“Is everything okay?” India asked, looking from Dr. Jones to Lainey.
Lainey shrugged—this seemed to be her default reaction to everything today—but Dr. Jones said, “So far, so good. We’ll have a better idea once we get a picture.”
There was a sonogram machine, complete with a small television, set up next to the examination table.
“Where would you like us?” India asked.
“Right back here,” Dr. Jones said. She stood, and gestured for us to move to the far end of the table, next to where Lainey’s head would be once she lay down. “I’ll turn the monitor so that you’ll be able to see. Lainey, lie back and put your feet up.”
Dr. Jones switched off the lights while Lainey got into position, resting her heels in the stirrups and lying back with her knees bent and legs spread. Dr. Jones fiddled with the machine for a few moments, flipping switches and adjusting the monitor toward us.
“Do you have a good view?” she asked.
“Yes,” India said.
Dr. Jones rolled her stool over and sat down between Lainey’s legs. Embarrassed, I stared at the television screen. Lainey had the paper sheet spread over her lap, so even if I looked—which I had no intention of doing—I wouldn’t be able to see anything, but I still felt vaguely lecherous just for being in the room.
Suddenly, a blurry picture appeared on the black-and-white screen. It was almost triangularly shaped, although the top was sawed off and the bottom was curved. In the middle, there was a bubble, and inside the bubble …
“There’s the fetus,” Dr. Jones said, pointing. “Here’s the head, the torso, this is the leg.” The blob moved. “There’s a hand. Do you see?”
India gasped. I turned to look at her. She had both hands pressed over her mouth, and her eyes glittered with tears. A lurch of panic seized me.
“Is it okay?” I asked. “Is it …”
I was going to say alive, but couldn’t seem to form the word.
“So far, so good. Do you see this here?” The doctor pointed at something that looked like a flickering grain of rice. “That’s the heartbeat.”
I stared at it and waited for a sense of divine knowledge to hit me, a feeling that this was my child. It didn’t come.
“Lainey, look,” India said, squeezing Lainey’s shoulder.
“Cool,” Lainey said. She sounded bored. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“It’s too early to tell,” Dr. Jones said.
“Can you tell how far along Lainey is?” India asked.
“The measurements I took are telling me the fetus is twelve weeks, four days old,” Dr. Jones said.
I glanced down at Lainey, wondering if this revelation was causing her to remember the fateful night that the baby was conceived. But she appeared uninterested in what she was seeing. And so, so young. Despite her heavy makeup—black eyeliner, caked-on foundation, maroon lipstick—she looked much younger than her twenty years.
“Jeremy, look,” India breathed.
I looked at her. She was staring so intently at the monitor, she didn’t seem to notice the tears that were running freely down her face. I glanced at the screen again. It looked exactly as it had before.
“What?” I asked.
“The baby was waving his—her—foot around,” India said.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
“Well, it’s stopped now,” India said. “But isn’t it amazing?”
“I can’t see anything,” Lainey complained. “It just looks like a blob to me. A blob with a head.”
I privately agreed, but decided it would be smarter not to say so out loud. Then suddenly something caught my eye.
“Hey! Do you see that?” I asked, pointing at the screen. “Is that what I think it is?”
“What?” India asked. She leaned forward over Lainey to get a better look.
“Look! It’s a boy!” I said excitedly.
Dr. Jones laughed. “That’s the arm,” she said. “Not the penis.”
I could feel my face turning hot, especially when India and even Lainey began giggling, too.
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Jones said. She winked at me. “All of the new dads make the same mistake.”
I thrust my hands into my pockets, determined to keep my mouth shut for the duration of the exam. Maybe for the whole pregnancy. Even so, I couldn’t help but wonder: But do all of the new dads feel like actual dads? Or do they all feel like frauds, too?
Seven
INDIA
“I wish we could have brought Otis with us,” Miles said.
Miles, Rose, Luke, and I were standing outside the tiger exhibit at the zoo at Dreher Park. The tiger was prowling around his habitat, looking out of sorts. I knew how he felt. Between Lainey’s presence in the guesthouse, my heavier workload, and the stress of worrying about the adoption, I’d been feeling out of sorts lately, too.
“They don’t allow dogs at the zoo,” I said.
“Why?” Luke asked. He leaned forward, mashing his nose against the plexiglass barrier that enclosed the tiger’s habitat.
“Because to that tiger, Otis would look like dinner. A cheeseburger on a leash,” I said.
“Really?” Rose asked. “But Otis runs pretty fast. The tiger wouldn’t be able to catch him.”
I shook my head. “Trust me, Otis wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Actually, that would be pretty cool,” Miles said.
“What? Otis being eaten alive?” I asked.
“No, not Otis. But they should put a deer or something in here, so people could see how a tiger hunts,” Miles said.
“Gross,” Rose said.
I agreed with Rose. “I don’t think the zoo wants small children traumatized by a bloodletting,” I said.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing it,” Luke said. “It would be like the show When Predators Attack.”
“Does your mom know you watch that?”
All three kids nodded.
“It’s educational,” Rose explained.
“The circle of life,” Miles said. “And it’s really cool. Last week, they showed a crocodile eating a wildebeest. Did you know that crocodiles have the strongest bite of any animal? And that they sleep with their mouths open?”
“No, I did not know that,” I said.
“And when they hunt, they look like this,” Luke said. He slouched forward, pretending to be a crocodile floating in the water. Then, with a roar, he leapt forward and grabbed Rose. She screamed.
“Shhh,” I said. “Rose, stop screaming. Luke, stop pretending to eat your sister. Come on, let’s go see the giant tortoise.”
We began walking through the simulated jungle that led out of the tiger habitat.
“India?” Rose asked.
“Yes, honey?”
“I was thinking. If you decide not to adopt that baby, you can have Luke,” Rose said.
“Hey!” Luke said, scowling at his sister.
“It only makes sense,” Rose told him. “India and Jeremy don’t have any kids. And we have one extra in our family.”
“I am not extra!” Luke said.
“Yes you are. We already have one boy and one girl. We don’t really need you.”
“If you took Luke, I’d get to have our room to myself,” Miles mused.
“Okay, guys, that’s enough,” I said. “As much as we would love to have him, you can’t give me Luke. Your mom wouldn’t like it. Now, come on.”
———
“Rose offered to give Luke to Jeremy and me today,” I told Mimi later. We were standing in her kitchen. I was leaning against the counter, drinking an iced tea and watching while Mimi prepared chicken salad for lunch.
“Do you want him?” Mimi asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“He’s yours,” Mimi said, adding a dollop of mayonnaise to the chicken salad. “Taste this. Is it too dry?”
“No, I like it like that. You don’t mean it about Luke.”
“Want to bet? Look at this,” Mimi said. S
he opened a kitchen drawer, which contained broken shards of china.
“What is that?”
“The Wedgwood vase my grandmother gave Leo and me for a wedding present. It was a family heirloom. Luke and Rose were playing with their light sabers yesterday, and crash.”
I gasped. “No. And you let them live? Why are you saving the pieces?”
“I thought maybe Leo could glue it back together,” Mimi said.
I looked down at the fragments. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“I know.” Mimi sighed. “But I couldn’t bear to throw them out. And it’s just as much my fault as it is theirs. I should have kept it packed away in bubble wrap until the kids had finished their Star Wars phase. Are you sure you want kids, India? It’s like living with savages.”
“I was sure until I saw your vase,” I said. I smiled. “No, I’m sure. Besides, we have one on the way, so it’s too late to back out.”
“So, how’s it going with the birth mother?” Mimi asked. “Has she stolen anything from you yet?”
“Mimi!” I said. “Lainey’s not like that.”
“How do you know what she’s like? You don’t really know anything about her,” Mimi said, continuing to stir the chicken salad.
“I do too know her,” I insisted. “Or, at least, I’m getting to know her.”
Five weeks had passed since Lainey moved in, and I’d been doing my best to break through her defenses. It was hard. Lainey was not a people person. At least, I hoped that was what it was, and not that she just didn’t like me.
“I’m still not sure you should have let her move in to your guesthouse.”
“Why? I think it’s working out great,” I said. Okay, so maybe great was an exaggeration. But it wasn’t a disaster, either.
“For all you know, she could be a sociopath. She could sneak into your house in the middle of the night, stab you to death while you’re sleeping, and then set your bed on fire to cover up the murders. Do you really want that to happen? Do you want your house burned down while you’re dead?” Mimi asked, pointing her fork at me.
“If I’m dead, I suppose I wouldn’t mind so much about the house fire. And you have got to stop reading those true-crime books. They’re warping your mind.”
“Say what you will, but I have always been a fantastic judge of character,” Mimi said.
This was actually true. At every wedding Mimi had ever attended, she’d predicted with almost perfect accuracy whether the marriage would succeed. Her only failure so far was the Hendersons—he was a doormat, she was overbearing—who were still together, despite Mimi’s pronouncement that they wouldn’t make it to their second anniversary. Whenever I pointed the Hendersons’ enduring marriage out to her, Mimi would just shrug and say, “Give it time.”
Still. Just because Mimi could predict the chances of a marriage succeeding between two people she knew didn’t mean that she could meet Lainey one time and see right into her soul.
“She’s just a kid that’s gotten into a tight spot,” I said.
“Hardly a kid. Didn’t you say she was twenty? That’s old enough to vote,” Mimi pointed out.
“But not old enough to drink,” I countered.
Mimi snorted. “She doesn’t drink. Remember? She doesn’t want to look bloated in her bikini.”
“So now not drinking is a character flaw?”
“Of course not. But excessive vanity is.”
“I don’t think Lainey had the easiest childhood,” I said. “I haven’t gotten a lot of details from her, but she mentioned that her mother drinks. Let’s face it, she comes from a different world than we do.” I reconsidered. “Then again, maybe not such a different world. My mom isn’t exactly a teetotaler.”
Mimi waved this off and reached for the salt. “Your mom isn’t a drunk. She’s just an enthusiastic drinker,” she said, shaking salt over the chicken salad. “I think this is done. Let me cut up some avocado, and then I’ll call the kids.”
“That sounds like semantics to me. Why give my mom a pass?”
“Your mom never forgot to pick you up from school or feed you when you were growing up, did she?”
“Dinner was certainly late on occasion. But you’re right, I wasn’t neglected.”
“Anyway, what bothered me about Lainey when I met her is that she seems so hard-edged. And she seemed completely detached from the whole situation. I’m not entirely sure she gets that she’s going to be handing over an actual baby.”
“Don’t forget that was the same day she moved in. I’m sure she was feeling overwhelmed,” I said.
Mimi put down the knife she’d been slicing avocado with and fixed me with a penetrating look.
“What?” I asked, instantly defensive.
“Do you want me to be blunt?”
“When are you ever not blunt?”
“How do you know she’s not just mercenary? That she won’t use this situation—and your desperation—to get as much money out of you as possible?”
“What money? We don’t have any money.”
“Trust me, I bet she thinks you have money,” Mimi said.
I reached for my iced tea and gulped it down, wishing it was something stronger. Unfortunately, I had to work after lunch, and I’ve found that most mothers don’t appreciate it if you show up drunk to their child’s photo session.
“You’re making her sound like some sort of scam artist. She’s just a kid,” I said. I put up my hands defensively. “I know, I know, she’s twenty. But in my book, that’s still a kid. When I was twenty, I was a sophomore in college. The most I had to worry about was finishing the reading assignment for my English Lit class before heading out to a kegger. An unplanned pregnancy, putting the baby up for adoption. That’s a lot for someone her age to deal with. I think we have to give her credit that she didn’t take the easy way out of the situation.”
“I agree. But that doesn’t mitigate my concerns,” Mimi said. “I’m telling you, I don’t trust her. Something about Lainey pings my radar.”
“But I have to trust her. She’s the one with the baby. If I want to be a mom, what other choice do I have?” My voice cracked, and I suddenly realized my eyes were hot with tears.
“I know.” Mimi reached over and squeezed my hand. “Just do me a favor and keep your eye on her. Okay?”
“Actually, you have a point.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Mimi said, rolling her eyes.
I smiled, glad to feel some of the tension dissolving. “What I mean is that I have been wanting to get to know Lainey better. She does have a hard shell, which makes it difficult. But I’m going to make more of an effort. And I want her to get to know Jeremy and me, too, so that she’ll see what good parents we’ll make.” I reconsidered. “Although Jeremy isn’t exactly being cooperative on that front.”
“Uh-oh,” Mimi said. “That doesn’t sound good. What’s going on?”
“You think Lainey’s detached. Jeremy’s even worse. He’s completely checked out,” I said.
“Do you think he’s changed his mind?”
“No. At least, he says he hasn’t. But this is a big thing. Shouldn’t he be a little excited about it?” I asked.
Mimi shrugged. “He’s a man,” she said. “The only things that excite them are sandwiches and sex.”
“Is that a saying, or did you just make that up?”
“I made it up just now, but I think I might have it embroidered on a pillow. Take Leo. When I was in labor with Rose, and experiencing the most horrific pain of my life, he was out in the parking lot talking to his broker on his cell phone. And he didn’t even make it to the hospital at all when I delivered Luke,” Mimi said.
“That wasn’t his fault, though. You went into labor three weeks early, and he was out of town on a business trip,” I reminded her.
“Still. Men check out. It’s what they do. It’s how they cope. We’re the ones in there getting emotional, and bloody, and slogging through it,” Mim
i said. “It’s our burden as women.”
“You really do have a fascinating viewpoint on the relationship between the sexes,” I said. “But I’m not letting Jeremy off the hook that easily. I’m going to make him slog through this with me.”
“Good luck with that,” Mimi said. “Will you call the kids? Lunch is ready.”
Rose and Luke came galloping into the kitchen, light sabers in hand.
“You two! No light sabers in the house,” Mimi exclaimed. “Did you learn nothing from yesterday’s incident?” She rolled her eyes at me. “I’ve changed my mind. You can have them both. Just leave me Miles. He’s semi-civilized. Or, at least, he will be until he hits puberty in a few years.”
The following Saturday, I decided it was time to put my get-to-know-Lainey-better plan in action. Steeling myself, I knocked on the door to the guest cottage. I knew Lainey was home—her Nissan sedan was parked in the driveway—but she didn’t answer right away. I waited, noticing the pot of impatiens next to the door were drooping, and made a mental note to water them. I knocked again. This time, I heard the heavy fall of footsteps, and a moment later, the door opened. Lainey looked as though she’d been napping. Her eyes drooped, and her hair—usually brushed and glossy—stuck up at the back of the head.
“What’s up?” she asked, yawning.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” I said.
Lainey shrugged, but didn’t say anything. I found her habit of staying silent when politeness dictated a response unnerving. More so than when she came out with the occasional crass comment.
“I wanted to see if you were up for a shopping trip,” I said.
Lainey blinked. “You mean groceries?” she asked, clearly un-enthused by the idea.
“No. Maternity clothes,” I said. “I know you’re barely showing, but I thought it might be fun to pick up a few things now.”
Lainey’s eyes were dark, almost black, and so inscrutable I could never tell what she was thinking. When she watched me like that, was she judging my pared-back Saturday uniform—khaki shorts and a navy blue T-shirt, riotous curls tamed into a ponytail, face bare except for a swipe of cherry ChapStick? Or was she looking for clues that would illuminate what sort of a mother I’d be to her baby?
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