by Dina Silver
“Only the ones who bring me coffee.”
For months, I’ve imagined walking out of the attorney’s office a free woman, and I expected to feel more elated than deflated. I take my phone out of my purse and stare at it for a good long minute before texting Todd.
I’ve anticipated this day for a long time and debated what to say to you. I’m sorry we had to end up like this, and I’m sorry for my part. I hope our mutual love for the boys will allow us to be civil to each other from here on out.
Thanks to the godsend that is my neighbor Jen Engel, all my boys are home from their after-school activities, and Luke from Mrs. Stern’s, with bags of McDonald’s in front of them. Mom is sitting on the couch, fully dressed, just as she’s been since the morning, with Snoopy at her feet. I kiss the top of her head.
“I’m divorced,” I whisper in her ear so the boys don’t hear.
She looks up at me with a goofy excuse for a grin.
“Stewart Fishman wants you to know that he took good care of me because of his admiration for you.”
She raises her brows.
“It’s true,” I say.
Once the sun sets and the kids are bathed and brushed, I find Mom and Snoopy in front of the small kitchen TV. “The boys are in bed, so I’m going to go up and read in my room.”
She turns her neck a little and nods.
“You OK?” I ask.
“Great!”
“Love you,” I say and head to my room. “Can you close the front door before you come up?” We have a Plexiglas storm door that’s always closed, but I like to leave the main wooden door open throughout the day to let the light in.
She nods.
About forty minutes later, I hear a loud clunk, clunk, clunk on the stairs, followed by Snoopy barking.
“Mom!” I jump out of bed, run through the hall, and find her crumpled up at the bottom of the staircase with the dog pacing by her side. “Oh my God!” I race to her, hands trembling, not wanting to move her until I know she’s all right. “Please, Mom, look at me. Are you OK?”
Mom looks into my eyes, and I can tell she’s severely humbled by what just happened. She gets herself to an upright position, but she’s defeated.
“It’s those damn shoes!” I point at her feet. Camel-colored suede pumps with a wedge heel. “Starting today, there is a strict no-shoes-in-the-house policy.”
She rubs her lower back.
“Can I take a look?”
She shakes her head.
“Please don’t be stubborn.” We look into each other’s eyes, and I see she’s crying. “I need to know if you are hurt,” I say. “Touch the spot on your body if there’s any pain.”
She shakes her head again and lifts her hand to point out the storm door.
I turn my head and look outside. “It’s a full moon,” I say quietly.
We both have a good cry as my foyer glows from the moonlight. “I think that means your daughter knows best.”
She wipes her cheek.
“No more goddamned heels in the house.”
Once she’s in bed, I go to my room and e-mail Dr. Scott.
Hi, Scott,
Hope all is well with you and your daughter. My mom fell tonight on the stairs. She seems to be OK. I had her move her arms and legs and fingers, and she said there was no pain. She’ll probably just wake up with a nasty bruise, but it was really scary. Mostly because I saw her get emotional for the first time. Up until now, she’s been trying to stay positive and keep her chin up for the boys and me, but tonight I saw her inner struggle, and it killed me.
Sorry to unload on you at such a late hour! But when I got in bed just now, you were the only person I wanted to talk to. Good thing for you I only have your e-mail and not your phone number.
Take care,
—AM
A minute later, he e-mails me back.
Now you have both. 312-555-5668. Call me.
He picks up on the first ring. “Hi.” His voice is tired but polite.
“It’s your very favorite non-patient.”
“How are you?”
“Grateful that you don’t sleep at night, either.”
“So, your mom had a fall?”
“She insists on wearing heels wherever she goes, which isn’t very far. So she wears them all day around the house and to walk the dog and whatnot.” I pause. “I thought I was going to find her dead body when I heard her tumbling down the stairs.”
He makes a breathy noise. “Most people don’t die from falling down a few stairs. Especially cancer patients.”
I laugh, but I want to sob. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Deal with injuries and illness and cancer patients all day long. I can barely get through a phone call when one of her family members asks for an update.”
Scott clears his throat. “I lost my mom to cancer when I was in college. I switched from prelaw to premed after she passed during my sophomore year.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. I like to think I have some insight into what you and other people are going through.”
My eyes tear up, but I don’t want him to know I’m crying. “Can I ask about your ex-wife?” Curiosity gets the best of me.
“She and I split up about three years ago. I got a call in the middle of the night from a woman who said her husband was sleeping with my wife.”
“Holy shit,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“I’d tell you about my marriage, but I’m actually feeling relaxed at the moment and don’t want to get all riled up.”
“I can appreciate that. Another time, maybe.”
I roll onto my side and pull the covers up, wishing I didn’t feel better listening to other people’s problems. “Thanks for taking my call and for opening up to me. Maybe one day we can get together and lighten the conversation,” I offer.
“I would like that.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up with a smile on my face. I place my cell phone on my nightstand and pick up one of Mom’s journals that I’d put there last night.
One day I’ll go through them in order, but for now I like to surprise myself with little nuggets of her story. Our story. I turn to the middle of the book.
May 4, 1974
To think George has been in on this all along! My hand is shaking. I prayed and prayed for this day to come, and now that it’s finally here, I’m more frightened than ever. I need to get out of this apartment and don’t have time to write, but I wanted to jot something down quickly.
I pray this is not my last journal entry, but if it is, I want my daughter to know that I’m a fighter and I fought for her and loved her more than I have ever loved anyone or anything in my life. I thank God for her every day. Please keep us safe on the remainder of this journey. I hope one day she can forgive me for this.
I close the book and hug it tightly against my chest. She is a fighter, and she always has been, and in my mind, there was nothing to forgive.
Chapter Forty-One
CATHERINE
Beirut, 1974
We arrive at Beirut International Airport about an hour after George delivered my new passport. Our flight wasn’t for four more hours, but I was eager to get out of that apartment and through customs. The line was moderate; there were mostly families and some businessmen. It was rare to see a woman and child alone, but I was relieved to see at least one other pair headed for Boston. It’s a funny thing, suspicion. Being the guilty party, I was desperate to glide through the airport unnoticed. It was a seemingly simple task that offered numerous opportunities to fail when trying to accomplish it with a small child.
We got in line and stood there about ten minutes before Ann Marie decided she needed to use the bathroom. Having just completed her potty training about two months prior, I wasn’t in a position to push my luck, but I just wanted to get through the line. She began to grab her dress and pull on my leg, and I could feel my chest start to sweat fr
om the anxiety. If I tried to speak to her in three different languages to get my message across, it could’ve been disastrous. Instead, I gathered our things and left our place in line. That move turned a few heads, but mostly from people who just seemed pleased to be traveling without children.
By the time we got back in line and close to the customs officer, I thought my head was going to explode. I focused heavily on breathing through my nostrils—in through the nose and out through the mouth—and kept repeating simple directives to myself. Smile but don’t grin. Answer questions in a friendly tone, but don’t give more information than necessary. Breathe. I handed my passport to the officer and held Ann Marie’s hand. She was speaking to me about her chewing gum when he said something.
“Chin up, please.”
I looked him in the eyes as he held the passport up and compared my face with the photo.
“Anything to declare?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“Place your bags on the table.”
I released Ann Marie’s hand and did as he asked, unzipping each one so he could easily rummage through them. There was purposely nothing in them but clothes and toys; I hadn’t even packed a tube of toothpaste, something I realized only when he began to pull things out. Ann Marie was antsy after waiting so long, and she had little interest in standing still while the man went through our things.
“May I?” I grabbed a book off the table as he was emptying the duffel.
He nodded, and I handed her the book. The one good thing about fussy children is that people often have little tolerance for them and are encouraged to move them along. She sat on the ground with her book, and I kept gesturing for her to stand up. When she began to speak Arabic, the man stopped what he was doing and looked at her.
“Yes.” I jumped right in without missing a beat. “Up, fawq.” I began flailing my arms up and down. “Fawq, up. Asfal, down.”
Ann Marie began to stand up and plop back down as if it were a game.
“We’ve been learning the language during our stay,” I said to him.
He just watched as my daughter stood up and down with my instruction.
“OK,” I said to her. “All done. No more.” I patted my leg, instructing her to stand by my side. “Today we’re going home.”
She picked up her book from the floor and understood.
My skin was burning up. When the officer looked at me, I thought I was going to burst into flames. “Very nice,” he said and zipped up our bags. “Next!” He waved to the man behind me.
I gave Ann Marie a little push with my hands and quickly grabbed our things off the table. She waved to the officer and said goodbye in French.
There wasn’t a moment that day when I wasn’t looking over my shoulder. I nearly had whiplash by the time we checked our bags and got to the gate. I found two chairs in a corner with our backs to the window so I could have a clear view of the airport and everyone’s comings and goings. I stayed seated while Ann Marie wandered around from row to row, engaging strangers with her smile. Every once in a while, she’d walk a little too far and look back at me, testing her boundaries. I would shake my head no and wave her back. In a short time, she’d come to trust me. She was calling me Mama by then, but she’d been calling the woman who dropped her at the police station the same thing. What did the word even mean to her? She was heading home with her mother, and yet with so little understanding of either of those two words. My heart ached at the idea that she didn’t have a home. That she’d lived in God only knew how many places.
“Children are resilient,” Mother would tell me before my daughter and I were reunited. “And she will always know her mother.”
I came to believe the second part, but I worried about my absence in those first critical years of her life. Would she be able to love if she wasn’t loved herself? Would she have a fear of abandonment her whole life? Now that she was three years old, would I be able to reshape whatever damage had been done? She was a skinny little girl when she came back to me. Was that genetics, or had she been underfed and hungry? These were questions to which I would never have answers. They were months and memories that she and I were both robbed of, and I thought about them often. How would the residual effects of the trauma play out in her adult life, and how would I ever forgive myself? How could she ever forgive me for allowing this to happen to her? It was important to me that she never learn the truth, but I knew that might be too much to ask.
I reached into my purse and pulled out my journal and a pen. It was difficult to wake up in the morning, let alone keep up with my writing after Ann Marie had been taken from me, but I knew one day she’d have questions. I felt a great responsibility to give her as many answers as I could, even if I didn’t have all of them myself.
My hand was jittery from the stress and excitement of the day, but I wanted to write down a few last-minute thoughts.
Once I was through, we boarded the flight that afternoon, and I held my breath until we landed in Boston.
Chapter Forty-Two
CATHERINE
Connecticut, 1974
Because of the time difference, we landed around 2:00 p.m., essentially more than twenty-four hours from when our journey began, and still had a three-hour car ride ahead of us. Laura and her brother, Henry, were at the gate waiting to greet us. We burst into tears at the sight of one another. My hair had grown past my shoulders at that point, and I was looking more like my old self again.
Laura came close and gave me a kiss on the cheek. There was a kind man who’d offered to take my things off the plane because Ann Marie was asleep, slumped over my shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Let me carry her for you,” Henry offered.
I stroked her back and shook my head. “I would hate for her to wake up and see your face before mine.”
He acted snubbed. “Many woman actually fight for that privilege,” he joked and grabbed my bags from the other passenger.
Laura wiped her eyes. “We’re just so relieved. I called your mom early this morning, and she’d only just been told you were on the plane. I guess with the time difference, your dad and whoever was helping you in Beirut were unable to reach each other. I can’t tell you what it’s been like for everyone here. We’ve been so worried.”
I went to answer her, but I could barely contain my emotions. I just smiled and shook my head in disbelief. I felt like I’d been walking a tightrope for eighteen months with nowhere to step off and ground my feet, unable to live my life or even plan an afternoon. Just barely hanging on hour by hour, day by day, praying and begging to get to this point. We walked through the airport, and my head felt clearer. Maybe there was now space for some much-needed optimism.
Ann Marie awoke in the back seat of Henry’s car, screaming and inconsolable about an hour into the ride. I’d been asleep myself and nearly had a heart attack when I heard her. She was scared and tired and dripping with sweat. The look of fear on her face was like a knife in my heart. Henry had to pull over so that I could take the time to introduce them to her and she could feel safe in the car again. Once we were back on the road, I held her in my lap while Laura and I sang songs and played patty-cake until she nodded off again.
When we were about twenty minutes from Belle Haven, I woke her up so she wouldn’t feel blindsided being carried into a house full of people.
“Remember what Mommy has been saying, OK? Today we’re going home.”
She looked into my eyes.
“Does she understand you?” Laura asked.
“Somewhat. She’s learned a few key words, but I’m trying to use the other languages as little as possible so she has no choice but to relearn everything. Maison,” I said in French. “Home.”
She looked out the window and placed her hand on the glass but didn’t speak.
When Henry pulled through the front gate and up the winding driveway, I whispered it again in her ear. “Home.”
As soon as the car came to a stop, the front door opened, and muc
h to my daughter’s delight, the dogs came flying out to greet us. She clapped and giggled and begged to be let out of the car.
Mother was standing in the doorway, watching the scene with her arms held out. “Welcome home!” she said and called for my sisters.
I took Ann Marie’s hand and led her inside. There was a mass of people at the front door, smiling and clapping and pinching her cheeks. After about a minute of that, she’d had enough and retreated to my side. I waved for everyone to step back, and they did, but all eyes were on her, and I was so grateful to finally be the one she would cling to. I knelt down and leaned into her ear to teach her a new word.
“Family,” I whispered and pointed to everyone.
Chapter Forty-Three
CATHERINE AND ANN MARIE
Chicago, 2009
It’s been a rough week for Mom, but today is the big reunion, and I can see that it’s ignited a spark in her eyes. She lost another few pounds, and she’s finding it harder and harder to focus on simple conversations. Her speech is gone almost entirely. I’ve learned how to manage her with questions that require only a nod or a headshake. Anything above and beyond a yes-or-no answer is deemed inconsequential. As for me, I’m a wreck. Monica says I’m in denial, and Scott says I have to come to terms with the disease, but neither of those two options can prepare me for losing my mom. The boys and I pray for her every night, but I know I need to let go and prove to her that we’re going to be fine, and I can be strong for her like she was for me. I think about the years she spent without me and how much her death parallels my abduction as a child. It’s clear why she needed me to know what happened. To show me if she could pull through the worst life has to offer, then so can I.
The boys are with their dad today. I made sure they wouldn’t be home, even though they were curious about meeting my father. It’s an odd thing to discover your mom has a parent you’ve never met, but it was too much to have a house full of people. Especially when I’m not sure how this encounter is going to go down. But this is important to my mom, and whether or not she can articulate why, I know she needs this day to happen.
