by Karey White
When the meeting ended, Celia braced herself as Silas turned to her.
“I’m going to B-Bend, but if you need a ride home, I can drop you off before I go.”
No invitation, just an offer of a ride. No need to have worried.
“Oh. Thanks.” Celia thought about declining, but it was so hot today. “If you’ve got time, that would be great.”
He didn’t say much as he drove her home, just a casual comment about the quilt show and how Aunt Nancy needed to slow down a bit.
After he dropped her off, Celia watched from the porch as the Jeep stopped at the corner before it turned toward Bend. Instead of feeling the calm she usually felt after church, she felt restless and agitated.
“Have you registered on the website yet?” Mr. Walker asked.
Celia sat in the plush offices of Walker and Labrum Law. “Your secretary helped me set that up last week.”
“Good. Have you had a chance to check out some of the families?”
“I’ve looked through some of them.” Celia didn’t tell him she had spent hours looking at pictures and reading biographies and letters of recommendation. There were hundreds of hopeful couples who wanted to adopt. Some were childless, some had one child and didn’t want their little boy or girl to be raised without siblings. It was daunting. She had the power to make these people’s dreams come true, but more important than that, she wanted to be sure she found the best situation for her baby boy. A good life was the last thing she could give him, and she was terrified she would fail.
Mr. Walker saw Celia’s expression, and his tone became appeasing. “I know it feels like a lot to take in.”
“What if I can’t choose?” It was a question Celia had been asking ever since she opened the file of the first couple. They had been an attractive couple from Roseburg, but the first thing Celia had noticed was that the mother’s eyes were too close together. She knew that didn’t matter. She sounded like a lovely woman—she baked and played piano and volunteered at a homeless shelter—but all Celia could see when she looked at their pictures were the woman’s eyes.
“Be patient. Most birth mothers say when they find the right couple, they know right away. So don’t be rushed. Keep looking until it feels right.”
When Celia left his office, Mr. Walker handed her a pamphlet. “I know it’s a long drive, but there’s a birth mothers support group that meets in Eugene two afternoons a month. You might find it helpful to hear from other mothers who have gone through this or are going through it.”
Celia was disappointed. “Eugene is so far.”
“I know. We tried to have one here, but there were times we’d only have one or two women show up. It might be worth it to go once or twice.”
“Are you kidding me?” A red-haired woman in running clothes with an even redder-haired child that looked too old for the stroller he was strapped into stood by the boxes that had held the day’s tomatoes. “One stinking tomato left?”
The child cried and pulled on the straps that held him in, trying to escape the confines of the seat.
“Shhh,” the mother scolded.
“Cookie. I want a cookie.”
“I told you no cookies. Too much sugar.”
“Dad gives me cookies.”
“Which is probably why you’re acting like this.”
Celia reached under the table to see if there were any tomatoes left. She pulled out the empty basket and held it up. “I’m afraid that’s our last tomato.”
“Get me a cookie!” the child screamed.
The woman ignored her child and raised her voice to be heard over his fit. “You need to bring more tomatoes. This is the second time in the last month that you’ve been sold out before I could get here.”
It had been a busy day at the market with customers coming in a steady procession. Celia’s feet hurt and her head ached. She was hungry and tired and still had to load up the truck, tear down the tables and tent, and drive thirty minutes before she would get to eat. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she responded to the woman.
“I brought every single ripe tomato this morning. I didn’t even leave any home for my own dinner. I wish you had come even a few minutes earlier.”
“Yeah, well, when you have to wait around for your ex to bring your kid back, there’s not a lot you can do.”
“Give. Me. A. Cookie!” The child’s shriek hit a nerve in Celia’s ear that actually hurt, and it was difficult not to cover her ears with her hands. Celia held back a smile when she thought how angry that gesture would make the woman.
“I came all the way down here for your tomatoes.”
“Someone else might have some left.”
“COOKIE!”
The woman turned the stroller and started away, her long shadow stretching out twenty feet behind her in the evening sun. A few feet from the stand, she turned and spoke to Celia over her shoulder. “I’d suggest next year you plant more tomatoes.”
Celia sighed and looked at her watch, glad it was almost time to go.
“I wonder why her husband is an ex?” Celia muttered and was startled when someone behind her laughed. She turned to see Silas standing outside the tent. What was he doing here?
“You heard that?” Celia asked.
“Some p-people are so rude.”
“Everyone else today has been really nice.” She stretched her back. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“The Jeep needed an oil change so I thought I’d swing b-by and help you load up.”
Overcome with gratitude, Celia turned away and busied herself in the back of the booth, stacking boxes. She knew he could have taken his Jeep to Carter’s Garage in Sisters.
She stopped working when Silas put his hand on her arm. “You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“You sit down. I’ll do this.”
“I can help you.”
Silas put his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the camp chair she had almost forgotten she had. “Sit down.”
Celia sat and watched while Silas loaded the mostly empty boxes into the back of Nancy’s old, rickety pickup.
“Is this getting to be too much?” he asked while he put the legs down on one of the folding tables.
“There are only three more weeks before the market closes down. I’ll be fine.”
It was hard for Celia to believe that September was half over. She had lived in Sisters longer than she had lived in two of her foster homes. It didn’t seem possible she had been here this long, but when she looked at how much her midsection had grown, she knew it was true.
When all that was left to pack up was the tent and the camp chair, Celia stood to help. “The tent is easier with two people.”
“You do it yourself every time though, right?”
Celia shrugged. “Usually, but it’s easier with two.” She and Silas each took a corner and untied the canopy. Together they folded the tent and took apart the poles.
“There you go,” Silas said when the last of the booth had been stowed in the truck.
Celia hesitated. She wanted to show her appreciation but wasn’t sure how to do that without misleading him. Guilt won out. “If you haven’t eaten, you should come over. Nancy said she’d have dinner ready when I got home and I’m sure there’s enough for you too.”
“M-maybe another time. I’m not going b-back to Sisters yet.”
“Okay. Another time then.”
Celia sat in the front of the pickup and watched Silas walk across the park to his Jeep. He was the best kind of man, and a longing for him wound its way around her heart.
Celia folded and unfolded the pamphlet in her hand. For the past couple of weeks she had felt a growing urgency to go to the birth mothers support group. She’d put aside the idea because of the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Eugene, but after she had nearly thrown the laptop across the room in frustration earlier in the day, she knew she needed to talk to other women who understood what she was going through
. Now she had to figure out how to get there.
“Silas, would you turn that up a little?” Nancy asked.
Hindsight, a television news program, had filmed a spot on the Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show and they were airing it tonight.
Silas turned up the volume and together they watched as the reporter interviewed the mayor and Val.
“I look terrible. Why didn’t anyone tell me that shirt makes me look fat?” Nancy could be seen in the background cutting fabric while Val was interviewed.
“You look great,” Celia said.
“The camera adds ten p-pounds,” Silas added.
“Looks more like fifty,” Nancy muttered under her breath.
The piece ended with a banjo playing a lively tune while they showed a montage of the most impressive quilts.
“That wasn’t too bad,” Nancy said when the piece was over.
Silas turned off the television. “It was great.”
Nancy turned to Celia. “What have you got there? You’re going to wear that paper right out?”
Celia smoothed out the pamphlet. “It’s about a support group Mr. Walker told me about. For birth mothers.”
“What a good idea? Are you going?”
Celia lifted one shoulder. “I really want to. But it’s in Eugene.”
“That’s a ways away.” Nancy saw Celia’s face and added. “But you could take my car. When is it?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Shoot. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
Celia bit the side of her lip and asked, “Do you think I could take the pickup?”
“Oh dear, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. That old thing might not even make it to Eugene.”
“You can take the Jeep.” Surprised, Celia and Nancy looked at Silas. “It’ll just be p-parked at work anyway.”
“Maybe you could take the afternoon off and drive her there,” Nancy said. “I worry about her driving that far alone.” Before she had even finished the sentence, Silas was shaking his head.
“I can’t. B-but she can take it.”
Celia refused to admit she was a little disappointed he’d rejected Nancy’s idea so quickly.
“Can you drive m-me to work in the morning?” Silas asked.
“Of course.”
Nancy still looked concerned, but Celia pretended not to notice. She didn’t want anything to change Silas’s mind.
Celia turned onto Sycamore Street and craned her neck, looking for the building number. With a baby growing inside her, how was there even room for the monster-sized pit she felt in her stomach? The only thing that kept her moving toward the support group meeting was the knowledge that Silas and Nancy would be asking about it and she didn’t want to admit she had chickened out, or worse, lie to them about it. Especially since Silas had trusted her with his Jeep.
The building was dark gray stone and looked gothic and forbidding, the kind of place you might imagine women going to sacrifice their babies to the screaming gargoyles. Celia chastised herself for letting her imagination get carried away.
Eleven women looked toward the door as Celia entered. One stood and took a few steps forward to greet her, while a few others expanded the circle and pulled in another chair.
“We’re just getting started, so you haven’t missed a thing.” The woman who appeared to be in charge, shook Celia’s hand then motioned toward the spare chair. “We were going to introduce ourselves. You can share as much or as little as you want. My name is Yvonne and I’m a social worker. I love working with you birth mothers because I was a birth mother myself, so I understand. I was sixteen when I placed my baby. He’s twenty-seven now and has a baby of his own. Why don’t you go next, Jackie?” She touched the leg of the woman sitting to her left.
Jackie had a short, dark afro and was thin as a twig, except for a belly that looked like she might deliver today, right here in this room. “I’m Jackie and I’m thirty-nine weeks along. I been coming here for almost six months now. I’m giving this here girl to a couple that lives in Phoenix. I hope she likes the desert so she won’t hate me.”
“I’ve been to Phoenix. Your little girl is going to love it,” said a blond woman sitting beside Celia.
“Fiona?” the social worker said to a tiny girl with short, brown hair.
“I’m Fiona. I’m seventeen. I’m twenty-two weeks along, and last week I found out I’m having a little boy. I haven’t picked a family yet.”
The next woman didn’t wait for a prompt. Except for the social worker, she looked like the oldest woman in the room. “I’m Andee and I’m due on Christmas day. Merry Christmas to me.” Celia was shocked at her bitter tone. “My soon-to-be ex-husband thought he could coerce me into staying married by getting me pregnant, but he was wrong. I can’t stand him, and there’s no way I’m keeping his child. I’d have had an abortion, but I could practically hear my mother threatening me from the grave if I did. So here I am. Waiting to send this baby to its new home in Colorado so I can get back to my life.”
The woman folded her arms across her chest and glared at the next woman.
Celia listened with interest to each of the women’s stories. They were all so different—different ages, backgrounds and feelings. When it was her turn, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of the promise she had made as she drove to Eugene. No matter what, she would be completely honest.
“My name is Celia. I’ll be twenty-one next month.”
“Happy birthday, girl,” Jackie said.
Celia smiled at her. “Thank you. My baby is due the eleventh of December. I’m pregnant because I was raped.”
A couple of women gasped and Yvonne put up her hand to quiet them.
“I haven’t chosen a family yet. It’s like I’m so afraid I’m going to make a mistake, it paralyzes me.” A few women nodded their understanding. “But I want him to have the very best.”
After the introductions, the women talked for almost two hours. They passed around the tissue boxes several times, and by the time the meeting ended, Celia felt a kinship with most of the women.
“I’m glad you came,” Yvonne said at the drinking fountain after the meeting.
“Me too. I didn’t know if it would be worth the drive, but it totally was. I feel better, like I’m not so different from the others.”
“Sometimes it feels like no one can understand, like we’re the only one on earth who feels like we do, but we’re not. All of us feel scared and lonely and we wonder if we’re doing the right thing. Even Andee. It’s good to talk to each other, so we know that.”
Celia smiled and nodded. “I needed to hear that others have had a hard time choosing families. I’ve felt so stuck. Every time I look at potential parents, I think I might throw up. I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“And you won’t.” When a man stepped up to the drinking fountain, Yvonne took Celia’s arm and led her a few feet away. “Even though you’re giving your baby up, you still have a mother’s intuition. You’ll study the options, and when all is said and done, you’ll pick the right family for your baby.”
It was dark when Celia drove the Jeep down the lane to Silas’s house. The porch light created a wide, yellow circle that almost reached the driveway, and she could see a light from somewhere inside.
“Thank you,” she said when Silas opened the door. “That was exactly what I needed.”
“Worth the drive?” he asked.
“So worth it. I can’t tell you how grateful I am you let me take your car.”
“You’re welcome. Did you stop for ice cream?”
“Stop where?” Celia asked innocently.
Silas smiled and shook his head. “You think I can’t say it?” The next words were slow, and although his lips pursed tightly, he managed to say them without stuttering. “Prince Puckler’s. I’m glad you didn’t stop. You don’t deserve any ice cream.”
Celia grinned. “But you do. If it wouldn’t have melted, I’d have stopped and picked up some stra
wberry ice cream for you.”
“Oh well. It’s the thought that—”
“Whoa,” Celia interrupted him and put her hand on the side of her stomach. “Sorry. I think he just scored a goal.”
“That’s crazy. You can really feel that?”
“Yeah. Here.” Without overthinking it, Celia placed Silas’s hand where hers had been. They waited, his hand warm, her hand over his. She ignored her own surprise that she had been so forward.
“I guess the game’s over,” he said quietly.
“He’s messing with us,” Celia said. She was about to let his hand go, when the baby kicked again. “There. Did you feel that?”
“That’s the b-baby?”
Celia laughed. “I’m not kicking myself.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.”
When the baby didn’t kick again, Silas pulled away his hand, and Celia took an awkward step back.
“Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”
“I can walk you home.”
Celia stepped off the porch and out of the circle of light. “It’s not far. I’m fine.”
Silas followed her to the lane. “I’ll stand here and watch. M-make sure there are no b-bad guys.”
When she reached Nancy’s house, she looked back down the lane. Silas’s white t-shirt glowed in the moonlight. He waved and she lifted her hand in answer before she went inside.
“What’s for lunch?” Silas asked as he came through Nancy’s back door.
“Since you’ve only got an hour, I thought I’d make ham and cheese sandwiches.”
“Sounds good.” Silas opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice.
“Sit down while I fix these,” Nancy said. “And start talking. You’ve had me worried ever since you called last night.”
“I told you not to worry. I just wanted to talk to m-my dear old aunt.” Silas squeezed her shoulder, and she swatted off his hand.