The Five Lives of John and Jillian

by Greg Krehbiel

  John kissed her and they decided to let the Chinese food get cold.

  Chapter 10 – Are You My Mother?

  About eleven o’clock that night, John woke to the sound of Jillian’s voice in the hotel bathroom. At first he was confused, wondering why she was talking to herself, but then he realized she was on the phone.

  “Yes, I see,” she said. “And you think tomorrow would be a good day to see him?”

  John sat up in bed and tried to listen.

  “I’ve got nothing planned except Norma’s funeral. Any other time is fine with me.”

  “What do you mean there won’t be a funeral?”

  There was a long pause. John was confused again.

  “I see. Yes, I understand, pastor. Okay. Ten o’clock will do. Yes, I know the street. 7902. Will you be there?”

  “Okay. Good bye.”

  John heard the familiar beep of the cell phone as Jillian turned it off. She switched off the bathroom light and crept carefully out, trying not to wake him.

  “So what’s up?” he asked as she tiptoed across the room. She stood up straight and tried to look at him in the dark apartment.

  “Karl’s staying at his friend’s house, down the street. They’ve agreed to take care of him for a while – until something more permanent can be arranged – and the pastor convinced them to let us come by and meet him tomorrow.”

  John nodded and tried to let his sluggish brain catch up with the new information.

  “I wonder if it’s good for Karl to lose his adopted mom and then meet his real mom in just two days.”

  “I said the same thing,” Jillian said. “But apparently Norma made it very clear that she doesn’t want a funeral, and she wants to be cremated. The pastor doesn’t believe this will give Karl the closure he needs right now. He thinks meeting me might provide a better transition.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “And do you believe him?”

  Jillian shook her head. “Frankly, John. I don’t care if it’s all nonsense. I just want to see my baby,” she said as her voice started to crack.

  “Then let’s see him.”

  * * *

  The hotel restaurant didn’t appeal to John, so they dropped by a bagel shop for breakfast. Jillian was a mix of anticipation and worry all morning. She hadn’t brought a change of clothes in her hurry to get out to see Norma. They had to visit the local department store and find something appropriate.

  One of the things John appreciated about Jillian was that she made most of her own clothes, so she didn’t expect him to go with her when she bought the few things she didn’t make. Shopping with a woman was one of his least favorite things to do. But it was unavoidable now, and John was thankful the appointment with Karl was at ten. The store didn’t open until nine, and that put a definite limit on the amount of torture he would have to endure.

  “So what would you expect your long-lost mother to look like?” she asked as she picked through racks of dresses.

  “Green skin. Antenna. Skin-tight, silvery stuff that ....”

  “This is very important to me, John,” Jillian chided. “I only get one chance to meet my son for the first time.”

  “I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’d better just look like you?” he said, grabbing a beige dress that was somewhat similar to one she had at home. “You can make all kinds of guesses about what Karl might expect, but you’ll probably get it wrong, and he might sense that you’re acting phony.”

  Jillian sighed and looked at the beige dress.

  “You don’t think this is like my beige dress, do you?”

  John rolled his eyes. That’s what I get for trying to help.

  “It’s, uh, mostly the same color,” he said, “and it’s about the same length, and it has these things.” He pointed out the straps that crossed in the back. “Cut me some slack here, okay?”

  Jillian smiled.

  “This is the first time we’ve done this, isn’t it?”she asked, and John nodded. “You’re horrible,” she said.

  “Shopping for clothes is not my idea of a good time. Unless maybe we go into that department,” he said, pointing toward the lingerie section.

  “Okay, mister. You wait right here while I try these on.”

  John took a deep breath and tried to figure the best way to stand in the middle of racks of women’s dresses without looking ridiculous. Jillian laughed at him, and gave him a kiss.

  “Thank you for coming out here for me,” she said tenderly. “It means a lot.”

  “Okay, okay. Just pick a couple of these things and let’s get out of here,” John said.

  * * *

  John rang the doorbell at 7902 Weaverton Way as Jillian stood, tapping a heel on the concrete walk. She wore the beige dress John had selected. It was simple, conservative, and highlighted her tall and slender frame. The soft color of the dress and her simple hairstyle – neatly combed and pulled back – made her look approachable, she thought.

  The houses on Weaverton Way were modest, mostly ramblers and split foyers, and probably no more than three bedrooms. The lots were not generous, and judging by the cars and vans parked along the street and in the driveways, this was a working class section of town.

  There were very few gardens, and Jillian noticed a shortage of something else too: children, or evidence of them. There wasn’t a Big Wheel, a bicycle, a swing set or a chalked up sidewalk to be seen. Although she figured kids these days might just be inside all the time, playing computer games.

  A large, bearded man in work pants and a blue t-shirt answered the door. John thought he was the same man who had taken Karl away that night at the hospital.

  “Matthews?” he asked.

  “John. And this is my wife, Jillian. Pleased to meet you,” he said, extending a hand.

  “Jack Russell,” the man replied, taking John’s hand somewhat uneasily, as if he was suspicious of men who wore wool pants. “Come on in.”

  The inside of the house was about what Jillian expected. The old carpet needed a shampoo, but it was generally clear of debris. The furnishings were of the simple, rugged variety that showed a combination of sensible taste and a limited budget. The art was one or two notches above unicorns on velvet, and the wallpaper was dated, but clean.

  Jack showed them into the living room and left them alone. John took Jillian’s hand and whispered in her ear.

  “Try to remember what the kid’s been through these last few days, and don’t expect too much.”

  Jillian nodded. Her mind was racing as she tried to anticipate which of the million questions she expected out of Karl. She had played this scenario in her mind a thousand times since that day she handed her baby boy over to Norma and Ivan. It was both a fantasy and a nightmare that one day she would have to give an account of herself to this child.

  How much would he understand? Would he realize that she couldn’t have provided for him? That she was just too young to raise a child?

  She wondered if she even accepted those excuses herself. She could have done it, if she’d really tried, but she’d have been taking a big gamble. And for what? A child needs his mother, yes, but does it make a real difference that the mother who raises him doesn’t share his genes? No, she’d told herself a thousand times. But no matter how many times she tried to justify it, she could never completely get rid of those feelings of guilt. Maybe it made no difference to Karl that someone else raised him, but it made a difference to her.

  Jack returned with a woman, the chaplain from the hospital, and two boys, one of whom was Karl. John thought he looked bored – as if he’d been pulled away from an exciting game of chess – and just wanted this business about his mother to be over so he could get back. But you can’t expect the kid to be perky, he realized.

  Jillian smiled warmly at him as she tried to read that face herself. Was it apathy or anger? Did he have any curiosity about his natural mother, or was he still in shock from Norma’s death?

  Jack introduced his wife, Sandy, his son
, Little Jack, and Pastor Henley. The adults took seats, but Sandy had to urge Karl to sit down. There was a place for him next to Jillian on the couch, but he chose the ottoman half-way across the room.

  After the introductions, no one spoke. The grown-ups had come to an unspoken agreement to let Karl have the first word. He wasn’t at all embarrassed by the silence. He glanced at Jillian a few times, but mostly he sat and looked at Little Jack or the blank screen of the television set.

  Finally, Karl turned to Jillian.

  “So you’re my real mother?”

  Jillian nodded.

  “You’re pretty,” he said, but it sounded to John like something he’d been coached to say.

  “And are you my real father?” he asked, turning to John.

  “No Karl. But I’m your mother’s husband.”

  Karl made a sound that was somewhere between a derisive snort and a laugh. He looked back at Jillian.

  “So am I supposed to live with you now?”

  “If you want. I’d like that, Karl,” Jillian said.

  Karl seemed surprised.

  “You mean it’s up to me?”

  Jillian shrugged. “I truly wish it was up to you. It’s actually up to the courts. But we’re going to file a petition to adopt you unless you don’t want to come with us.”

  Karl looked at Little Jack, and Jillian realized for the first time that she’d be pulling him away from everything he knew: school, friends, neighborhood. Certainly he’d have some resistance to that. She’d have to sell him on the idea. Win his affection. But before she could say a word he replied.

  “I guess that’s okay.”

  Suddenly Jillian realized that she wasn’t the only one who had been wondering about might-have-beens these long years. Karl had to have wondered about his mother.

  Pastor Henley spoke up.

  “John, I’d like to see you in the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”

  As John rose to leave, Jack signaled to his son to clear out and give Karl some time with Jillian. When everyone was gone, Jillian gave Karl a chance to speak first, but he didn’t take it.

  “I’m very sorry about your mom, Karl,” Jillian said.

  Karl twisted his face into a confused grin and looked at Jillian. “You’re my mom,” he said.

  Jillian looked at him blankly, and then the light went on. “Oh, didn’t you call Mrs. Stevenson ‘mom’?”

  Karl shook his head. “I called her Norma,” he said very softly.

  “She was a very kind woman, wasn’t she?”

  Karl looked away and didn’t answer.

  “Did you know that I’ve been writing to Norma since you were two weeks old? At first I wasn’t sure if she was going to answer. Some adoptive parents want to break all ties with the natural mother. But Norma wrote back, faithfully. She told me about your first steps, and your first words. She told me about the time you almost broke your head with that shovel.”

  Jillian could see from the side of his face that Karl smiled slightly at that.

  “When you were very young, Norma and Ivan were doing pretty well. But when you were five, Ivan started to get sick. Do you remember that?”

  Karl nodded.

  “So you remember your first house?”

  “A little. It was a lot bigger.”

  “Yeah. They had to cut back a lot when Ivan got sick. Do you remember what you got that year for Christmas?”

  Karl looked up at the ceiling and thought for a moment. “My toy rifle,” he said. “I still have it.”

  “Really? I’d like to see it. I bought it for you.”

  Karl turned and looked at her.

  “Why?”

  “Norma and Ivan didn’t have much money then....”

  “I don’t mean that,” he interrupted. “Why did you care what happened to me, or what I got for Christmas?”

  That stung, and Jillian had to wait a moment to regain her composure. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to answer without crying.

  “Why do you think I gave you up for adoption, Karl?” she asked very quietly.

  “Norma says it was because you were too young to take care of me.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

  Karl nodded his head, just a little, and Jillian’s shoulders relaxed a touch. Karl was starting to look at her more frequently, and he was relaxing into the cushion a little more.

  “What do you think, Karl? Did I give you up because I didn’t want you, or because I wanted the best for you?”

  “The second one,” Karl said, as if he didn’t have the energy or patience for any more words.

  Jillian smiled.

  “And did I do that because I hate you?”

  The touch of a smile started to form on the edges of Karl’s mouth.

  “It won’t kill you,” Jillian said. “Smiling, I mean. And it won’t kill you to use that horrible l-word either. Why did I give you up for adoption, Karl?”

  “Because you love me, I guess.”

  “And why did I write to Norma and keep up with you?”

  He looked away and shook his head as if he was getting tired of the inquisition, but something else in his face was changing. A touch of color. The beginnings of a smile.

  “Same,” Karl said in a monotone, but Jillian could tell his resistance was breaking down. The smile was faint, but it was still there, underneath a face that was trying to remain stoic.

  “And why did I send you Christmas presents?”

  Karl snorted his impatience, but his smile continued to grow despite himself. “Same.”

  “And why am I here today?”

  “Okay, I get it,” he said with a genuine smile.

  “You said I was pretty,” Jillian said. “Did Sally tell you to say that?”

  Karl grinned and looked away. “No. That pastor guy.”

  “Hmm. Well I think you’re a handsome young man, Karl. You’re sure a lot better looking than the last time I saw you.”

  Karl started to show some genuine interest. Jillian got up from the couch and walked towards him. She knelt on the floor next to the ottoman, and she wondered if she dared to touch him. It was something she had longed to do for ten years. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, and maybe they could cry on each other’s shoulders. But fate had something else in store.

  “You were bald,” she said, reaching up and tousling his close-cropped light-brown hair, “didn’t have any teeth,” she reached down and squeezed the sides of his mouth to expose his. Karl started to laugh a little. “Fat,” she said, reaching for his belly, “and all wrinkled.” She started to tickle him, and Karl didn’t fight it.

  * * *

  While Jillian was trying to get through to her son in the living room, Jack was giving John a cup of instant coffee in a cup that looked as if it had been found in an IHOP parking lot.

  “Adopting Karl isn’t gonna be easy,” Jack said. “I never knew Ivan real well. That’s Norma’s husband, in case you don’t know. He’s dead of cancer. Anyway, they moved into this neighborhood when he was pretty sick. I can’t speak for him, but Norma didn’t have a clue about raising a boy. He’s a decent enough kid, in his own way, but he’s spoiled rotten. Norma let him do whatever he wanted. She never made him work hard in school,” he continued, but his wife interrupted him.

  “Jack, Norma’s just one-day dead. Shouldn’t you speak a little more respectful?”

  Jack cast a quick glance at the pastor, and then looked hard at John.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” Jack said. “Norma had a good heart, and she and Sandy here were good friends.” He turned to look at his wife. “But he don’t know her,” he said, angrily, pointing at John, “and he’s thinking about making a big decision here, and I ain’t letting no superstitions about dead people keeping me from telling him what he needs to know. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “It’s okay, Jack,” John said. “I understand, and I’d appreciate anything you can tell
me about Karl.”

  Jack nodded his head thoughtfully and looked down at the linoleum floor.

  “The boy’s just got no discipline. Norma always took the easy way with him. Frankly, I’ve been torn about letting him play with Little Jack, ‘cause after Karl’s been around for a while, Little Jack picks up some of it and starts to get crazy, acting silly and not listening to what you tell him to do. But that boy’s had no father around since he was five years old, and his mother’s just let him grow with no more thought than a weed.”

  “She wasn’t always that way, Jack,” Sandy cut in. “It’s been since Ivan died.”

  Jack nodded his head sympathetically.

  “Norma’s had a tough time, and I’m not trying to put her down. But here was this boy, growing up like Huck Finn, and I hoped I could do him a little bit of good by showing him there’s rules in life. I make him clean up his toys after himself, and don’t let him get too wild, and Sandy here makes him say prayers before he eats and stuff like that. I don’t know if we’re doing the boy any good, but damned if I’m gonna sit back and watch him turn into some kind of criminal. And besides, if I died so young like that, I’d want somebody to throw the ball with my boy and keep an eye on him for me.”

  “You’re a good man, Jack,” John said.

  Jack shook his head angrily. “Hell I ain’t. I yell at the boys and lose my temper and half the time I’m working late and all. Sandy’s stuck with most of the trouble, and then I come home and she unloads on me and I yell at the boys and .... I haven’t done half what I should do, and that’s not the point anyway.”

  Jack turned, walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. Sandy looked at him sharply, and then she looked at the clock, and Jack just shook his head angrily. He opened the beer and drank half of it in one pull. Then he set the can on the counter, picked up his coffee and eyed John for a moment.

  John’s wool trousers, black, wing-tip shoes, button-down shirt and sports coat contrasted sharply with Jack’s clothes, and even with the kitchen. Jack belonged here, sitting at the K-Mart kitchen table and drinking instant coffee out of the IHOP mug, but John was out of his element, and it was obvious.

  “I can look at you two and see you’re mighty nice folk. I just want you to know that this boy’s gonna fart at the dinner table and then make a joke about it. He ain’t gonna sit still in church, and I don’t think he’s gonna care about the rules of your house. Maybe at first, ‘til he gets situated, but he’s not used to following orders or not getting his way.