Kneeling, I picked up a clump of the dark, wet earth and tested the weight of it in my hand. “Mom, what have I started? Where will it lead to?”
Rising, I tossed the dirt down and went inside, toed off my running shoes at the back door, and climbed the back staircase. I took a long, hot shower, tipping my face toward the spray and savoring the warmth. If only the stress would melt away as easily as the sweat on my body. Normally on Saturdays, after my morning run and shower, I would eat a quick breakfast and work on patient files. But today, concentration was impossible. Instead of working, I retrieved the photo album of Michael and sat at the kitchen table, examining each picture with careful scrutiny, looking for any clues to help me prepare for my visit with him.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whispered as I traced the outline of his round face. This was a picture from his fourth birthday party, where he held up what looked like a red soldier. The caption on the back said, Michael loves the Red Power Ranger.
That note from Susan led to an Internet search of Power Rangers, which I discovered had an involved storyline around the main characters. The Red Rangers, I learned, were Jason and Rocky. The Red Ranger was the team leader and carried the most powerful weapons.
“He’s sixteen, Rae,” I muttered, turning the page. “He doesn’t care about Power Rangers anymore.”
I flipped to the last image and found him standing at the finish line of a cross-country race. He ran on his high school team. Like me. In fact, I’d run fall track during my first trimester. The silky synthetic jersey top had remained untucked for the regionals, billowing over my still flat belly.
I searched the cross-country picture for more clues about the boy and saw a silver medal glistening around his neck. I’d won a couple of meets, though I’d never really possessed the speed that Jennifer enjoyed. If she’d focused, she would have had a shot at All State. My last race marked the end of my first trimester. I came in third; however, I could have taken first place if not for the morning sickness.
When the clock in the hallway chimed twelve times, I realized I had lost the whole morning. Quickly, I dressed, slipped on my heels, and straightened my hair. A glance in the mirror should have been quick and cursory, but the image I discovered staring back wasn’t a very friendly-looking woman. She looked stiff. Old beyond her years.
“When did I turn into my mother?” I whispered. I reached for the ponytail band holding back my hair and pulled it free, allowing the long strands to tumble around my shoulders. Practicing a few smiles took some of the edge off, but still, it was Mom’s cool eyes that stared back at me.
Where did the time go?
I was thirty-two, but on the inside I felt twenty years older. Life was not waiting for me to get my act together.
What did I want Michael’s first impression of me to be? Without thinking, I fumbled with the buttons of my button-down blouse before quickly peeling it off. I hurried to my closet and stood for a long moment, searching for something that would make me look like a reasonable woman who gave up her son for all the right reasons.
But all the outfits had a similar starchy feel. Nothing created an approachable impression. The ice around my heart shifted and cracked, heated by the anger and frustration churning underneath.
In the end, I settled on a black pair of slacks, flat shoes, and a sleeveless red sweater. The sweater had been a gift from Amelia several years ago, but I never wore it, feeling that its bright color drew far too much attention to me. Feeling exposed, I slid on a black jacket. Not exactly cutting edge, but better.
I hurried to my car, suddenly fearing that the extra time frittered away would be needed for any unexpected traffic, which on any given day could easily add another fifteen minutes for no apparent reason.
Racing down the parkway, I quickly ducked into the city and pulled in front of Lisa’s house on Prince Street. Immediately, I noticed the Realtor’s large For Sale sign fastened to the front of the house. The agent’s bright smile pictured on the sign stared back at me. More change was coming into our lives. Had the removal of the stones caused that as well? Putting the stones back was as impossible as shoving the genie back in the bottle. There was no going back.
I texted Lisa, told her I was outside. “Please don’t be late,” I muttered.
My hand slid to the horn and before I thought, I tapped it. It blared, making me flinch.
The front door opened and she appeared, dressed in a dark loose-fitting dress, with a collection of bright necklaces around her neck and her brown midcalf worn boots. She turned to yell good-bye to Charlie, then closed and locked the door before turning and smiling at me. She looked so carefree, and I envied it.
She slid into the front seat, smelling of fresh soap and apple shampoo. “Sorry. The real estate agent has a showing today and I was just wiping down the counter.”
“Where’s Charlie?”
“In his crate in the kitchen. He’s not a happy camper.”
“Amelia said he never minded the crate.”
“He hasn’t seen the inside of it since I arrived. He’s feeling a little put out right now.”
“Better to be in the crate if people are coming in and out of the house.” I started backing out of the driveway, almost before she’d hooked her seat belt. “The house shouldn’t be a hard sell. Everyone loves this street,” I said.
“I hope you’re right. I’m not sure how long I can keep it clean and spotless. And I suspect it will cost more than a chew stick to get Charlie back in the crate next time.” She twisted in her seat and looked at me. “I like your hair down, Rae. You look very . . .”
Flipping on my blinker, I turned left on Union Street. “Please do not say old or like my mother.”
She grinned as she arranged the folds of her dress. “So very not like your mother. You look like the Rae I remember from high school. And the red suits you.”
A lump formed in my throat, and swallowing it took effort. That girl—that Rae—was long gone. She had been buried under ice and isolation for sixteen years. “Thanks.”
“Why the change?”
I turned left on Union Street and then drove up King, knowing I could cut over to the pizza place on Duke in about a mile. “Because I realized today I dress like my mother. I look like my mother.” And with a rising sense of panic, I said, “I am my mother.”
“And you only just realized that?”
“Yes. It all hit me this morning when I was dressing. I dressed like I always do and then I looked in the mirror and saw Mom looking back. I don’t want to be Mom. I want Michael to see me, not her.”
“He’ll like you, Rae. He’s reached out to you. He wants to know you.”
“But what if he meets me and he’s disappointed?”
“Why would he be disappointed?”
I stopped for a red light. “There are a thousand reasons.”
“Name one.”
“I never answered any of the letters from his mother. Each year she sent me pictures and I never looked at them until last week. Who does that?”
“A woman who’s in pain,” Lisa said, softly. “A woman who’s struggling to put one foot in front of the other.”
“I’ve been doing so well. My career is booming. I have more work than I can handle. I exercise. Eat right. I don’t drink hardly ever. I don’t act like a woman in pain.”
“You act like a woman who’s using work to numb pain.”
Driving along with the creeping traffic, I was grateful to look away and focus on the road. “How would you know something like that?”
She raised her hand. “Queen of the AA meetings. I’ve been to meetings in two dozen states in the last twelve years. I know all about avoidance and numbing techniques. You’d be surprised what people do. At least you didn’t use drugs or alcohol.”
“Maybe I should have a drink to loosen up.”
A frown
wrinkled her brow. “A drink might loosen your control for a short time, but it never solves anything.”
“Then how do I loosen up? I have no idea how to let go of the reins.” Panic tightened my tone.
“You’re about to miss the pizza place.”
Glancing to the side, I saw the sign featuring a huge flying pizza. “Damn.” Pulling into the parking lot, I found a spot at the very back.
“Just be yourself, Rae. You owe it to Michael and yourself.”
I shut off the engine and stared out the windshield for a long moment as I gathered myself. “In my office I know who I am. I know how to act and behave. But outside those walls, not so much.”
“I don’t know the professional incarnation of Dr. Rae McDonald. She and I have never met. But I knew the other Rae when we were kids, and I liked her.”
“You never wanted that kid to tag along.”
“That wasn’t on you,” she said. “You were a good kid. Jennifer and I were immature shits. There’s no nice way to say it. We were so wrapped up in our own stupid dramas, we were rarely gracious or kind. It was all about us. And for that, I’m sorry.”
The apology soothed an old wound that I never realized hadn’t healed. “It was a long time ago.”
“Sometimes it feels like yesterday with her sitting right beside me, egging me on just like when we were kids. I can almost hear her.”
“She had a great laugh.”
“Yes, she did. And she could be nice once in a while.”
I relaxed back in the seat, willing the tension away. “She could.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Do you want to go inside now?” Lisa asked.
“I just need a minute.”
We sat in silence for several minutes, and I was almost feeling like I could deal with seeing Michael when I saw the green minivan pull up in front of the restaurant. On the back bumper was a cross-country high school sticker as well as a My Kid Is on the Honor Roll sticker.
My heart jumped and I reminded myself to breathe. “I think that’s them.”
Lisa sat forward, shadowing my line of sight. When the woman got out of the driver’s seat, I didn’t recognize her. She was rail thin, and her shoulders stooped slightly. She wore crisp jeans, a white blouse, a cardigan, and a scarf wrapped around her head. It was the kind of scarf worn by patients undergoing chemo. When she turned slightly, I thought I recognized Susan’s profile, but weight loss had made all her features sharper. She was at least fifteen pounds lighter than I remembered. How old was she now? Forty-five?
“Is that her?” Lisa asked.
“Yes. That’s Susan Holloway.”
“She’s sick, Rae.”
“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “All the notes and letters she sent me never mentioned she was sick. Not one.” Guilt jabbed. “She must think I’m such a bitch.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do. I am a bitch.”
Lisa laid a hand on mine. “She looks like she’s a nice lady.”
“She is. Nice and kind.” My God. Poor Susan. And Michael. How was all this affecting him?”
I counted my breaths as I waited for the passenger-side door to open. One. Two. Three. “What if he didn’t come? What if he sent his mom to tell me he can’t do this?”
As I shifted to study her expression, the other car door opened. Out of the front seat unfolded a tall, lean boy. There was a splash of freckles across his pale skin, and his auburn hair could have used only the tiniest bit of a trim. Most of his height was already developed, but he had yet to fill out the frame with size and muscle. He was still a gangly kid. I hadn’t missed his entire life.
He studied the pizza place, his brow wrinkling like mine did when I was worried. He looked at his mother and smiled in a way that made me think he was hiding his nerves to protect her.
His mother smiled, extending her hand and motioning for him to come around the car. When he walked, he stood straight. Carried himself with poise. I could see he was an exceptional young man.
“He’s cute,” Lisa said.
I studied Lisa’s expression, searching for any signs that she was joking, but I saw only sincerity. “He’s handsome.”
“And he looks like you. It’s like I’m flashing back to high school. I don’t see much Dan Chesterfield.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of satisfaction. “Is it wrong to be glad about that?”
“Did Dan carry that boy for nine months? Did he labor for how many hours?”
“Nineteen.”
“Where was he when Michael was born?”
“Michael was born on a Wednesday in June, so Dan was most likely back from his first year of college and was on vacation with his family.”
“How would you know that?”
“I saw him the Christmas after Michael was born. He said I looked well. Said he loved college and he never missed a Wednesday night Hump Day Party.”
“He’s an ass,” Lisa said.
And yet I couldn’t summon the tiniest bit of resentment for Dan. Not as I watched this near-perfect boy open the door to the pizza place and allow his mother to go before him. “He has manners. Did you see that?”
“He’s a good boy.” She laid her hands on my shoulders. “Now, why don’t you go meet him?”
My gut clenched. “You’re coming, right?”
“I’ve got your back.”
“If you weren’t here right now, I could very well be running in the opposite direction.” I wasn’t being overly dramatic but stating facts. This was the most terrifying moment I could ever remember experiencing.
She gripped my hand. “I’m not letting you run away. In fact, if you look like you might bolt, I’m taking you down like they do on Cops.”
“Understood.”
We got out of the car and crossed the parking lot, and when I reached for the door handle, I could feel the blood rushing to my head, making me light-headed. Drawing in a breath, I yanked open the door to a crowded place filled with kids, parents, and laughter. Scanning the crowd, I didn’t see Michael or Susan. “I don’t see them. What if he panicked and ran out the back door?”
“Then I’ll tackle him, too. It will be worthy of an ESPN highlights reel.”
“You can’t do that,” I said in all seriousness. “If he’s afraid, that’s fine. It’s just me that can’t be scared.”
“Got it. No tackling, choke holds, or tasing.”
“Okay.” I continued to scan the room. A group of middle school kids dressed in soccer uniforms rose from a table and in a loud rush of chatter and laughter made their way to the front of the restaurant. A couple of moms followed behind, herding the children like shepherds.
“Loosen up,” Lisa ordered.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Michael suggested the meeting. That means he wants to see you.”
“Good point.” Just then I saw Susan emerge from the ladies’ room and a second later, Michael from the men’s room. A sigh shuddered through me, pulling some of the tension with it. Either way my life would change in the next several minutes.
Susan and Michael sat at a back corner booth, and when a waitress came, they accepted three menus. They were expecting me.
The hostess appeared before us, a short, plump teenager with bouncy brown curls and a bright smile. She picked up a couple of menus. “Table for two, ladies?” she asked.
I looked at her and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Words usually came to me easily. They were my stock-in-trade.
Lisa leaned around me. “We’re meeting friends. And we see them in the corner booth.”
“Great!” the young girl said as she tucked the menus back under the register.
Lisa nudged me forward. “One foot in front of the other, Rae.”
“I don
’t want to mess this up,” I said.
“You won’t. Now march.”
Placing one foot in front of the other, I passed several booths, which were filled with mostly families. “What if I say the wrong thing?”
“You won’t,” Lisa said. “I’m right here.”
“Okay.”
We rounded the final corner, and Susan, sitting with her back to the wall and facing the door, spotted us before Michael. My guess was the decision was deliberate. She wanted to run interference in case there was trouble that needed heading off. A part of me appreciated the gesture while the other resented it.
Susan said something to Michael, and he craned his neck so that he could see me. Eyes that looked so much like mine locked on me, and for a second my heart stopped beating. Sixteen years ago, I was his age, holding him in my arms in the hospital. That had been the last time I’d looked into his eyes. I’d not felt all that young, but my mother knew I was just a child.
He pushed out of the booth, as did Susan. He simply stared at me, cataloguing each of my physical details, as I did his. Eyes. Check. Hands. Check. Limbs. Check. And on and on went the list.
Susan was the first to speak. “Rae?”
I pulled my gaze from the boy. “Yes. Susan?”
Her smile warmed. “Yes.” She came closer to Michael and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Michael, this is Rae McDonald. She’s your birth mother.”
He stood staring, frozen.
Susan squeezed his shoulders, reminding him that he needed to say something. “Uh, hi. It’s really nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.
Should I grasp his hand and shake or wrap my arms around him and hug him? I thought about the counseling I gave my clients. The first moments of a meeting create lasting impressions. Less is more. Smile.
I smiled and took his hand, which felt warm and a little clammy. Nice to know I wasn’t the only nervous one here. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Again?” He cocked his head and then nodded. “Right. I guess we did kind of meet once before.”
“We did.”
The View from Prince Street Page 20
