“When you give her these frames, it’s going to be a validation of the fact that you know she’s carrying a child. She needs that, Richard. With the father totally uninvolved, and your mother off in Europe, you’re all she has.”
“That’s not true,” Richard said somberly. “She has you, too.”
“Tonight—it was almost like—”
“I know,” Richard agreed. “I felt it, too. A sense of family. A couple of times I felt like just blurting out that I loved you.”
“Part of me wishes you had. But the rest of me knows Missy needed tonight to be just the way it was.” She smiled. “It was so wonderfully ordinary. You and she were so relaxed with each other.”
“It was like old times.”
“And when you got home, she felt comfortable enough to show you the pictures.”
They paid for the frames and drove back to Barbara’s apartment. The interior of the car was dimly lit by the porch lights above the doors on the building in front of them. Barbara turned to Richard. “It’s late. You don’t have to get out.”
“Yes, I do,” he said, and then, more gently, “I know you have school tomorrow, so I won’t stay but a few minutes. But, please—I need to hold you awhile longer before I go home.”
Barbara smiled, her face luminous in the pale light. “I’d gladly sacrifice a night’s sleep if you could hold me till morning.”
He held her until she went to sleep, then tucked the covers around her and kissed her good-night before leaving. As he left, he checked the door to make sure the lock had engaged firmly.
For several seconds, he kept his hand on the knob.
“It won’t be this way forever,” he vowed aloud, but the only living thing that heard was the dog barking in her neighbor’s apartment. As he walked away, he felt as though he were leaving a large chunk of his heart behind with her.
12
SOMETHING WAS VERY WRONG. Barbara knew it the instant Missy arrived for her Tuesday visit. Emotional strain was written in Missy’s taut features, in her lethargic movements, in the sag of her shoulders and her reluctance to look Barbara in the eye as they conversed—if their terse exchange of rote phrases could even be defined as conversation.
“Would you like a glass of milk?” Barbara offered. “Or a peanut butter apple?”
Missy declined with a shake of her head. Looking at the forlorn young woman, Barbara found it difficult to reconcile this Missy with the teenager who’d been playfully sparring with her father over spoonfuls of apple cobbler less than a week before.
“Are you feeling all right?” Barbara asked, although her instincts told her that this dramatic transformation was more than a hormone-influenced mood swing associated with pregnancy. Missy’s moroseness came from a troubled heart.
“I’m okay,” Missy grumbled with a pitiable attempt at a shrug.
“You don’t seem so chipper today,” Barbara pressed. “Is there something on your mind? Something you’d like to talk over?”
For close to a minute, Missy was still as stone. Her bottom lip was between her teeth, and Barbara worried that she might actually draw blood. She fought a strong impulse to gather the troubled child into her arms and rock her, but she forced herself to wait for Missy to respond.
“I’ve got some papers I need to put together,” she said, rising. “Do you mind if I work on them while we talk?”
Missy registered no objection, so Barbara spread three stacks of papers on the coffee table then sat down, Indian-style, on the floor in front of it to work. “The copy machine that collates has been broken all week,” she said. “So I have to do these the old-fashioned way.”
“I could help,” Missy offered with more animation than she’d shown since her arrival.
“Great!” Barbara said. “One of us can stack and the other can staple.” She got up and went to the desk and returned quickly with a stapler and a box of staples. “Are you any good at loading these things? I can’t ever remember where the release button is.”
“I can do it,” Missy said.
Within minutes they had a routine established, with Missy stapling the sets Barbara collated. “You’ll get one of these in your homeroom next week,” Barbara said. “It’s about the preliminary college admission exams. You’ll want to sign up for them. They’ll give you some idea how you might do on the real tests next year.”
Missy grunted noncommittally.
“You’re planning on going to college, aren’t you?”
“I wanted to go to Florida State, but—” She frowned forlornly.
“There are some excellent colleges within commuting distance,” Barbara said.
Missy’s chin quivered. “Do you think I should give my baby up for adoption?”
Barbara moved to the couch and put her arms around Missy. “That’s a big decision, Missy. You’re going to have to give it a lot of thought.”
“It’s probably best for everybody.”
It was a good response, logical and well thought out. Too good. Too pat.
“Have you been talking this over with anyone?” Barbara asked.
“Just Daddy.”
“And did he say he thinks adoption is the best choice?” Richard had said he was being careful not to influence her decision, but could he be doing so without realizing it?
“No. We just talked about babies and how much responsibility they are. He says they turn your life upside down.”
“Raising a baby is a very big commitment,” Barbara agreed. “Have you ever been around a baby, Missy?”
Missy pulled away, wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. “Heather has a baby brother. He’s cute, but sometimes he’s a pain. He flushed Heather’s best makeup brushes down the toilet and they had to call a plumber because everything got plugged up, and Heather got in trouble because she left them where he could reach them, and her mother said it was a good thing he didn’t eat her makeup and get poisoned. Heather and I baby-sat for him once and we had to give him dinner. When he eats, it’s disgusting.”
“So you know babies aren’t always sweet and cuddly.”
“Daddy says they’re a lot of work, and they always need all kinds of special things—someplace to sleep, and new clothes all the time, and they have to go to the doctor, and if they get sick, they keep you up all night.”
“All that’s true,” Barbara conceded. “And it’s good that you realize that when you’re trying to decide whether to keep your baby or give it up for adoption. Some girls think that having a baby is like having a living doll, and that the baby will love them no matter what. And then they’re disappointed and resentful.”
Missy was thoughtful a moment. “If babies are so much trouble, why do people want them?”
Barbara smiled. Another one of those impossible, unanswerable philosophy-of-life questions! “It goes back to what we talked about the other day—about continuing life. It’s about giving up part of yourself for someone, and showing what love is, so he or she can grow up and teach the next generation how to love.”
“That sounds hard.”
“It’s not easy. But it’s life. And having a baby is a bit of a miracle.”
“A miracle?”
“I think you know what I mean. Remember when you felt the baby move for the first time? Or when you saw his face on the monitor? That tingly feeling that made you want to laugh and cry all at the same time?”
Missy nodded.
“Well, that was part of the miracle. It was love you felt. And it’s that love that makes people want to raise children.”
“Daddy says it’s hard to be a parent when you’re not ready for it.”
“It’s hard even when you are.” She smiled. “I think I’d like to tell you about a friend of mine. But first, I’m thirsty. Sure you don’t want something to drink?”
“Maybe some milk.”
“And maybe a peanut butter apple?” Barbara teased.
Missy nodded sheepishly, and they walked together to the kitchen.
&
nbsp; “What about your friend?” Missy asked when they were seated.
Barbara grinned. “Her name is Samantha. She was my roommate and best friend in college. She was an accountant and she married an engineer and they became Yuppies, big time. He drove a BMW and she drove a Volvo, and they bought a high-rise condo just outside the city.”
She took a bite of apple, chewed and savored it before continuing. “When Samantha turned twenty-nine, she decided that her clock was ticking and that it was time to have a baby. So she went to her doctor and started taking vitamins and read everything she could find on childbearing. She figured out her most fertile time of the month and booked a romantic cruise so she would be relaxed when they made their baby.”
“Did she get pregnant?”
“Oh, yes. Somewhere on the high seas between Miami and Nassau. Then she really started reading books, and she bought a special megaphone that pressed against her abdomen so she could talk to her baby. She also bought special tapes to play to soothe the baby inside her. They went to natural childbirth classes and he helped deliver the baby and tie the cord, and they had a beautiful baby girl. Samantha stayed at home six months and then they hired a wonderful nanny and everything was wonderful until Chelsea—that was their daughter—enrolled in pre-kindergarten. At a very progressive private school, of course.”
“What happened then?” Missy asked, totally hooked on the story.
“Well, one night Samantha called me. She was hysterical. I could hardly understand her because she was sobbing.” Barbara grinned wryly. “It’s a wonder her tears didn’t short out the speaker phone.”
Missy grinned back. “What was wrong?”
“Chelsea’s teacher had recommended that they keep Chelsea in pre-kindergarten an extra year because when she drew pictures of people, she didn’t put fingers on them.”
“What?” Missy asked, her face screwing up with incredulity.
“That’s it. Samantha called me because she knew I had a master’s in education and she wanted a second opinion. She was sure she’d done something wrong to make Chelsea such a failure, and she wondered if she should ever have become a mother because she was such a miserable failure at it.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her to relax, because children develop in very individual ways on individual timetables and that eventually Chelsea would notice that people have fingers. I told her to buy Chelsea some paper and crayons and let her draw instead of playing so many intellectually stimulating games with the kid, and to hang Chelsea’s artwork on the refrigerator, whether her people had fingers or not.”
“Did she?”
Barbara shrugged. “Yes. And two weeks later she called back and said Chelsea was putting fingers on her stick figures and so the counselors had decided to let her into kindergarten right on schedule. The point is, parenting is a tough job and no matter how old or educated or prepared or capable a parent is, from time to time she’s going to feel helpless and inadequate and insecure.”
Missy was chewing on her lip again. Barbara concentrated on her apple while Missy mulled over the story. After finishing their milk, they went back to the living room to resume collating and stapling.
“If I give my baby up for adoption, do you think the parents would let him wear the booties we bought for him?”
“I don’t know,” Barbara said. “I would think so, especially if they knew they were from you. If you wanted to see your baby, you could probably put them on him yourself.”
“The pamphlet Dr. Scofield gave me on adoption said that sometimes you can write letters or give gifts to the baby and the new parents can send you pictures of the baby through an attorney.”
“Dr. Scofield also said you could meet prospective parents. You could help choose a couple you think would be good to your baby.”
Missy stapled and gnawed on her lip. “I would give my baby my Cat in the Hat book.”
“Is that your favorite?”
Missy nodded. “Daddy used to read it to me every night. He was funny when he read it.”
“The way he was when you two were ordering cobbler the other night?”
“Yeah,” Missy said, grinning. “He’s pretty silly sometimes.”
“You’re lucky to have a daddy like that.”
“Yeah.” The change in Missy was abrupt. Almost startling. Her chin quivered. Her shoulders sagged. Her entire body crumpled into a sobbing mass.
Barbara gathered her into her arms and rocked her, stroking her back, murmuring sounds of reassurance. “Let it out, sweetie. Just let it out. You’ll feel better afterward.”
“I didn’t mean to mess up Daddy’s life again,” Missy wheezed between sobs. “I didn’t mean to get pregnant like my mother.”
Like her mother. Barbara’s hair stood on end. What did she really know about Christine? What misconceptions had she been carrying around for God knew how long? How did a vulnerable girl like Missy cope with the knowledge that her mother was the kind of woman Christine had been, flitting from man to man?
“What do you mean, like your mother?” Barbara asked.
Missy pulled away, sniffing and wiping her face with her fingertips. “You won’t tell?” she asked. “You said everything I told you is confidential.”
“That’s right.” God, how had she gotten herself into this compromising situation?
Missy sniffed again. “Daddy was going to college to become a lawyer, and he would have, but he dropped out to take care of me instead, and it was all her fault.”
“Your mother’s?”
Middy nodded frantically. “She seduced him and got pregnant on purpose so he would have to marry her.”
“Who told you all this?” Barbara asked.
“Nobody told me. I heard my grandmother talking to my daddy. Lots of times.”
Missy lunged for Barbara, throwing her arms around Barbara’s neck and sobbing bitterly against her shoulder. “She was always afraid I would turn out like my mother. She said that’s why I liked to dress so...so...provocatively and wear so much makeup and spike up my hair.”
“Oh, Missy,” Barbara groaned, rocking her. “Oh, sweetheart. Your grandmother—”
“She was right,” Missy sobbed. “I’m pregnant just like my mother was, and my daddy’s life is all messed up again.”
“But this situation is different, Missy. You weren’t promiscuous like—” She caught herself before she used Christine’s name, but it was too late.
Once again, Missy pulled back. Her chest was heaving as she drew in a labored breath, struggling for composure. “You did know her, didn’t you? You knew my mother was a slut.”
Her face crumpled again, and Barbara pulled her back into a hug. “Slut is a strong word, Missy. I didn’t know your mother well, but I know she didn’t have a family who cared about her. She wasn’t bad, not the way you think. She just never had anyone to teach her decency and self-respect. And there’s no way she could have been a totally bad person and have such a wonderful daughter.”
She pushed a strand of Missy’s hair away from her cheek, where it had become plastered against a tear. “Missy, you didn’t inherit tainted blood. You aren’t responsible for anything your mother did, and you’re not a bad person because you made love with your boyfriend.”
“If I don’t give up my baby, Daddy’s life is going to be turned upside down all over again, the way it was when I was born.”
“Oh, sweetheart, if your dad’s torn up about your being pregnant, it’s because he’s concerned about what having a baby would do to your life, not to his. You two need to talk this over a lot more before you make any decisions that will influence the rest of your lives.”
She held the troubled teenager, rocking her gently in her arms, until she felt the girl relax. Gradually, she drew her arms from around Missy, letting the teenager pull away at her own pace. Then she fetched a box of tissues.
After a while, she and Missy finished collating and stapling the information packets. Shortly after th
at, Missy left. Before her car was even out of sight, Barbara was dialing Richard’s office number.
* * *
HE CAME OVER at nine o’clock.
“How’s Missy?” Barbara asked.
“She’s okay,” Richard replied. “I took your advice and took her out to dinner. She was a little quiet, but she has been lately.” He gave her a questioning look. “What’s this about, Barbara? After your call, I was expecting her to be hysterical.”
“I was the one who was hysterical. We had a rough visit today.” Barbara looked at him beseechingly. “I could probably tolerate a hug right about now.”
“God, Barbara. Come here. I could use a little one-on-one myself.” Barbara melted against him. “You smell good,” he said, burrowing his face in her hair.
“Press a button,” Barbara pleaded as his hands worked magic kneading her shoulders. “Make the world go away.”
“If I knew where the button was, I’d push it so fast we’d have whiplash.” He hesitated almost a full minute before bringing the world crashing down on them again by asking, “What’s going on with Missy?”
“Let’s sit down,” Barbara said, leading him to the couch.
“If we have to sit down first, it must be serious.”
“It is,” Barbara said flatly. “Missy—” Finding the words difficult, she exhaled wearily and started over, with new determination. “Missy is considering giving the baby up for adoption.”
“We knew that,” Richard said. Confused, he searched Barbara’s face. “You can’t be surprised? Barbara, we’ve known all along that adoption was an option. I know you’ve become involved with this baby, but you’ve got to realize—”
“It’s not that she’s considering adoption,” Barbara said. “It’s why.”
“Why?” Richard said, more perplexed than ever. “She’s probably beginning to realize that she’s not ready to be a mother.”
Barbara peered into his eyes. “If that were why she was thinking about giving away her baby, I wouldn’t be upset—if she thought it would be best for the baby and for her own future.”
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