“I understand.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the last aloud. Mortified, she closed her eyes.
“You don’t have to figure everything out today, honey.”
“I don’t know if I can figure anything out.”
“Take it one day at a time.”
Carolyn wasn’t used to trusting people, especially someone she’d known for so short a time, but she felt at ease with Boots. She felt safe. She’d been fighting temptation since she left the Clement Street house. If she’d had any money, she would’ve spent it on booze and drugs while living in the park. She had nothing then; she had nothing now, but the temptation hadn’t lessened. Only the baby kept her straight.
“Can I go to an AA meeting with you sometime?”
“We’ll go tonight.”
Mom called once a week. She’d ask Carolyn how she was feeling. “Fine.” She’d ask how things were going with Boots. “Great.” She’d ask if Carolyn needed anything. “No.” Then she’d ask to speak with Boots.
Sometimes Dad got on the phone, but not often and never for long. Oma never called. She wrote letters, filling them with newsy tidbits, what she had seen, what grew in her garden. She didn’t ask Carolyn if she’d made any decisions about the baby.
Dr. O’Connor, the husband of one of Boots’s many friends, told Carolyn the baby had a strong heartbeat. She’d gained ten pounds in two months, largely due to Boots’s great cooking. They went on morning walks together before the heat trapped them inside the house. Sometimes they went out again in the evening. Boots insisted on “playing tourist” with her. They went to the Los Angeles Zoo, Santa Monica Pier, La Brea Tar Pits, Malibu. When Boots asked her if she’d like to go to Disneyland, Carolyn told her about the trip with Oma. She no longer had to worry about hurting Charlie’s feelings.
They attended AA meetings twice a week. Carolyn listened, but never talked. No one pressed her.
Boots tapped on her door early one morning. “We’re going to the beach before the crowds get there.” She drove Topanga Canyon Road like a NASCAR driver. They arrived at dawn. Joggers ran along the water’s edge.
“Come on.” Boots got out and headed across the sand with a basket and blanket. Dumping them, she kicked off her shoes and continued on toward the waves lapping the beach. Carolyn followed. Boots stopped at the edge of the wet sand. Hands on her hips, she lifted her face and closed her eyes. “Listen to that. There’s something about the sound of the sea, isn’t there? Soothing.”
They walked along the beach together, not saying anything. Boots didn’t seem worried about the blanket. When they turned back, she bent and scooped up a stick, twirling it in her hand like a baton. “You’re eating yourself up with guilt and worry, Carolyn, and it’s got to stop.” She stopped and jabbed the stick into the moist sand. “Write down every sin you’ve committed right here in the sand. Let it all out.” She walked up the beach onto dry sand, spread the blanket, and sat. “Take your time!” she called out. She lay back, arms beneath her head, and crossed her ankles.
Carolyn barely managed to write a few words before a wave came and washed them away. She wrote more, and the waves came in again, erasing her words. She wrote and wrote, and each time the sea came and swept away her confession. She didn’t know how long she bent to the task before she finished. Her feet were numb from the cold water. She tossed the stick into the surf and watched it carried out. For the first time in weeks, her chest didn’t feel like someone was sitting on it.
“Finished?” Boots called.
“For now.”
Boots came down and stood next to her. “You can always come back.” She smiled at her and then looked out at the sea. Surfers rode the small waves. “I listen to the sea and hear the Lord, Carolyn. Jesus said He came to save us, not condemn us. He took our sins upon Himself. He paid the price to set you free. God is like those waves, honey. He washes away your sins. He offers you the free gift of grace, the added bonus of the Holy Spirit dwelling in you, and eternal life as well. You have decisions to make, but the biggest one is what you’re going to believe about Him. Ask Him in, and He’ll take care of the rest.”
They stood side by side looking out at the ocean. Carolyn felt a fluttering sensation—angel wings. She put her hands over her abdomen. Boots saw the movement and turned to her. “The quickening?” Carolyn laughed for the first time in months. It sounded odd to her ears. Boots laughed with her.
Carolyn’s heart pounded during AA meetings. She could feel the tension grow inside her. Sitting on her hands, she kept her head down, listening, soaking in the words.
One evening the silence lasted so long, she broke out in a sweat. She knew it was her turn to open up, but didn’t know if she could speak a coherent sentence.
She took a breath and confessed she started drinking to deal with the stress of attending UCB. She drank more when her brother was sent to Vietnam, then started smoking pot with friends while protesting the war.
Everyone listened. No one judged her. Several came over to talk with her after the meeting, sharing similar stories.
“First time is usually hardest,” Boots told her on the way home.
It took another month before she could talk about Charlie. She’d stayed drunk or stoned the year after he died. “I can only remember bits and pieces; most I’d rather forget. . . .” She cried when she told them about Chel.
Mom called again. Carolyn might not be able to talk with her mother, but Boots never had a problem. “She’s filling out, has a nice basketball growing.” Boots took pictures of Carolyn. When December rolled around, Mom and Dad sent money. So did Oma. Carolyn wrote and thanked them. Boots took her to the mall. As they wandered through the stores, Boots picked up a sweater. “Good godfrey! What a price!” She folded the sweater back onto the table. When she wasn’t looking, Carolyn bought it for her.
Boots cried when she opened the box Christmas morning and found the red cashmere sweater. “You must have spent all your Christmas money on this.”
“You like it, don’t you?”
Boots put the sweater back in the box. “I love it, of course. But now you listen. Your mom and dad have been sending me money every month. I never asked for a penny, but they insisted. And then you go and buy this. I should take it back to the store.”
“Please don’t.”
“Okay. I won’t.” She grinned, eyes brimming. “I’ll throw you a shower instead.”
Oma and Mom sent their regrets, inclement weather keeping them from making the long drive south. Oma had a bad cold, and Mom was keeping an eye on her.
A half-dozen friends of Boots showed up bearing gifts, most of which turned out to be for Carolyn and not the baby. A peach suit, white shell blouse, a pair of taupe heels and purse. “For job interviews.” A jogging suit “to get back in shape after the baby.” A classic camel-hair coat.
They couldn’t have been kinder, though their expectation was clear: adoption was the best option. Only Boots gave her money to spend as she wanted.
Braxton Hicks contractions came often. Carolyn knew she didn’t have much time left. She cried more now than she had during the earlier months, and she dreamed of sleeping in Golden Gate Park, lying on a sleeping bag beneath a black plastic lean-to. When she awakened, she reminded herself of Jesus speaking in that loving voice, His hand upon her, the tiny starlike flowers blooming in the grass, and dawn coming.
Mom finally asked the dreaded question. “Have you decided what to do?”
Carolyn noted her mother didn’t ask what she wanted to do. Her eyes burned. She swallowed hard and wiped tears from her cheeks. “I guess.” Give up her baby to someone else to rear. Everyone seemed to think that best, except Boots, who said things had a way of working out. Carolyn didn’t see how. Had they worked out for Chel?
“You can stay with me as long as you want, Carolyn. You want to keep the baby, we’ll work things out so you can.”
Carolyn felt ashamed. Chel had paid for everything after they’d left Ber
keley. She didn’t want someone else paying her way now. It was just another way to run and hide from the real world. She had to grow up sometime, had to bear the consequences of her actions, no matter how painful. And wouldn’t her baby be better off with someone else, someone less screwed up? someone who could offer a home and love? In three weeks, more or less, she’d give birth. She had to stop dreaming.
She called the adoption agency. They said they’d draw up papers. She cried all the way back to Boots’s house.
Carolyn went out for a long walk alone the next morning. She had memorized the Serenity Prayer and said it over and over.
“A package came for you last night,” Boots told her over breakfast. “I forgot all about it when you came home so upset. I put it on your bed.”
Boots had sliced open the cardboard box. Carolyn lifted out the big pink- and blue-papered box. When she opened the card, she recognized her mother’s neat handwriting.
Dad and I hope this helps you make your decision. We love you.
They’d sent a baby car seat.
My dearest Carolyn,
I had a quiet Christmas with Bernhard, Elizabeth, and Eddie. I’m in Truckee now, enjoying snow-covered mountains, remembering the days I took long walks in the Alps with my friend, Rosie. She has been my faithful friend through all these years. She knows all my faults and failures and still loves me. May Boots prove such a friend to you.
I’m in no hurry to go home. All I do is sit alone in the cottage. Your mother is working long hours at the hospital. Your dad comes home and goes right to work building the retaining walls for the terraces he has planned. Rikka wants me to come to New York City in the spring. A gallery will be showing her work.
You and my first great-grandchild are in my constant prayers. God grant you peace in whatever decision you make. I love you. That will never change. And I will love your child, too, no matter what happens.
Life has its twists and turns, Carolyn. As for me, I am surrendering all to Jesus and trust Him to make it all straight in the end. Whatever you may think now, God promises to use everything that happens for His good purpose in making you into the woman He designed you to be. Just love Him. Lean on Him. Remember He loved you first and always. As do I.
Love,
Oma
1971
Labor started in the middle of the night on February 6. Boots acted as Carolyn’s coach. Boots washed the baby and wrapped her. The moment Carolyn held her newborn, she roused from exhaustion and wept with joy. She fell in love for the first time. Her daughter fit perfectly in her arms. Carolyn felt a tug at her breast as tiny fingers closed around her thumb. God had given her this child the night she had almost thrown her life into the sea. Tangible evidence of His grace.
Boots’s eyes shone with tears over her surgical mask. “Well, you can’t name her Charlie now, can you?”
“Her name is May Flower Dawn.” She knew it sounded like a hippy name, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t call her the only other name that fit—Epiphany.
She’d conceived the baby the night before she saw Jesus, and she would always consider this child an undeserved gift from God.
Mom called every few days to check on things. “Everything is ready.” After a month, she lost patience. “It’s time to come home, Carolyn. Boots has done enough.”
May Flower Dawn slept most of the way. Carolyn stopped every couple of hours to nurse and change diapers. When she arrived home, Mom and Dad came outside. Oma came out of the cottage. Before Carolyn could get out of the car, her mother opened the passenger door and lifted May Flower Dawn from the car seat.
Her parents had turned Charlie’s room into a nursery. They’d painted the walls pale green. Mom had hung airy white curtains. Dad had put up new pull-down shades and set up the white crib. Oma had bought the mobile with Disney characters. Dad had painted the bookcase white. Charlie’s sci-fi books were gone and in their place, two stacks of diapers, Vaseline, baby powder, baby shampoo, bath soap, and some children’s books.
May Flower Dawn still in her arms, Mom opened the closet. “Your grandmother has been sewing since she found out she has a great-granddaughter.”
“So have you,” Oma said from the doorway.
They had even bought a rocking chair. Mom sat in it. She laid May Flower Dawn on her lap. “She’s beautiful.” When May Flower Dawn started to whimper, Mom lifted her to her shoulder.
Carolyn stepped forward and reached out. “She’s hungry.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, Mom relinquished May Flower Dawn. Carolyn waited until her mother, father, and grandmother filed out of the bedroom before sitting on Charlie’s bed to nurse her baby. She looked around the room again, taking in all the work her parents and Oma had done.
They might not love or want her, but Carolyn had no doubt they wanted May Flower Dawn.
18
Carolyn sat at the dining room table, Dad at the head, Mom sitting opposite with May Flower Dawn in her arms again. While she cooed softly to Carolyn’s baby, Dad did the talking. “It’s not going to be a free ride. You’ll have conditions to meet if you’re going to live here.” He folded his hands on the table. “We expect you to finish college and get your degree. And we expect you to work and pay rent.”
Panic bubbled. “How?”
“You got yourself into this mess, and you’re going to have to work your way out. Here’s how things are going to be.”
“You’ll have two more months to rest and take care of the baby.” Mom spoke without lifting her head. “By then, our little lady here will have had the most important benefits of nursing.” When May Flower Dawn grasped Mom’s thumb, Carolyn felt a twinge of jealousy. “I’ll step in then.”
“Step in?”
“Your mother is giving up her career in order to stay home and take care of your daughter.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“No, you didn’t ask, but what did you think, Carolyn?” His eyes darkened in anger. “You could live off other people because you have a child?” His voice became tighter, harsher. “We can’t take care of you for the rest of your life. You have to learn how to pay your way.”
Mom raised her head. “Trip . . .”
Dad glanced at her and at the baby in her arms. His shoulders sagged. He looked back at Carolyn, his expression bleak. “We’re not trying to punish you, Carolyn. We want to help you put your life back together. You need to finish school. Berkeley is out of the question, so we filled out the application for State College in Hayward. All you have to do is sign it. The college has an employment office. They’ll help you find a job that will work into your school schedule.”
Mom looked at her sadly. “It isn’t going to be easy.”
“Life isn’t easy.” Dad’s mouth flattened. “We won’t be around forever, picking up the pieces. You need a way to support yourself. Without an education, you’re not going to get much of anything. We tried to tell you—”
Mom cleared her throat.
May Flower Dawn began to cry, a whimper at first, then louder, her little mouth opening and quivering as she wailed. Carolyn wanted to do the same thing. She started to stand. “Let me take her, Mom.”
Mom stood, too, and shook her head. “She’ll be fine. You and Dad need to talk.” She took the baby into the back bedroom and closed the door, leaving Carolyn alone in the dining room with her father. He hadn’t finished laying down the rules.
“You’ll pay us rent. Not much, and not until you start working, but after that, we want eighty percent of whatever you make. It’ll go for room and board and to repay the money we sent to Boots. And the hospital bill.”
The full weight of what he expected fell on her like a load of bricks. How many years would it take to pay off her debts—ten? twenty? May Flower Dawn would be grown and gone by then. She could hear her baby crying and wanted to go after her, wanted to grab hold of May Flower Dawn and run.
“Excuse me.” Carolyn stood.
“Where are you going?”
&nb
sp; “She’s hungry.”
She didn’t tap at the bedroom door. She walked in. “She needs to nurse, Mom.”
Mom smiled. “Sit here beside me and I’ll give her to you.”
Were there going to be conditions on everything now? Maybe there always had been. She hadn’t understood the rules she had to follow to earn love. When Mom didn’t rise from where she sat on the edge of the big double bed, Carolyn obeyed. Mom handed over May Flower Dawn, but didn’t leave her alone.
Mom put her hand on Carolyn’s knee. “I know you probably won’t believe this right now, but Dad and I aren’t doing this to ruin your life. We’re not trying to make things even harder for you; we’re trying to help you learn how to stand on your own two feet.”
Carolyn looked into her mother’s eyes and saw compassion. She also saw pain, and she knew she had caused it. “I know, Mom.”
She also knew the price they asked: May Flower Dawn.
What her parents demanded wasn’t in writing. They didn’t ask for her signature on any document. But it was a binding contract nonetheless, and Carolyn agonized over it. She could see no way out, nor did she feel she had the right to seek one. For the next six weeks, she pondered what she would have to do to make a way for herself and her daughter. If she went back to Boots, she would destroy a friendship that had weathered more than thirty years. She couldn’t do that to her mother or to Boots.
So Carolyn signed the college application, put May Flower Dawn into the car seat, and drove into Hayward to hand-deliver it. Every course she had completed at UCB would count at State. At least that was something, though she would still have two and a half years of coursework to complete while working part-time. If she went to school half-time, it would take her five years.
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