The Mother's Promise

by Sally Hepworth

  She needed someone to talk to, or she’d go crazy waiting to hear from Kate. But it was late, nearly 10 P.M. It was too late to call Sonja and besides, Alice wasn’t sure it would be appropriate. It was another reason people needed multiple friends, she realized. The night owls, the early risers. A friend for every season. She’d missed having friends. She missed having a door that swung continually with neighbors and friends coming and going.

  Alice stood suddenly. She strode across the apartment and out into the corridor and knocked hard on Dulcie’s door.

  Dulcie answered dressed in a peach candlewick robe, and clasping a steaming mug. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

  “Hi, Dulcie. I was just about to put the kettle on. I see you already have a drink, but I wondered if you’d like to join me.”

  Dulcie frowned at Alice. “But … it’s ten o’clock at night.”

  “Suit yourself,” Alice said. “I’ll be across the hall if you change your mind.”

  Alice turned and walked back to her apartment, leaving the door ajar. A few moments later she heard Dulcie’s door close and the sound of her slippers scuffling across the hallway toward her apartment.

  “It’s nice to have someone to have a cup of tea with sometimes,” Dulcie said, getting comfortable at one end of Alice’s couch.

  Alice nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  64

  When George appeared in the kitchen, Sonja had his coffee ready.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing him a coffee.

  “Thank you,” George said.

  It was almost as if they were a normal couple.

  Ever since speaking with Alice, Sonja had thought a lot about leaving George. She’d even packed a bag of clothes and money and put it in the trunk of her car.

  But George had been in a good mood these last few weeks. Only last night, he’d come home talking about Christmas. “Are we going to get a real tree this year?” he’d asked. “Stockings by the fire, that sort of thing?” Sonja didn’t know what to say. Usually she put up a few decorations—a wreath on the door, a small artificial tree in the front window—but it hardly seemed worth going all-out on decorations for just the two of them.

  “Sure,” she’d said eventually.

  It made Sonja wonder. Maybe retirement was starting to agree with him? Maybe he was finally starting to relax? She’d heard about it happening. Men who were harsh, cutthroat business people all their lives, suddenly becoming old softies in their golden years. Maybe that was happening to George? If so, after all the hard yards she’d put in, there was no point leaving just as things were looking up.

  “Got much on today?” George asked her.

  “I’m going to see Alice Stanhope,” Sonja said. “She’s out of the hospital but doesn’t have much support. I’m going to see if I can convince her to take Meals on Wheels.”

  George was looking at her with an expression that was hard to read. “Alice Stanhope?”

  “My client,” she said. “Ovarian cancer. She’s not doing well.”

  George put down his coffee. He blinked, as though he’d received startling news, instead of a status report on her client. “Alice Stanhope?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” Sonja said, confused. “Alice Stanhope. Why? Do you know her?”

  George ignored the question. “You said Alice … isn’t doing well?”

  “Not well at all. She’s dying.”

  He stared off, his brow puckered. Sonja looked at him, wondering what on earth was going on in his mind.

  George took another sip of his coffee, then put it down. He inhaled, steepling his fingers against his lips. “Sonja,” he said. “I have to tell you something.”

  65

  Kate wondered if it was ominous that she’d never shown anyone the box she kept in the top of her closet. It was, she thought, the aspirational area of her wardrobe. The clothes for holidays and vacations. Her wedding dress, wrapped in tissue. Some of her mother’s jewelry. And the box.

  As she got it down, she thought about yesterday evening. When David had brought up the idea of Zoe coming to live with them with Scarlett and Jake, Kate had been floored by their responses. Jake had listened carefully when they’d explained the situation, and then said, “Wow, she has no one? Well, yeah. Of course we should help her.” Scarlett had been more inquisitive. “Where’s her dad?” she asked. “What about her grandparents? Her friends? Her neighbors?” She’d wanted specifics—how it would work, would they adopt her, would they be sisters? Many of the questions Kate and David didn’t have answers for, but they’d worked through them, one at a time. Finally she’d said, “Well, I’m cool with it, if you are.”

  After the kids went to bed, Kate and David stayed up talking until 3 A.M. when they finally decided that they would keep Zoe. They also decided to find a relationship counselor to help them deal with their unresolved emotions around their fertility issues. It wouldn’t be resolved overnight, but they were both committed to fixing it.

  She opened the box, and reached for the tiny white sleep suit—the one item she’d allowed herself to buy when she’d found out she was pregnant for the first time. Also in the box were her first positive pregnancy test and the letter she’d written to her baby that day. She’d planned to show the letter to her child, maybe when he or she was five, maybe on his or her eighteenth birthday or wedding day. When it felt right.

  Now, she opened it out.

  Dear You,

  All my life I have dreamed about being your mother and today, we found out that you are coming into our lives. I want you to know that I grew up without a mother, so I understand the significance of the role. I want you to know that I may not always be perfect, but I will always try my best. Most of all, I want you to know … you will be loved. You are going to have a protective big brother, an adoring sister, and a doting father. Most of all, you will have a mother who will move Heaven and Earth for you. I promise. You will always be safe. You are the final piece of our puzzle.

  All my love.

  Mom

  Kate read it twice, noticing but not bothering to wipe away the tears on her cheek. Then she stuffed everything back into the box and took it downstairs. And, because she had the house to herself and because she was feeling indulgent, she lit a fire. She planned to toss in the whole thing and watch it burn until nothing was left, but at the last minute, she tucked the letter into her pocket. It occurred to Kate that she might have someone to give it to after all.

  66

  It was a week after George had told Sonja the truth and she still didn’t believe it. At least she wouldn’t, if it didn’t make so much sense. But George had explained it all. It was the reason for the sudden move to Atherton. The reason he’d been so adamant to volunteer at local high schools. The reason he’d been so highly strung these few months. It had all been because of Zoe. And, inadvertently, because of Alice.

  It was a one-night stand, he told her. Alice had been his receptionist. She was young and wild, but he thought he could tame her. After all, young people were his specialty. She wasn’t a bad receptionist, he said, but her behavior was very erratic. She was overly chatty with the clients, and not as careful as she should have been with private files. Then one night she arrived unannounced at his home, ostensibly to drop off some documents. George had been on an important call, so he waved her inside. By the time he got off the phone she’d made herself at home and helped herself to his wine. She threw herself at him. Father issues, George said.

  He tried to fend her off, but she was determined. And in a moment of weakness, George couldn’t resist. He’d had a few glasses of wine himself and she was an attractive young woman. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Afterward, George felt terrible. He offered to drive her home, to talk about it, but she just walked out into the night. A wild child, he said. Couldn’t be tamed.

  The next day, she didn’t come back to work. She didn’t answer her phone. He kept trying to find her but she might as well have d
isappeared off the face of the earth! After a while, he assumed she’d died or left the country.

  Fifteen years later, he saw her face in a news article.

  When Helping Others Becomes a Career

  Sonja looked at it now, for the hundredth time. It was worn and yellowed and curved at the edges. Alice’s face smiled back at her.

  No one had been more surprised than George to learn that Alice had a child. She didn’t seem the mothering type, he said. Then he noticed the dates and he did the math.

  He needed to see for himself that Zoe was his child before he told Sonja. It was why he’d started volunteering at local high schools. Then, he found her … Zoe. There was never any doubt that she was his. She had the same black hair and nearly black eyes. It had been like looking in the mirror, he’d said. The strangest part was he’d actually been counseling her!

  “She’s beautiful,” he’d said. “She has problems, though. With anxiety.”

  Which meant, of course, he would be the perfect person to help her.

  “Don’t you see?” he’d said. “It’s not just about us getting Zoe in our life—this is about her life. She needs us!”

  George had taken Sonja’s two hands in his own. The tears that shone in his eyes were impossible to fake. It had made Sonja pause. What if this was their second chance? She could finally be a mother!

  They would be good parents, Sonja thought. They were financially stable. George was only working part-time at the school, and Sonja could retire, if need be. They’d be able to give her opportunities, money, love. Maybe they’d travel more—take Zoe to Europe. They’d put up Christmas decorations, start traditions. The house could fill up with Zoe’s friends, and maybe, down the track (if George allowed it), her boyfriends. It might be just what they needed. It might change everything.

  67

  Alice never knew whether Paul was late or not coming, because he didn’t have a cell phone. Who didn’t have a cell phone? She would have bought him one if she wasn’t sure he would just lose it or forget to turn it on. Today she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, because it was too late to get the bus and she didn’t want to call Sonja again. She was having her full blood work done today to see if her white-cell count had risen enough to try more chemo. Or perhaps she could do another blood transfusion? Whatever it was, she was going to remain positive. If only Paul would get here.

  Zoe was at her boyfriend’s house. It felt good to say it. Zoe’s boyfriend. There was a time not so long ago when Alice couldn’t imagine saying those words.

  It was a relief that Zoe wasn’t here, though. Alice was fairly good at pretending she wasn’t in pain, but keeping a straight face could be torture when she had to do it for hours on end. These days Alice found herself looking forward to Zoe heading out, so she could flop on the couch and moan. It was in her belly, mostly. Constipation. A feeling of heaviness. Bloatedness. Waves of nausea and pain. She had drugs for pain—lovely drugs—but they didn’t help with the feeling of heaviness. It was like a really bad period that never ended.

  After an eternity there was a knock at the door. “Finally!”

  She stood, slowly. When she eased the door open, Sonja was standing there. “Sonja! Oh, didn’t I tell you? My brother is taking me to the hospital today.”

  “Oh, you’re going to the hospital, of course. Sorry, I forgot.”

  Sonja seemed even more flustered than usual. Sometimes Alice wondered what on earth was going on with her.

  “If you forgot … why are you here?” Alice asked her.

  “Actually, I need to talk to you.”

  “What is it, Sonja?” Exhausted, Alice leaned against the doorframe.

  “It’s about George,” Sonja said, but Alice’s face was blank. “George … Sanders?”

  Alice pulled herself upright. “What did you say?”

  Alice must have been hallucinating, because she could have sworn she saw him then, standing right behind Sonja.

  Dr. Sanders.

  She was going to faint.

  Sonja turned, just as startled as Alice. “George?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  Sonja’s face became pure white. Alice registered it only for an instant before she grabbed the door, and shoved it closed with all her might. But it jammed, a few inches short of shut. Alice looked down and saw Dr. Sanders’s foot wedged in the opening.

  68

  Zoe was making out with Harry on his sofa, which looked like Barbie had barfed on it. Bits of tiny pink clothing kept appearing between their bodies and the cushions, and were scattered across every surface, along with tiaras, tutus, and fairy wands.

  “What is this?” Zoe said, holding up what looked like a tiny, sequined bikini top.

  “It’s Maggie’s,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Seriously? This stuff’s not yours?”

  “You’re pretty funny, you know that?” Harry said, mock-annoyed, but it quickly descended into more making out. It was playful at first, but it soon became more intense. Harry cupped her face in his hands and then gently slid his hands down her body. Finally he rolled over so he was hovering over her. “You’re not laughing anymore,” he commented, kissing her neck.

  “No,” she agreed. She felt hot, but not in the usual way. In a good way. She found herself wanting to take things further. But every time her thoughts got carried away she suddenly snapped out of it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, breaking off.

  “What’s up?” he said, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

  She sat up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was thinking about my mom.”

  Harry gave her an abashed smile. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

  “She’s sick, Harry. Really sick.”

  His smile fell away.

  “But she’s pretending she’s not. Pretending or, I don’t know … maybe she is delusional.”

  “She probably is,” he said. “Who wouldn’t be delusional? She has cancer. She’s choosing to believe that she’s going to live. The only alternative is to accept that she’s going to die.”

  “I guess,” Zoe said. “It’s just … weird. She’s making plans for next year, and the year after that. She never even used to make plans for next week!”

  Harry shifted on the couch, so they faced each other. “When I got sick, I told myself that I was fine. That it was a virus, that it would pass, that I’d be back playing football in a week or two. Even after months of it, I was convinced it would be resolved. Even after I was diagnosed with Crohn’s I didn’t believe it. Check my browser history to see how many times I Googled ‘people misdiagnosed with Crohn’s disease’! I was in denial. And with good reason. I wanted a normal life. Your mom has even more reason to be in denial. Cancer can kill her.”

  “So what made you accept it?”

  “My body.” He smiled sadly. “Eventually I realized that wishing for things to be different wouldn’t change anything.”

  Zoe felt a stab of pain right around her heart. “So … what should I do?”

  “Just be there for her. Either she’ll accept it … or she won’t. And whatever is going to happen will happen anyway.”

  Zoe had heard people talk about how grief came in waves, ebbing and flowing. It had been that way for her. Some moments she felt almost normal—at least as normal as she could feel. Other moments it lapped around her. But now it hit her like a tidal wave.

  “When will the moment come for me to accept it?” she asked brokenly, and she buried her face in Harry’s chest and began to cry.

  69

  “Alice. Please hear me out.”

  Dr. Sanders was in Alice’s doorway. He was trying to get inside. When this happened in her nightmares, Alice was ready. She had a weapon and superhuman strength. She had all the lines ready to demoralize and humiliate him, the way he had done to her. But today she had none of those things. She only had one thing in her favor and it was the most important.

  Zoe wasn’t home.


  “Get your foot out of my door.” Alice’s voice sounded much more impressive than it felt. It boomed. She could feel her face, taut and mean—her don’t fuck with me face. But she had nothing to back it up. She was weak, and already losing the battle on the door. With a single shove, he could throw the door open, and send her flying across the room.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Alice,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

  “About what?”

  Dr. Sanders, she noticed, was ignoring Sonja. Though, from the way he’d greeted her he clearly knew her. But how? For now, Alice was too panicked to try to figure out the connection.

  “I want to talk about Zoe,” Dr. Sanders said.

  A chill ran the length of Alice’s spine. “What did you—?”

  “My daughter. Zoe. I know all about her,” he said. “You and I have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alice said weakly.

  “I saw the article in the newspaper, Alice, about your home-helper business. It referred to your daughter. I had to see with my own eyes if she was mine.”

  Alice gripped the doorframe. This couldn’t be happening, Alice told herself. Not now, of all times.

  “I moved to Atherton earlier this year,” he continued. “And I’ve been offering my services to local high schools to see if I’d run into Zoe.”

  “You stay away from Zoe!” Alice screamed. “Do you understand? If you go anywhere near her—”

  “I’ve already seen Zoe,” he said calmly. “Several times.”

  The room began to spin.

  “I’ve been counseling her, helping with her social anxiety.” When he smiled a little, Alice felt vomit rise in her throat. “She has my eyes.”

  Dr. Sanders—why the hell did she still call him that, even in her mind?—looked at Sonja. “And, as it turned out, my wife is your social worker—”