Wishful Thinking

by Alexandra Bullen

  It didn’t make sense. She was just starting to get used to the idea that she’d woken up in the past, across the country, and had been given a chance to get to know her mother while she was alive. And now here she was, taking day trips with Jaime, the one person she’d been trying to get away from since she’d gotten to the island.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t feel bad for Jaime. She did. She couldn’t imagine what must be going through Jaime’s mind. Rosanna was sick, they were selling the estate, and now this? But, for the most part, the whole excursion seemed like a colossal waste of time.

  The shuttle squealed to a stop and Hazel followed Jaime down to the curb.

  Falmouth Center was a quaint little village, with souvenir shops and cafés similar to the ones on the Vineyard. But even though Hazel had spent only a few days on the island, she could already feel a mainland difference. It was a pace thing, maybe. Or just the buried knowledge that where she stood now was connected to the rest of the country, as opposed to the island, where it sort of always felt like floating. She didn’t know why, but she missed it already.

  Jaime ducked between two lanes of traffic and Hazel scurried to keep up. Across the street was a small brick building, set back from the road with a little oval sign swinging out front. FALMOUTH FREE WOMEN’S CLINIC, it read. Hazel paused at the sign, considering it carefully. Something was wrong with the wording. Was the clinic only for free women? But Free Falmouth would have sounded like a command.

  “What are you doing?” Jaime huffed from the top of the stairs. “Why don’t you just put out an ad in the paper? Jaime Wells is knocked up!”

  Hazel hurried to meet Jaime at the door. Jaime stood with her hand on the knob, staring at her dirty sneakers. She was in her work clothes, patched jean cutoffs, and a faded blue and red Coca-Cola T-shirt. She didn’t look old enough to get into a PG-13 movie on her own, let alone have any reason to be visiting a women’s clinic. Free or otherwise.

  Hazel stepped in front of Jaime and opened the other door. “Ready?” she asked, trying her best to sound warm and nurturing.

  Jaime rolled her eyes and pushed her way inside. “Move.”

  The clinic waiting room was loud and crowded, which hadn’t been part of the plan. Young mothers (most not as young as Jaime, but definitely not card-carrying adults) pushed strollers and jiggled unhappy newborns on their laps. On a low couch in the corner, an extremely pregnant woman was sprawled out with a washcloth on her forehead. It basically could have been a Public Service Announcement for saving oneself for marriage.

  Or eternity.

  Jaime did a quick survey of the room and, after deciding that she didn’t recognize anyone, made her way to the receptionist. A heavy woman with frizzy blond hair and too much mascara passed Jaime a form on a clipboard. “Fill this out and take a seat,” she ordered between sips from a can of orange soda.

  Hazel found them a pair of seats by the door. She sat quietly while Jaime studied the form, the end of her pen tapping furiously against the metal clip at the top. Seated diagonally across from them was a young couple around their age. The girl had straight black hair down to her waist, and the guy was gripping the armrests of his chair like they were the only things keeping him from bolting. They were trying desperately not to make eye contact with each other or anyone else. Hazel swallowed hard and looked at the dirty gray carpet. The couple looked like they had a story to tell, and Hazel was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear it.

  “I guess this is it,” Jaime said suddenly. “I mean, after this I’ll know for sure.”

  Hazel looked up at her, wracking her brain for supportive things to say.

  “It’s better to know than, um … not … know” was her tepid contribution.

  Jaime turned to face her. She had dark, deep circles under her eyes and her hair flew up in curls around her temples. She looked terrified.

  “Wow,” she said drily. “I sure hope you’re not considering a career in motivational speaking.”

  Hazel’s stomach flipped but soon the corners of Jaime’s mouth pulled up and she was laughing. It was a sound Hazel hadn’t heard before, and maybe it was the shock of seeing Jaime smile, but before she knew what was happening, Hazel was laughing, too. Soon they had to cover their mouths to keep quiet. Hazel felt suddenly like she could finally take full breaths again. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d laughed, either.

  “Okay,” Jaime said, taking a deep breath and evenly letting it out. “Here goes nothing.”

  She laid the form on the armrest and pushed herself up off the chair. The clipboard dropped to the floor and Hazel bent down to grab it. As she passed the board to Jaime, something caught her eye and she held on a moment longer.

  “What are you doing?” Jaime asked, pulling the clipboard harder.

  But Hazel’s grip was tight. She stared at the printed form and around her everything was suddenly quiet. The high-pitched squeals of uncomfortable babies, the hushed conversations, the bland elevator music piped in through the walls. All of it faded away, and Hazel could see only two words.

  At the top of the form, where Jaime’s name should have been, she’d written two words. Two words Hazel had seen before.

  After NAME OF PATIENT, it read:

  ROSANNA SCOTT.

  The two words that had changed Hazel’s life once before were about to change it all over again.

  14

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Hazel was huddled behind a green Dumpster outside of the clinic when she heard Jaime’s voice. She steadied herself with one hand on the brick wall, dragging her weighted limbs to standing.

  Everything that had happened since she’d fumbled her way out of the clinic was a blur. She remembered watching Jaime’s back as it disappeared down a long hallway, and the next thing she knew she was on her knees behind the Dumpster, dry heaving and seeing spots.

  Her brain was screaming at her, broken thoughts battling for attention.

  Rosanna is my mother.

  Rosanna is not my mother.

  Jaime is my mother.

  It just wasn’t possible. Jaime was too young. Jaime looked nothing like her.

  Jaime was kind of a bitch.

  But the one, indisputable fact about Jaime was that she was standing behind a low wall of trimmed hedges, her face bobbing between the branches as she peered at Hazel on the other side. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice sharp and bewildered as Hazel walked slowly toward the narrow path.

  “Nothing,” Hazel mumbled, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her thin cotton sweater. “I guess I felt a little sick from the boat.”

  Jaime crossed her arms, cutting the cartoon image of the Coke bottle on her T-shirt in half. She rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket.

  “Well, it looks like I’ll be in charge of the morning sickness from here on out,” she said flatly, slapping a folded packet of papers into Hazel’s palm. Jaime turned on her heels and started walking, leaving Hazel to unfold the papers. It was information about the clinic, checklists, appointments, and a list of reference books.

  “What To Expect When You’re Expecting.”

  Hazel’s head went numb again and a sharp pain pierced her in the side.

  “Let’s go, Blondie,” Jaime called from the middle of the street. “We have a boat to catch.”

  “Wait,” Hazel said, just loud enough for Jaime to hear her. An older couple in a convertible screeched to a stop as Jaime hopped back to the sidewalk.

  “What is the problem?” Jaime huffed.

  Hazel stared at the paperwork in her hand before glancing up at Jaime’s face with tired, searching eyes. “Rosanna,” Hazel managed. “Why did you use Rosanna’s name on the forms?”

  Jaime crossed her arms again and shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I guess I just got nervous. And it’s not like Rosanna’s ever going to come here. She can’t even have kids.”

  Jaime’s eyes were darting impatiently a
cross the sidewalk, and Hazel felt her heart sink even lower. “Can’t have kids?” she asked. “Why … why not?”

  Hazel’s head was pounding. Jaime had to be wrong. Rosanna was her mother. She had to be.

  Jaime rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “I don’t know the details, Hazel, I just know she can’t get pregnant. Why else would she keep us all around so long? There’s not that much work to be done.” Jaime looked back to the bus stop. “Can we please go now?” she asked.

  Hazel swallowed, nodding numbly, and followed Jaime across the street.

  Neither Jaime nor Hazel said much on the ferry ride home. Jaime sunk into another indoor seat, immediately fumbling for her headphones, and Hazel went for a walk on the deck. There was no way she could sit still and stare at the girl who was suddenly, apparently, her mother. They hadn’t even pulled out of the harbor yet and already it was starting to feel like the longest forty-five minutes of her life.

  Hazel walked upstairs to the top deck. She found an empty chair in the front row of low plastic seats, where the wind was the strongest. She could hardly keep her eyes open against the billowing gusts of sea air, but she didn’t care. At least it gave her something real to fight against.

  She thought back to the crowded waiting room. Jaime had used Rosanna’s name at the clinic. Which meant that all of her medical records from the clinic would be under that name. Which meant that when the records were transferred to the hospital where she was born, Rosanna’s name would be on her birth certificate, not Jaime’s. Whether she liked it or not, Jaime was her mother.

  And she didn’t like it, not one little bit. She didn’t know why, but the only thing she could identify happening inside of her, the only feeling she had a name for, was rage. She was furious.

  First, with Jaime. For being so careless. Clearly Jaime had made a decision to sleep with somebody and not use protection. Or, at least, not use it well. Not that she’d had much experience, but Hazel couldn’t imagine ever being so cavalier.

  Mostly because she couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting stuck, so young, with a baby. It seemed like all people did was change their minds and make mistakes. At school, she’d walk down the halls with her head down, secretly watching the couples of the moment, holding hands by the lockers, or sucking each other’s faces off in dark corners behind the gym. And though she knew that there had to be a part of her, somewhere, that was jealous, usually she just felt better off. Because she was also there watching when, a few months or even weeks later, those same couples threw eye-darts at each other across the cafeteria, after things turned sour. And things always, always turned sour.

  And then, when each half of the couple decided to do it all over again, she’d watched all that from the sidelines, too. Holding new hands, sucking new faces, and pretending like this time it was going to last.

  What kind of a person would want to bring a baby into something like that? What was Jaime thinking? It didn’t make sense.

  Rosanna made sense. Rosanna was supposed to be her mother. They looked alike. They had similar interests. Not to mention the fact that Rosanna was married and stable and, well, old enough to be her mother.

  The more Hazel thought about it, the more she realized that she wasn’t just mad at Jaime. She was mad at Rosanna, too. Why couldn’t Rosanna have gotten pregnant? Why couldn’t Rosanna be her mother? She knew it wasn’t fair, and it definitely wasn’t Rosanna’s fault, but she couldn’t help it. It was the way she felt.

  Hazel opened her eyes and walked to the railing. The curves of the island were just starting to come into view. She took a deep breath and went back inside. Jaime was asleep, her bony knees curled up beside her on the bench. The laces of one of her low-top sneakers were untied and hanging down near the linoleum floor.

  Without thinking, Hazel reached for her camera. She’d thrown it into her bag yesterday, after being inspired by the portraits in Rosanna’s studio.

  Hazel held the camera up to her eye, framing Jaime’s sleeping face in the lens. But, like a magnet, her eyes were drawn back to the one untied sneaker. There was something about the droopy laces that seemed so sad, and so young.

  She squared the shot in the viewfinder and snapped the picture. Jaime didn’t move. Hazel lowered the camera and sat in the booth. With that one click, something had softened inside of her. She couldn’t blame Jaime for being scared. Maybe using Rosanna’s name was her way of protecting herself. Of keeping herself separate from the situation, for as long as she could.

  Hazel could imagine doing something like that.

  Plus, it was hard to stay angry at somebody so scared and alone.

  Especially when that somebody was about to become your mother.

  15

  In all of the morning’s activity, Hazel had completely forgotten about Rosanna’s art show that evening. Jaime had an afternoon shift at the ice-cream shop, so Hazel caught the shuttle home alone, arriving just in time to help Luke and the others pack up the truck and head back into town.

  The opening was held in an old hotel at the bottom of Main Street, and Hazel, Maura, and Craig spent most of the afternoon hanging paintings in the lobby and along the winding hallways of every floor. The idea was for guests to wander the halls on their way up to the rooftop lounge, which had been decorated with twinkling white lights and pink orchids nestled in every corner. Luke was in charge of the bar, while the rest of the crew served as on-call caterers.

  It wasn’t until Hazel and Jaime’s third trip up in the service elevator that night, armed with trays of shrimp toasts and mini quiches, that either of them said anything about what had happened.

  “How are you feeling?” Hazel finally managed to ask, staring at her own reflection in the mirrored glass. Her auburn roots were thick at the top of her head, and her hair looked flat and strawlike from the sun.

  “I don’t know,” Jaime mumbled. “Terrible. Disgusting. The same.”

  Hazel stared at the glowing metallic numbers as the elevator carried them up.

  “Did you read any of that packet?” she asked. Jaime had threatened to throw the materials from the clinic overboard as they were getting off the boat, and Hazel made her swear to at least look through the whole thing once.

  “Cover to cover,” Jaime said, her voice slick and phony. “Did you know that my baby is already the size of a BB pellet?”

  Hazel felt a lump growing in her throat, her knees turning to liquid. There was no way she could keep this up. BB pellet? That was her in there. How was she supposed to act like everything was normal, when she was living in some kind of sci-fi soap opera?

  “Cool,” Hazel forced, only it came out shaky and sounded kind of like she was choking.

  “Totally,” Jaime deadpanned as the elevator slammed into place. The doors started to click open, but Jaime jabbed at a button with her thumb, holding them shut.

  “Listen,” she said, suddenly serious as she looked Hazel in the eye. “Obviously, I’m not telling anybody about this until, you know, I’ve thought about it more. Which means you’re not telling anybody, either. Got it?”

  Hazel nodded quickly. “Of course,” she said. “Got it.”

  “Good,” Jaime sighed. For a moment, her dark eyes were soft, and Hazel could almost see her own reflection in them.

  The doors shifted open, revealing the twilight sky in purple patches overhead. Hazel took a step outside but Jaime stopped her with a tight hand on the back of her elbow. “Wait,” Jaime barked, tugging Hazel back inside. “One more thing.”

  Hazel turned, shifting the heavy tray from one open palm to the other. “What?” she whispered, glancing quickly from the crowd of guests on the roof back to Jaime.

  Jaime took a deep breath and shook a few drooping curls out of her face.

  “Just,” she said, so quietly it was almost nothing at all, “thanks. For today. Okay?”

  And then she was gone, brushing past Hazel and strutting deliberately through the groups of women in linen and men in summery suits
.

  Hazel followed Jaime through the crowd, stopping to offer snacks to anyone with a tiny paper plate. She felt her lips forming an automatic smile and did her best to make small talk. But it was impossible to think of anything else.

  “You must love working for Rosanna,” a guest would say, by way of conversation. And Hazel would nod, silently finishing the thought on her own.

  I do. I used to think she was my mother.

  “I just adore the portraits this year. Rosanna is so gifted, isn’t she?”

  Yes. She is. But she’s not my mother.

  The night slipped by in a fog. After Rosanna’s welcome speech, Hazel sneaked over to the bar to ask Luke for a glass of water. He had his hands full mixing drinks and being generally charming. It seemed like every older woman in attendance had posted up in his section, fawning over his clean khaki jacket and striped silk tie, or tousling his shaggy brown hair.

  Hazel helped herself to the pitcher of water, silently agreeing with Luke’s admirers. He certainly cleaned up nice. The now-familiar sinking reminder that he was her cousin crept up inside of her … which was about when she realized that he wasn’t.

  He wasn’t her cousin, because Rosanna wasn’t her mother. She and Luke weren’t related at all.

  The revelation was so sharp and jarring that soon she was pouring water all over her wrist. She pulled the pitcher back and shook her hand dry behind the bar, hoping nobody had been watching.

  “Thirsty?” Luke asked with a grin. He was reaching for a bottle of tonic water from the cooler when he caught Hazel in the act of cleaning up. “Try this,” he said, tossing her the cloth napkin he had tucked in the back pocket of his pants.

  Hazel snatched the napkin out of the air and patted her forearm dry. “Th-thanks,” she stammered. She felt her cheeks reddening and hoped he wasn’t still looking at her. Yesterday they were cousins, and today he was making her blush? It was all too weird for Hazel to handle. She chugged a few sips of water and hurried back into the crowd.