With the decision to adopt, however, my comfort zone shifted far from that northerly direction, and I was more than happy to adopt other people’s problems along with the gift of their unborn child.
“He hasn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lily said. “But he might. I don’t trust him. I can’t stay there.”
“Where have you been sleeping?” Anna asked.
“With friends,” Lily said. “Couches and stuff.”
“What about your parents?” I asked.
“What about them,” Lily said with a snap of venom.
Evidently that would be a conversation for another time.
Anna looked over at me. I knew exactly what she was going to say.
“We might have a solution to that problem, too. Gage and I need to discuss it first.”
“Wow, that’s amazing. Talk about our fates aligning,” Lily said.
Anna’s expression appeared equally enthralled, while mine remained somewhat guarded.
Maybe that’s because I was thinking about Max.
CHAPTER 4
Lily left the premises. Where she went, I didn’t know. Our lives were not closely tethered yet, and I wasn’t certain they would be, so I didn’t think it appropriate to ask. I met back up with Anna in the living room. Her eyes were dancing, drunk on this nectar of possibility. Anna undid her ponytail, and I took a moment to appreciate the way the afternoon sun lit her wavy brown curls. She seemed to be glowing with happiness, and I felt something stirring inside me as well. I was confronting the very real possibility of having a child to parent.
Anna sat cross-legged on the couch, biting her finger and staring at me anxiously.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think I know what you wanted to offer Lily,” I said.
“Gage, the apartment is empty. She could move right in.”
I couldn’t argue. I’d bought this white clapboard two-family home about a month after Karen and Max died, four years before I met Anna. Prior to that, I’d been living as a family with Karen and Max in Swampscott, a lovely town on the north shore of Massachusetts. In hindsight, those were near perfect years, but I didn’t always think so. Every desire I had for more money, a nicer house, fancier vacations, all of Max’s frustrating behaviors (too many video games/too few books, not sitting still at the table, no concept of the inside voice) used to bother me. I wasted a lot of time and energy sweating the small stuff. Death, I’d discovered, had a cruel way of magnifying my regrets as both a husband and a father.
Anyway, not a single friend or family member questioned my decision to put the house on the market. They understood that memories could become monsters if not given the proper distance. So I bought in East Arlington, figuring I didn’t need as much space. Aside from the change in locale, the added rental income from the upstairs unit would help out at a time when I wasn’t so sure I could keep on working. I had taken six months off after the accident and spent most of it in therapy or self-medicated on the couch.
Until a few weeks before Lily’s visit, the rental unit had been a zero hassle and a highly beneficial part of my life. Sure, sometimes it took a while to find a suitable tenant, but I always managed to find someone who paid the rent on time and kept the place in reasonably decent shape. But at the moment nobody was living there
My previous tenant, a guy named Will Gaines, had planned to spend another year in the upstairs unit while he finished pharmacy school. But about a month before, he’d changed his mind and given us two weeks’ notice, forfeiting his security deposit in the process. Will never did explain his reasoning. Anna had been advertising for a new tenant, but as with our online profile on ParentHorizon, we’d gotten only a few nibbles—no quality bites.
“It’s furnished,” Anna said. “Between both our jobs, we’ve got money to cover the rent for a year.”
I got up from the couch to stretch and yawn, something Anna said I did anytime I’m uncomfortable about something, which aptly described my current condition.
“I don’t know, honey,” I said. “We really don’t know anything about her.”
“What did we know about Will? Or your tenant before him?” Anna asked.
I shrugged. Anna, as usual, had a point.
“I mean, what did we know about each other before we got married?”
“I knew that I loved you,” I said.
“And I you. I’m just saying that knowing all the details about somebody doesn’t mean that you really know the person. I’d want to help this girl anyway, especially because she could be our baby’s birth mother.”
“Anna, you’re already counting on this, aren’t you?”
“I feel it in my heart, Gage.”
Anna came over to me and burrowed her face against my chest. I felt my resolve weakening, my arguments ringing less potent in my head. She had that effect on me. Maybe I was being overly cautious.
“This is what we want, Gage. We can make it happen now.”
I broke from Anna.
“We’ve got to do more,” I said.
“Like what more?”
“Like who is she, Anna? Who are her parents? Where is she from? How about we get some of those questions answered first.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Anna offered. “I’ll get whatever information we can get, okay? I want to give Lily the apartment, and I need to hear from you that we’re in this together. I need to know that we’re a team, or nothing is going to happen.”
I broke from Anna, wanting to make sure she could see my eyes. In addition to my yawning habit, I apparently blinked a lot whenever I fibbed. “I want this,” I said. I tried to keep from blinking. Really, I did.
Anna turned from me, arms folded.
“Gage, I don’t know what to say. I thought you were on board. What’s the trouble?”
I grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face me.
“I am on board. I’m just . . . I guess maybe I’m just scared.”
“I know you’re scared. I am, too. But we’re entering a new phase in our lives. It’s been five years since you lost Max and four since Kevin died. It’s so hard for me to think about becoming a mom again, and I have a lot of guilt about it, too, but I also know that we’re ready for this. We’ve talked about becoming parents again. We both want it.”
“Sweetheart, I know, I know,” I said, keeping a grip on Anna’s well-muscled shoulders. “Everything just happened so fast that I think I’m reeling a little bit.”
“I understand,” Anna said. Her look broke my heart, which softened my stance.
“Let’s do this,” I said. “You check up on Lily, like you said, okay? See what you can learn about her. If you think this is all on the up-and-up, we’ll offer her the apartment. It’ll be your call and I’ll back you a hundred percent. Sound like a plan?”
Anna nodded. I let go of her shoulders and collected my keys from the basket on a table in the foyer. Before Anna, my keys could have been anywhere.
“Where are you going?” Anna asked. “Oh, let me guess. You’re going to touch base with Brad.”
Anna knew me better than anyone.
CHAPTER 5
My circle of friends had grown smaller since the accident. According to my therapist, this wasn’t uncommon. I kept in touch with my closest friends from college, but they didn’t know what to say. Postgraduation we talked about dating and careers. Then it was marriage and kids. But one missed traffic light later and they didn’t know what they could or couldn’t say. If it weren’t for Facebook, I doubted we’d have any regular contact at all.
I saw my parents on occasion. Probably should see them more considering I’m their only child. They were still married—forty years, bless them—and living a quiet life in a small town just outside of Providence, Rhode Island. Dad had a tough go of it, having worked his whole life for RIDOT only to spend the last twenty years on disability. Money was tight for them, so I funneled some of my rental income to them to help pay the bills. My work buds we
re solid, but let’s be honest: after spending the week together doing battle in the trenches, I wasn’t up for much after-hours hanging.
So basically I had friends I saw on occasion, but for the most part they existed on the periphery of my life. Anna had become my safe harbor. She needed me and I needed her, and yes, I realized we had a codependency thing happening. Anna, too, felt alienated from her circle of happy friends with healthy children. If that was what made us initially compatible, so be it. For the moment, at least, I didn’t need friends to keep me grounded. I needed Anna.
And Brad.
I drove my red Dodge Charger, a sporty little compact sedan, along the leafy and quaint streets of Bedford, Massachusetts. Brad didn’t know I was headed his way. If I had called in advance, he might have ducked out. Yeah, we were that close.
The view through my car window showed people doing what people did on Saturday afternoons. They were mowing their lawns, pulling up weeds, laying down mulch, or watching their kids play. The sound of children laughing tore at my heart and made me ache for Max in a way I could only describe as suffocating. It hit me like a massive wave, dragging me to the depths of my sorrow, my ocean’s sandy bottom, violently tossing me about. Still, I drove on. Living with a chronic condition made me adept at managing the pain.
Brad’s cargo van was parked out front of his colonial-style house. The sides of the white van displayed black lettering that read LOMBARDI PLUMBING, the words positioned next to a colorful graphic of a strong hand gripping a durable, rust-colored wrench. Brad’s twin daughters were away at college, and I didn’t see Janice’s Corolla in the driveway, which meant Brad was probably home and alone. Good.
I strode up the front walk, past the ceramic garden gnomes hiding in Brad’s well-tended and richly colored flower garden. With each step my heart beat faster with anticipation. I rang the doorbell and listened to the pleasant chimes. Brad was smiling until he saw who rang his doorbell.
“No,” he said to me.
“Hey, Brad,” I replied.
I slipped into the house without being invited. I knew to leave my shoes in the mudroom so as to not mark up the new pinewood floor in the kitchen.
“I’m still saying no,” Brad said, following me inside. He was dressed in his Saturday casual outfit: untucked navy polo shirt and dungarees.
“I brought food,” I said, not turning around. I held up a bag so Brad could see the Ken’s NY Deli logo. He would know a roast beef sandwich was inside. I got two sandwiches on my drive over, having anticipated the need to soften Brad up a bit.
“The answer is still no,” Brad said to my back.
I headed straight for the kitchen without needing to be guided, but I stopped at the doorway into the living room.
“Did you guys get a new couch?” I asked, not remembering the white sofa with blue piping from my last visit.
“Same couch, I just reupholstered it,” Brad said.
“Well, it looks great,” I said, marveling at Brad’s handiwork from afar. In addition to his talents as a master plumber, Brad could grow a colorful garden, cook gourmet meals, build furniture, and evidently reupholster it. But Brad had another talent, a special talent, and that was what had brought me here.
Judging by appearances, Brad looked every bit the guy who could make an upper-middle-class living with his hands. He wasn’t a giant of a man, five eight with a stretch (I had four inches on him), but he was slender at the waist and well muscled up top, more fit than most college wrestlers. He sported a full head of jet black hair, deeply set dark eyes, and a pronounced nose that called attention to his Mediterranean heritage. Brad’s most distinguishing characteristic, a bushy black mustache, evoked constant comparisons to Freddie Mercury, the late front man of the rock band Queen.
My socks glided across the new kitchen flooring as if it were covered with ice. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the bank of windows overlooking a lush, green backyard. Surrounding me were gleaming stainless steel appliances and sunny artwork of fruits and vegetables. I set the bag of sandwiches down on the kitchen island, running my hands along the expensive, greenish colored granite surface. As Brad would tell you, plumbing was a recession-proof business.
It was a habit of mine to check the fridge whenever I came to visit, which was usually once a month. I’d come more often but figured Brad would get a restraining order at some point. Brad didn’t use Facebook, so I followed what was happening with the twins by checking the new photos Janice had on the fridge. Apparently, Janice hadn’t tired of the digital photo printer I bought her for Christmas last year. The girls looked to be doing fine. Sports, friends, travel, all the things Max would never experience. Splayed open on the kitchen table was the book about flower gardening that Brad must have been reading before my intrusion.
“How are the mums?” I asked, absently flipping through the pages of his flower book.
“They’re the word,” Brad said. He retrieved two place settings from the cupboard and set out two glasses of water for us to drink. I soon joined Brad at the kitchen island and watched as he dove into his sandwich.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, chewing a mouthful of food and savoring the bite.
“I don’t have an appetite,” I said.
“Why’d you buy yourself a sandwich?”
“I didn’t want you to eat alone,” I said.
Brad looked at me curiously, and then broke into a smile that arched his mustache like a caterpillar’s stretch. Almost immediately, though, that smile dimmed.
“I thought we talked about this,” Brad said. “I thought we agreed we were going to take a break for a while. It’s not in your best interest.”
“Something’s come up,” I said. “A big something. Anna and I might be adopting a baby. No, scratch that, we are adopting a baby.”
Brad’s expression brightened. “Hey, that’s wonderful news,” he said.
“I need to tell Max,” I said. “I need . . . I don’t know . . . I need to know that he’s all right with what I’m doing. I need to have his blessing, Brad. Please. I can’t move forward without knowing.”
Brad looked me hard in the eyes. The sandwich, I realized, was probably overkill. He never needed much prodding to help me out. Brad set aside his food and used a napkin to clear a dab of mustard from his mustache.
“Did you bring anything for me to use?”
From my back pocket I removed a picture of Karen and Max, well worn as a beloved LP. In the background of the photo stood one of the most recognizable landmarks in New England—the famous Motif Number 1, located on Bradley Wharf in the harbor town of Rockport, Massachusetts. Karen’s straw-colored hair was lit angelically by the sunset. Max, Red Sox cap slightly askew, gap-toothed, stood smiling in front of his mother. Karen’s arms were draped over Max’s slender shoulders. My son wasn’t acting silly, as he tended to do whenever a camera was involved. He looked like a little boy who loved his mommy, loved being by the ocean, loved the sunset, and loved his life.
Brad took the picture over to the kitchen table. I sat down across from him.
“Give me your hands,” he said.
CHAPTER 6
Give me your hands.
Brad had made this same request of me on the day we first met. I’d heard about Brad from a woman in the neighborhood who told me all about his special ability. He didn’t charge for his services, nor did he shy away from discussing it if anybody asked. What he did, and did very well, was plumbing. The other thing was just a part of him, like an arm or a leg.
I was a natural-born skeptic when it came to Bigfoot and UFOs, but I believed in a loving God and had faith that death was not the final chapter. After learning about Brad’s unique ability, I decided the upstairs unit would benefit from a new toilet. I started sobbing while Brad did the installation and had to come clean about my ulterior motives.
We’d been friends ever since.
Brad took my hands and closed his eyes. The picture of Max and Karen rested beneath our inter
locked fingers. His grip tightened, and he jerked his hands back as though he’d suffered a slight electric shock.
“I’m picking up a game. Is there a game? Something about a game,” Brad said, his vocal inflection calm as someone reporting facts and not communing with the spirit world.
“Is that Max? Is it Max asking?”
“It’s definitely Max,” Brad said, his eyes still closed. “He keeps asking about a game. Something about a game.”
My throat closed as an ache of longing rose up within me. This feeling constricted my chest, making every breath futile. My heart seemed to stop beating as if acknowledging this primal urge to be with Max, wherever he was. Speaking to Max through Brad was a drug of a different sort. It made me feel high and low at the same instant. As soon as our conversation ended, I’d want more. It was never enough. It never satisfied. There was no closure, only longing, aching, and a deep yearning to hold him again. I knew the agony these sessions caused me, but after each one I still wanted more, just one more hit.
“It’s probably the Red Sox game,” I said, swallowing a sob.
Brad nodded. “That’s it. It’s the Red Sox. He wants you to watch a game.”
I couldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t lie to my son, or the spirit of my son, or whatever I was communing with through Brad. I could never see another Sox game again.
“He says it wasn’t your fault. He wants you to stop blaming yourself,” Brad said.
Brad had connected me to my son’s spirit seven times, four of them occurring only after I begged. He saw how these sessions tore me apart. Max would always say—through Brad—that it wasn’t my fault, but he’d never given any specifics. It was a story I’d never shared with Brad. Some things were just too painful to relive.
“I’m getting something about a ticket, or a stub of a ticket. Is there a ticket?”
“A Red Sox ticket,” I managed to say.
“He wants you to tear it up. He doesn’t want you to have the reminder.”
I got the ticket from a friend at work—great seats on the third-base line. If I hadn’t gone to that game . . .
Desperate Page 3
