“What?” she said, looking confused, then asked, “Do you think it’s him?”
Jane turned sideways in her chair for a better look, but tried to be subtle about it, pretending to read the menu, written on a chalkboard above his head, but really stealing a solid look at the kid. He was an average height and build with a square, appealing face. His cheeks and chin were dusted with a five o’clock shadow, despite the fact that it was only 10:00 a.m., and Jane noticed that his hair was actually dyed that pretty caramel color. It must be darker, she thought, noting the color of his stubble and the slight hint of dark roots when he bent his head to inspect the coffee machine.
The question was: could she see Ramona or Mark in him? There was nothing obvious to suggest this boy belonged to her friend, but he did have a similar shape to his eyes, behind the thick glasses, and his mouth was thin and prettily shaped, like Mark’s.
She turned back to Ramona. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Hey, James,” they heard the girl in the bowler hat call out. “Check the cookies.”
“James,” Ramona repeated, looking over at him again. “I never would have chosen the name James. Isn’t that strange? He must be a James Jr. I always had a name picked out and so now, knowing his real name, it feels like I can’t have given birth to him.”
“What was the name you picked out?”
“Keith, after Keith Richards. That was my Stones phase. I know,” she said, holding up her hand. “It’s a terrible name. James is actually much better.”
“Keith,” Jane said, and nodded.
“It’s Scottish and means ‘man from the forest.’”
“What does James mean?”
Ramona shrugged. “Who knows?”
James called out Ramona’s name to come and pick up their coffee order.
“You go,” she told Jane, looking pale. “I can’t.”
Jane rose and walked over to the counter. The boy stood waiting, not smiling, but somehow exuding calm welcome. He had wide, strong hands, browned by the sun, and Jane found herself watching them closely as he handed her the cappuccino and soy latte. “Thanks,” she said, looking up into his face and feeling a nervous current run up her spine. What if this was, indeed, the baby Ramona had given away? His eyes were wide-spaced and dark green, just like Ramona’s, but there was more—an intense quality to his gaze that seemed familiar. “Do you go to UNLV?” she asked him, then tilted her head toward the campus.
“Not yet,” he said, but didn’t explain further. His voice was soft and confident, but he turned his eyes to the window when he answered, as if uncomfortable with her scrutiny.
“I grew up here,” she said, “but I didn’t go to college here. Just high school. Vegas.”
“I was at Valley.”
She nodded. This was going nowhere. What question could she possibly ask that would confirm this boy’s identity? Were you given away by a girl with long dark braids? She could ask whether or not he had been adopted, but what if he was and didn’t know it, or what if he was but had been born somewhere else, far away from here? Or, of course, there was the very real chance that he hadn’t been adopted at all. She thought to ask if he was born at Sunrise Hospital, but that wouldn’t narrow her search much. The futility of Ramona’s quest struck her then, and she realized she did not want to return to a table and sit with her friend while they tried to figure out whether or not this was her son. Perhaps this was the reason Ramona had kept her search a secret. She did not want to be pitied or cajoled into believing this might work out in the end.
“Do you need something else?” the boy asked.
She realized she’d been just standing there, staring into her mugs of coffee, and she looked up and gave the kid a quick smile. “Um, can you recommend any snacks?”
He shrugged. “We have biscotti, but it’s kind of hard.”
“Biscotti’s supposed to be hard,” Jane said, without thinking, then added, “Give me two, please. The lemon rosemary ones.”
He turned and retrieved two cookies, then put them on one plate and handed them over to Jane. She passed him a five-dollar bill, though they only cost $1.10 each, and said, “Keep the change.” It was the least she could do for making the poor kid feel uncomfortable. She must seem overly interested in a boy almost twenty years her junior and noticed for the first time that the woman in the bowler hat was listening to the exchange. She thanked him again, then carried the cups of coffee back to the table and sat down.
“Well?” Ramona said, a hopeful lift to her eyebrows as she accepted her mug of coffee.
What was she expected to say? Jane wanted both to offer her hope and to not get her hopes up too high. “He has your eyes,” she said, then heard that this was too definite, so she amended. “Well, the color is similar, and the shape reminds me of yours.”
“I wonder if Mark wears glasses now,” Ramona said, glancing again at the boy. “Doesn’t one of the parents have to wear glasses for the kid to need them?”
“I don’t think so,” Jane said. “It’s not that clear-cut.”
“My mom wore reading glasses,” Ramona said.
“Everyone wears reading glasses eventually, don’t they?”
Ramona shrugged, then asked, “So, what do I do next?”
Jane took a bite of biscotti, which was harder than it should be—the kid had been right, and she’d been snotty about it—and thought for a minute. “Talk to him?” Jane suggested.
Ramona cringed at this idea. “I can’t even think of how to begin.”
“Are you sure you even want to know?” Jane glanced over at the counter and saw that the boy was talking to the girl in the bowler now, making her laugh. She tried to imagine not knowing who her children were. Would she be able to recognize Rocky in a crowd if she hadn’t seen him for the past nineteen years? There must be some link, Jane thought, some pull between you that would reveal the connection of parent and child. Or maybe there was nothing. Maybe this person you’d given birth to was just another stranger in the end.
“I think so,” Ramona said.
The boy was laughing now, leaning back against the counter and listening to the girl beside him. This might be the girlfriend, Jane decided, rather than the girl on the bike. He looked happy, at least in this moment, and she imagined how he might feel if he discovered his mother was sitting here watching him. It wouldn’t necessarily be a good feeling, Jane thought. It would be jarring and upsetting, something he’d have to mull over for many nights before deciding how, exactly, he felt about the matter.
“I should have let her raise him,” Ramona said softly, watching the boy.
“No. No way,” Jane shook her head with vehemence. “Your mom would have sucked the life out of him. She couldn’t have handled it.”
“Or maybe it would have helped her. Maybe it would have been her second chance. Then she wouldn’t have cut me off and died alone and I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty all the fucking time.” Ramona closed her eyes and shook her head, then blew out a poof of air and opened her eyes again. “Sorry, never mind.”
Jane didn’t know what to say, except to repeat, “Your mom couldn’t have handled raising another kid. You did the right thing.”
“Okay, whatever you say.” Ramona gave her a half-smile, then stood. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do yet. I need to think.”
Outside, they walked slowly this time, back around the block toward their car. A sign for an open house caught Jane’s eye, and she suggested they go check it out. “Just for fun,” she said, “to take your mind off things.”
It turned out to be an open house for a condominium that looked almost identical to several other stucco buildings on the street, but once they were inside, Jane appreciated the spare cleanliness of the place, its blonde wood and white walls, the view of a community pool through the balcony doors. The idea had been to take Ramona’s mind off her son, but now that they were inside, Jane understood she was here for her own purposes.
She plucked a statistics sheet off the kitchen counter and considered the price and size, then asked the realtor about condo fees and what a typical electric bill might look like.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Ramona asked when they were back outside. “Does Adam need some desert soil samples to finish his degree?”
Jane shook her head, looking down at her feet as they moved along the pavement. “I’m leaving him. Well, we’re separated. Nothing’s official or anything yet.”
Ramona didn’t respond for several strides. Slowly, drawing out the word, she said, “Okay,” then, more softly and to herself, “Wow.”
Jane waited for her to say more, but they walked in silence for the last half of the block, then turned the corner. Up ahead, across the busy street, Jane could see the simple white buildings of UNLV settled in stretches of green grass. Students milled about on the lawn as if classes had just let out. If she somehow managed to buy that condo—she did have some savings and decent credit—Jane imagined she could find a job on campus and walk to work, picking up a coffee from Ramona’s son every morning on the way.
When they were heading back to Ivy’s, Jane finally asked, “Aren’t you going to offer your two cents about what I should do?”
“Nope,” Ramona shook her head. “Unless you want me to?” She glanced over at Jane, then back to the road.
“I guess not,” Jane said.
“I will say that I don’t think you should move back here.”
“It would be good for the kids, to be near my mom,” Jane explained.
“True,” Ramona agreed. “But better for them to be near Adam, don’t you think?”
Jane nodded. “Yes, of course. But he’s not tied to Wisconsin. He could bartend out here, I’m sure.” Even as she said this, the absurdity of the idea struck her. She would divorce Adam but make him move across the country and live where he knew no one but her. “Okay, that’s a dumb idea, but it just sounds nice to have a fresh start somewhere, you know?”
“Las Vegas would not be a fresh start.”
Jane considered this. Ramona was right—of course she was, about everything—but the image of that spare condo stayed with Jane as they wound their way through a city that was both new and old, both familiar as her own hand and completely unknown.
RAMONA
Frank greeted them at the door with a pale, worried face. “She’s in there with Lucky,” he said, nodding toward their bedroom. “And says she’s fine, but she won’t get out of bed.”
“Well, it’s her leg, right?” Jane said.
“Her leg looks pretty good, actually,” Frank said. “It’s healing well.”
Ramona brushed past him into the house, and Jane followed. Half the room was hung with blue and yellow streamers, and a cluster of balloons sat on the floor by the couch. The streamers were haphazardly hung, crisscrossing the space above the dining room table and dangling unfinished in the corners.
“I’m not done with that yet,” Frank explained, walking over and catching the end of a yellow streamer in his hand. “When I add the balloons, it will look better.”
“No, it looks nice,” Jane assured him.
“Isn’t the party tomorrow?” Ramona said.
“I wanted to get a head start,” Frank said. “Since I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“We’ll help you,” Ramona said, though to her recollection, she’d never hung a streamer in her entire life.
“Go see Ivy first,” Frank suggested.
The bedroom door was shut tight, so Ramona knocked lightly, and when she got no reply turned to Jane and shrugged, then entered Ivy’s bedroom.
She was sitting up, propped against the pillows in her robe, watching Lucky crawl back and forth across a small hillock of bunched-up sheets. Ivy’s hair was unwashed and tangled, and her skin looked dim, its usual glow of health gone. She looked up at them and offered a wan smile, but said nothing.
“What’s up?” Ramona said, trying to sound cheery as she settled on the bed beside her friend. Jane circled around and sat on the other side so that they both faced her.
“I’m resting,” Ivy told them.
“I can see that,” Ramona said. “How’s the leg?”
For an answer, Ivy turned down the sheets then pulled back her robe to reveal the long, sewed-up cut on her inner thigh. It was red and puckered around the dark seam of the stitches, but there was nothing particularly gross about it, Ramona noted. She had never had stitches before and was surprised by their neatness. She had expected oozing blood and pus, a haphazard crisscrossing up her friend’s leg that would turn her stomach.
“Does it hurt?” Ramona asked.
Ivy shrugged. “A little bit. Not much. Just if they rub against something too hard, like a pair of jeans.” She threw the robe back over her leg, then yanked the sheets up and across her lap with a single motion.
“Ramona has some news,” Jane said.
Ramona glanced at Jane, uncertain how to begin. The events of the morning seemed more real than the baby growing inside of her. She was still thinking about the boy with the black glasses, tilting his head back with laughter as she and Jane exited the coffee shop. That laugh had pierced her skin, wounded her in some unseen way that pained her even now, sitting here on Ivy’s bed.
Before Ramona responded, Ivy turned to Jane and said, “I want to hear your news first.”
“My news?” Jane scooped up Lucky and set him on her lap, almost, Ramona thought, as if she were using the baby as a shield against Ivy’s anger, because she could feel it now, emanating from her friend like the uncomfortable heat of a campfire.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Did Adam call you?” Jane asked, as she stroked Lucky’s smooth cap of golden brown hair. She would not meet either of their eyes.
“Rex came by,” Ivy said.
“Rex?” Ramona asked, feeling suddenly lost.
“The albino,” Ivy told her.
“He’s not an albino,” Jane said, finally lifting her eyes to Ivy’s. “And I only told him because I didn’t think he would judge me, the way you’re doing right now.”
Ramona thought this was likely why Jane had confided in her as well, but instead of feeling included she felt extraneous, like a faceless sounding board rather than a true friend. She should have offered Jane something more this morning, a bit of wisdom scrounged up from her past.
“I’m not judging you,” Ivy told Jane. “I’m worried about you.”
“Well, there’s no need to worry because I’m fine.” She smiled at both of them, but Ramona could see it was a forced smile, a smile to hide pain.
“But why?” Ivy asked. “How could you leave Adam?”
“How could I?” Jane adjusted the baby on her lap and began to bounce her knee. Lucky giggled with delight, and the emotion was so out of place it raised the level of anxiety in the room. “It was easy, actually. Much easier than I ever imagined.”
Ramona nodded. Of course it was easy to leave. This was something she had learned long ago.
“But you’re going to try and work it out, right?” Ivy asked. “For the kids?”
Jane looked at Ramona, but she couldn’t interpret her glance. “Maybe she hasn’t figured it out yet, Ivy,” Ramona offered. “Why don’t we hear her out before we assume she’s going to do what you say?”
“I know that’s what I should do,” Jane said, turning again to Ivy. “But I just don’t feel happy lately. Being with him.”
“So what?” Ivy said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not about feeling happy. You have to make the decisions that are right for Rocky and Fern, that’s all. Period. Unless Adam is beating you or abusing you in some way, then you have to stick it out.”
“That seems a little harsh,” Ramona said.
“Oh, really?” Ivy turned her anger toward Ramona now. “That’s great. Get advice from the person who’s left everybody.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ramona aske
d, feeling her own anger rise like a thin stream of red up the center of her chest.
“Nothing,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “Sorry.” Tears pooled in her large eyes, and then she was sobbing, turning her face into the pillow behind her.
“What is it?” Ramona said, scooting closer and putting a hand on Ivy’s back. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to abandon Lucky,” Ivy said.
Her words were muffled by the crying and the pillow so that Ramona wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly. She turned and looked at Jane, who shook her head as if to say Don’t look at me—I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Lucky,” Ivy said, turning to face them now.
Jane handed the baby over, and he clung to the lapels of Ivy’s robe and nuzzled his face into the bare skin between the cotton.
“I’m worried that I’m going to leave Lucky one day just like my mom left me.”
“I don’t think it’s genetic,” Ramona said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“I keep thinking I’m being ridiculous. Of course I’d never do that. But I’m sure my mom never thought about leaving me when I was a baby. People don’t plan on doing terrible things to their children.”
“She didn’t do it to you,” Jane said. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with you at all.”
“It had everything to do with me,” Ivy told her. “How can you even say that?”
Jane shrugged, then stood up and walked over to the window beside the crib. “Parents have lives of their own. That’s all I meant. You shouldn’t take it too personally.”
She stood looking out at the oleander bushes for a moment, then turned back to Ramona and Ivy. “So why did Rex come by anyway?”
“I knew you were going to ask that,” Ivy said with a frown. “Who cares? He came by to ask you to stargaze, all right? But you’re not going.”
Vegas Girls Page 21
