you mean?” she said, panic tingeing her voice. “You sound like you’re getting a divorce.”
“No,” Birdie quickly interjected. “At least, I don’t want one. I only hope your father doesn’t. We love each other, I’m sure of that. Sometimes, however, a couple can grow apart, even with love. It takes work to keep the romance alive and your daddy and I didn’t work hard enough. It wasn’t deliberate. It just crept up on me. The hours at work, struggling to keep up the house, the appearances, trying to be a good mother. I wanted to succeed at everything and worked so hard at it that I ended up enjoying nothing. I was tired all the time. And cranky. That led to me feeling unappreciated. It’s a vicious cycle.” She turned to face her daughter and saw her as a young woman. “I know I’ve been hard on you. I’ve been hard on your father as well. He’s told me he’s had enough. So…that’s how it is.”
Hannah didn’t say anything. Her face, gaminlike now with her short strawberry hair wisping around her face, her brown doelike eyes moist with tears and the cleft in her chin that was so much like her father’s made Birdie’s heart swell with love for her.
“Do you think if you had had the baby it would have made a difference?”
“Would it have made a difference to you?”
She nodded tentatively. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
“Oh, Hannah…” Birdie felt a swell of sorrow. How could she tell her daughter how crushed she was to have lost this baby? She’d tried for more than ten years to have another child, suffering each time her period began. She knew this was her last chance. There would be no more babies for her. But how could she tell all this to her daughter? And worse, how could she tell this to Dennis…again?
“Don’t cry, Mom.” Hannah tried to turn her choked sob into a laugh. “You know, it’s weird. I used to try and make you cry and I never could. And now when I don’t want you to…”
“Oh, you made me cry,” Birdie confessed with a sniff. “Plenty. I just never let you see.”
Hannah’s eyes widened with surprise. “I got so mad at you for getting on my case so much.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah, Mom. You did. It was like you wanted me to do everything like you. To be like you. And when I wasn’t you’d get angry and call me lazy or stupid.”
“I never called you stupid!”
“Not in so many words, but that’s how I felt. Nothing I did was ever good enough. So I just stopped trying.”
Birdie felt the tears stinging her eyes. “I was only trying to help you. I want so much for you.”
“Let go a little, Mom! You’re holding on too tight. I’m going to be gone in two years. If I don’t do things for myself now, when I get to college I’ll flip out because I won’t be able to handle the freedom.” She sneaked a look at her mother to gauge her reaction. “And I won’t want to come back home.”
Birdie stared at her, pursing her lips, trying to grasp all that Hannah was telling her. “I’d miss you. I sure hope you’ll come home.”
“It’s been really different on this trip. You’ve been different. You’ve included me, instead of always making me feel like a kid.”
Thank you, Jilly, she thought to herself. “You’ve been acting like a woman.”
Hannah registered this, nodding. “I’d like to be friends with you. So we can talk about things, you know? It’d be nice.”
Birdie felt a flush of pleasure so deep it flowed through her like a gush of springwater that began to slowly fill the empty space in her heart.
She held her hands clasped tight lest she get too mushy and hug her daughter and smack big kisses on her cheek. “Yeah,” she replied. “It’d be nice.”
20
JILLY SAT ON THE SMALL CEMENT porch outside her room and watched the river gurgle on its journey to wherever. The water reflected the gray sky overhead that was roiling with fast-moving clouds. The birds were quiet this morning. There was a stillness in the air, a hush before a storm. She’d been sitting there since she’d woken in Rajiv’s arms, then hurried back to the motel before anyone else woke up. She didn’t feel like returning to sleep so she’d come out to sit, hoping the cool morning air could quiet her restlessness. There was electricity in the air.
So when the phone rang, she straightened in her chair, took a long drag from her cigarette and snuffed it out in anticipation. She turned toward the screen door with her chin up, waiting. When she heard Rose call her name, she was ready.
“Out here!”
Rose opened the screen door, pushed back her thick hair from her sleep-worn face and looked at her groggily. But her eyes were dancing with excitement. “There you are. Jilly, the phone’s for you. It’s the Soundex Reunion Registry!”
Jilly felt as though someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water on her. She bolted up then stood frozen on the spot.
“Go on. What are you waiting for?” Rose gave her a gentle push.
Jilly’s heart rate took off again as she walked across the room to the telephone.
“Hello?”
“Hello. This is the Soundex Reunion Registry. Is this Jillian Season?” It was the voice of an elderly man, very warm and friendly.
“It is.”
There was a brief pause. “I have some good news.”
Jilly had felt each moment of the day pass. Since her phone call with the Soundex Reunion Registry early that morning, she’d felt she was walking in a fog. Up till now, the search for her daughter had been a collaborative effort of the Season sisters. And yet, they’d still be laboring through addresses and hunting through directories for who knew how long if Anne Marie hadn’t begun a search of her own. Anne Marie was looking for her! The thought took Jilly’s breath away. In the end, they’d found each other.
The Soundex Reunion Registry served as an intermediary between Jilly and Anne Marie to set up the first contact. Through the intermediary, Jilly received the current address and phone number of her daughter and an appointment to call Anne Marie at eight o’clock that same night. It all seemed so organized and matter-of-fact when inside all her emotions were in a whirlwind.
The one place she felt most secure was, oddly enough, the small, four-square slab of cement behind her room. They’d had a hard, heavy rain on and off all afternoon with a backup band of thunder and spectacular lightning. The storm had moved on and the earth smelled dank and very green. The swollen river gushed soothingly in the dark distance and the breeze was cool and moist on her face. Jilly crouched into her chair, brought her knees up and listened to the river and her own raging thoughts.
In a short while she’d be talking on the telephone with her daughter. Rather than fill her with joy and excitement, all she felt was blind terror and guilt. What was she going to say to her? I’m sorry? For she was. She was sorry about everything. Her whole damned life. In her mind she composed a litany of apologies. I’m sorry that I was a reckless teenager. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger under pressure and kept you. I’m sorry I never tried to find you before.
Maybe if she had kept her baby her life would have turned out differently. If she had, she would have forced the family to acknowledge Anne Marie’s birth. There wouldn’t have been decades of deceit and she wouldn’t have become the family outcast. If she had, she might not have made such a mess of her life.
But how could she have kept her? Jilly shivered, remembering how she’d sobbed when she found out she was pregnant, convinced she would end up hurting this baby like she’d hurt Merry. And she couldn’t bear that. So her life became what it was, a series
of selfish, irresponsible acts. She’d never had another child.
She lowered her legs and straightened in her chair, breathing deep. Who did she think she was fooling? Anne Marie’s life was better this way. She could be disrupting her life, making her unhappy. Was she only being selfish once again, as the sister at Holy Hill had told her?
She didn’t hear anyone step out onto the patio so she startled when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder.
“Rajiv! My God, you scared me. My heart’s pounding.”
“You were a million miles away. And you looked so sad. Isn’t this supposed to be a happy moment for you?”
“I’m miserable,” she moaned, resting her head against his hand. “Am I doing the right thing making this call? Maybe I shouldn’t meet her. What if she doesn’t want to meet me?”
“Where is all this coming from? Of course she’ll want to meet you,” he replied, pulling out a chair and sitting knee-to-knee with her. “Why else would she have begun the search for her birth mother?”
“There are so many reasons she might have searched. Perhaps she was just curious about her genetics. She’s of childbearing age, it would be a natural concern. Or her medical history. She’d want to know who her parents were, her grandparents. What diseases they had, what they died of. Or maybe she was just curious if she had any brothers or sisters. Oh, Rajiv, I don’t know why she tried to find me. But it doesn’t mean she wants to actually meet me face-to-face, much less include me in her life.”
“You’re her family. And family provides one with a great sense of identity.”
She heard the sorrow in his voice whenever he mentioned the word family, but didn’t want to pry. Nor, she suspected, would he tell her. His face was shuttered.
“I’m not family. She has her own family now.”
“True, but she must have hundreds of questions about herself, Jillian. She’ll want to know if she looks like you.” He turned his head and his smile warmed her. “She’ll be lucky if she does. But she’ll be luckier if she has your character and strength. Call her.”
He always knew exactly what to say to make her crumbled self-image whole again.
“I’ll call,” she said, resigned, resting her head against his shoulder.
“We shouldn’t crowd her,” Rose said to the others. They were standing outside Jilly’s room. Inside she was making the contact call.
“I’m afraid she’ll bolt,” said Birdie. “She had the look of a racehorse at the gate. You know, rolling eyes and skittish.”
“Let her take it at her own pace,” Rose argued back. “If she decides not to call tonight, all we can do is support her. We promised we’d back off. But don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll bolt. She might throw up,” she said, releasing a smile, “but she’ll make the call.”
“I’m so nervous,” Hannah cried, stomping her feet in the cool air.
“We all are, honey.”
“I guess this means our search is over.” Hannah lifted her head and looked into her mother’s eyes.
Birdie was surprised to see that they almost looked eye to eye. When did she grow so tall? “Guess so.”
“I don’t think I want it to be over.” Hannah laughed nervously. “I mean, sure I want Jilly to find her daughter. But I’m having a good time.”
Birdie hugged her and whispered, “Me too.”
Hannah pulled back and looked at her sheepishly. “I kinda miss Dad, though. Don’t you?”
“You don’t have to be shy about saying that. This isn’t a him-against-me scenario. I miss him, too. Very much.”
“Then why don’t you call him?”
Birdie balked. “I…I did call him. Lots of times. But he hasn’t called me back.”
“Then call him again. Just because he’s being a jerk doesn’t mean you should. You said you were going to do everything you could!”
“There comes a point…”
“Come on, Mom. Aunt Jilly is in there calling her kid that she hasn’t seen in twenty-six years. You can call Dad after two weeks.”
“She’s got a point,” Rose added.
“Call now,” Hannah said, taking the advantage.
“Oh, Hannah…”
“Why wait? Go on, Mom.”
“I’ll take Hannah out for some ice cream and give you some space. Okay?” asked Rose.
Birdie gave Rose a long, level stare, ready to bean her. But in the back of her mind she was thinking, what the heck? Hannah was right. What was she waiting for? It was only false pride that was keeping her from calling Dennis again, pride that he wasn’t pursuing her the way she wanted him to. She looked over at the motel room door and imagined Jilly in there sweating bullets, just trying to lift the telephone receiver. She and Rose were the ones who pushed her into this search. How could she expect less from herself?
She reluctantly gave up a grin of resignation and nodded, which sent Hannah back into her arms with a grateful hug.
“Oh, go on, get your ice cream,” she said, gently pushing them on their way. “And take your time. Just don’t forget to bring me back a turtle sundae. I don’t care how many calories are in it!”
Shortly before eight o’clock, Jilly sat alone before the telephone in her room, dredging up all the words of support that she’d received throughout the day. She used them as the stone and mortar of the wall of protection she’d constructed around herself as she readied for the call.
On the table she had carefully set out a glass of chilled white wine, a pack of cigarettes and matches. She hadn’t had a sip of wine yet. The last thing she wanted to do was slur her first words to her daughter. The wine was there in case she needed to drown her sorrows afterward. On the bed, neatly lined up in a row, was the adoption file, documentation from Mr. Collins, a pen and a Wisconsin map for directions. In her lap was her journal. Everything was ready.
She picked up the phone, then set it down again. Sighing, she got up and paced the narrow strip in the room, feeling as though her clothes weighed a hundred pounds. After a few passes she glanced at the clock, then stopped before the phone, frustration bubbling in her veins. Right or wrong, she had to stop obsessing about it. It was eight o’clock—too late to back out now. Somewhere in the Green Bay area Anne Marie was sitting by the phone. She couldn’t just leave her stranded. Without allowing herself another thought, she sat down and picked up the phone, dialing the number that the Soundex Reunion Registry had given her that morning. “God help me,” she prayed.
The phone rang twice.
“Hello?” A woman answered the phone. Her voice was soft.
Jilly’s mind went blank. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Hello?” the voice asked again.
“Hello,” she forced out. “Is this Anne Marie?” Jilly was amazed to hear her own, well-trained voice squeak and tremble.
“Yes. Is this—” There was an awkward pause as Anne Marie grasped for a word. “Mrs. Season?”
Mrs. Season? The name wounded her. She knew she didn’t deserve to be called Mother, not yet, maybe never. But she’d felt for a moment that mother was the word about to slip from Anne Marie’s tongue.
“Yes, it is. Well, no. Actually, it’s Miss Season. Jillian Season.” Why wouldn’t her tongue move?
“Oh.”
“Please, just call me Jilly.”
There was a pause that seemed to Jilly to stretch as wide as the Grand Canyon and she had no idea how to cross it. Jilly put her head in her palm and sighed.
“I’m glad you called.” Anne Marie’s voice was tentative.
Jilly’s mind went blank again. In a panic she opened her journal, looked at her notes and asked one of the questions she’d been advised to ask.
“Is this a good time to talk?”
“Yes. Of course. I’ve been waiting all day.”
She’d been waiting? Jilly released her breath. That had to mean that she did want to talk to her after all. Jilly felt a flood of relief and sat up; she didn’t realize she’d been hunched over the p
hone as though expecting a kick in the stomach.
“Good. Good,” she replied. “I’m glad.”
“Is it a good time for you? To talk?”
“Oh, yes, sure. It’s fine.” She was grasping for things to say, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this moment. This was her daughter’s voice. Her child! She’d only once before heard her lusty cry at birth.
“Are you…” They both started talking at the same time, then both stopped abruptly.
“Go ahead,” Jilly said, twisting the phone cord.
“No, you go.” Anne Marie sounded as though she were in equal agony.
“Well,” Jilly began again, flummoxed because she couldn’t remember what she was going to ask. “I was just wondering, um, what you thought when you learned there was a match.”
“Oh, God! Well!” She laughed nervously again. “I thought, wow. I guess I couldn’t believe this was really happening.”
Jilly smiled, taking her first easy breath. “Me, too. I was told when I started looking for you that it might go quickly, but I didn’t know how quickly.”
“I have a thousand questions but I can’t think of one of them.”
“Now I know why they advised me to write them down. All I can think right now is how wonderful it is just to hear your voice.” She paused, giving Anne Marie a chance to speak. When she didn’t, she tried filling in the long silence. “I could begin by telling you that you have your grandmother’s name. Ann.”
“Really?” She sounded very surprised. “Did you give me that name?”
“No. I…” She didn’t want to tell Anne Marie that she wasn’t given a name at birth, rather like Pirate Pete had not been named for lack of attachment. “Your adoptive mother chose your name.”
“You mean my mother.”
Jilly cringed, squeezing her eyes tight. Darn, she hadn’t meant to get into that. “Yes!” she replied quickly. “I was just trying to be clear about who I was talking about.”
“I think I should be clear about this, too. Right away,” Anne Marie said with more firmness in her voice than Jilly had heard yet. “I have a mother. I don’t need another. That’s not what this is about.”
The Four Seasons Page 29
