Lost in the Reflecting Pool

by Diane Pomerantz

  We started to work on the nursery, but we also still took whatever calls came in on the adoption line. We already knew it wouldn’t be final until it was final.

  Chapter Six

  THE LEAVES WERE IN FULL FALL COLOR AS CHARLES AND I drove toward home one October morning after doing some errands. We turned onto our winding road and approached the one-lane bridge that crossed over the water where the Gunpowder River was narrow. There in the shallow water stood, with one foot raised, one of the largest white birds, with the longest legs and a long, stout bill, I had ever seen. It just stood there, wading. I had never seen a bird like it before, other than in books.

  “Charles, what kind of bird is that?”

  “It looks like a stork to me.”

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a stork before.” I paused. “I don’t see any baskets. We’d better get to the house quickly, in case he dropped something off for us.” I smiled, not serious but hopeful. Charles smiled, rolled his eyes a bit, and squeezed my hand. Within moments we were turning onto our drive, but as we got to the door, it was obvious that there was no basket or baby waiting.

  “Sorry about that.” Charles hugged me, seeing that I was somewhat deflated. As we entered the house, the adoption line started ringing and I disengaged from his embrace.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Hi, I wanted some information, please,” a woman’s hesitant voice responded when I said hello.

  “Sure. How can I help you?”

  “Did you place an ad in the Atlantic City Weekly?” she asked. “Yes, my husband and I did place an ad. We’re hoping to adopt an infant.”

  “And you’re a child psychologist?”

  “Yes, I am, and my husband is a physician.” Those things were in the ad. “We both love children very much. Are you thinking of adoption for yourself?” I figured I might as well ask.

  “Well, no. I just saw your ad this morning.” There was a long pause. “You see, I just found out that my sixteen-year-old daughter is pregnant. She wants to give the baby up for adoption. We’ll support her in whatever she wants to do, but she’s adamant that she’s too young to be a mother. Can I have her call you at this number when she gets home from school?”

  “Of course. I’d be happy to speak with her. It sounds like she’s really trying to make the best decision for herself and for the baby.”

  “She is. She’s an honor student, a great musician, and an artist. She’s wonderful, and I just want what’s best for her.”

  “Have her call me. I’d love to speak with her. I’ll be home today after five. She can call any time after that, okay?”

  “Great. She’ll call you after five. I like that you’re a child psychologist, and you sound nice. It was lovely talking to you. Oh, by the way, my name is Beth, and my daughter is Joni.”

  Thank you. Bye.”

  The connection ended, and several moments later I found myself still standing there, telephone in hand, smiling, with tear-stains splattered on my shirt.

  Charles was standing in the doorway. “What’s up? You’re smiling and crying. . . .”

  At that moment, I couldn’t explain anything. He came and held me, and we stayed like that for a long time. Then I told him about Joni.

  At five minutes past five, the phone rang. It was Joni, who sounded as gracious and articulate as I expected.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m terrible, but I did think about having an abortion, ’cause I knew I didn’t want to have a baby now. But it was too late.”

  “I don’t think that’s terrible,” I assured her. “Well, I couldn’t do it, so I decided adoption would be the best thing. I just wanted to know the baby would have a good home and be loved as much as I love her or him.”

  She told me about Tom, her ex, with whom she had just ended a relationship. He was her first boyfriend.

  “I won’t say his name again. My mom and I just refer to him as the Jerk. I really like his family, though, and I know they’ll want to meet you. They’re great people . . . even though he’s the Jerk.”

  We both giggled.

  She seemed to have a great deal of insight for a girl who had just turned sixteen. I was certain her life had not been easy; I sensed that her wisdom was born of experience.

  “What do we do first?” she asked, after we had talked for almost an hour.

  “I’ll talk to Charles when he gets home from work, and if he doesn’t have to work this weekend and you’re free, we could drive up and meet you. That’s probably a good place to start. How would that be?”

  “That would be great. Can my mom be there?”

  I laughed as I said, “Of course, I would expect that she would want to be there. Why don’t I call you back when Charles gets home? Meanwhile, think about any questions you have.”

  “Great. I can’t tell you how relieved I feel having talked to you. Thanks so much.”

  “Thank you, Joni.”

  I sat on my bed, surrounded by three fluffy sheepdogs, and smiled. I couldn’t wait to tell Charles about Joni and then to meet her. In the back corner of my mind, I thought of Janice and of her baby. But I already felt myself connecting with Joni.

  That Saturday, with the mellow autumn sunshine in our eyes and feeling the sweet breath of crisp, fresh air, Charles and I started off for southern New Jersey. After we crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge and country roads, the earthy, smoky scent of autumn surrounded us. The foliage turned more red and golden as we drove farther north.

  Joni and her mother were waiting for us when we arrived at our meeting place. She was a lovely girl with almond-shaped eyes of an unusual aqua color. She had a maturity far beyond her years. We took them to lunch at a restaurant named Vito’s, and by the end of the day, we felt as if Joni were family.

  For the next few weeks, I spoke to her almost every day. Most days she would call when she got home from school and wanted to talk about her day, about the baby, about the Jerk and what it felt like to be pregnant and in school. She was excited to tell me about the ultrasound. I sent her some books about adoption. As much as I felt that she was bestowing a miraculous gift upon us, it surprised me that she experienced that same feeling about what we were doing for her and for her baby. Our baby. We wanted her to work through all of her feelings about relinquishing her baby and suggested that she see a counselor. She agreed and found someone to see. Our attorney paid the bill.

  While I spoke to Janice frequently, there was a formality, a certain distance, that wasn’t easily bridged. With Joni it was different, and it was she whom I grew to love. When I allowed myself to consider both pregnancies, I began to think that maybe we could adopt both babies. I didn’t say that to Charles just then, though—we still had waiting to do.

  Charles and I worked feverishly on the nursery. It was a soft and soothing palette of pastels. We decorated one wall with a wooden frieze of our little farm, and we sat in the nursery late at night and told stories to the baby we hoped would soon be there permanently.

  It was the beginning of November. I was talking to Joni almost every day. In the meantime, Janice was approaching her due date, and then suddenly she didn’t call for four or five days. Charles thought I should phone her, but I didn’t want to push, so we waited. Then, on November 10 and 11, there was an unusually early snowstorm in Maryland. Everything shut down. We watched the world turn white, and we waited.

  It was about one o’clock in the morning on November 12 when the adoption line rang. Charles answered and put the phone on speaker.

  “Hi, it’s Ray. I’m calling to let you know that Janice is in labor and is in the hospital. She wants you to wait until the baby is born before you come, so I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”

  “Okay, sure. Send Janice our love.” Charles stood there, the expression on his face flat.

  I hugged him. My stomach felt as if it had dropped to the floor, but Charles looked devastated, so I said, “Hey, it’s so pretty outside, why don’t we
get dressed and take a walk?”

  Charles looked at me quizzically and then laughed. “Okay!”

  We threw on clothes over our pajamas, pulled on our boots, hats, and jackets, and walked out onto the unblemished white hills that shone brightly against the boundless black sky. The crystalline crunch of the snow beneath our boots was the only audible sound.

  As we walked around the back of the house, we passed the trash cans and Charles pulled off the lids. “Come on, let’s go for a ride down the hill.”

  “Yes, sounds great,” I said, and through the snow we ran, toward the hill that lay beyond the horse pasture, with nothing but the reflection of the moon and the glittering stars on the white snow to guide our way. It was very dark, and a bit spooky.

  “Charles, how about we go down on one top?” I suggested, as we got to the top of the hill.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know—it’s dark; it’s scary,” I threw some snow at him, and he returned the favor.

  Going down that hill was a great release, and we did it together, laughing the whole way down—all five times. By the time we got back to the house, our bodies were quivering. I made hot chocolate, Charles started a fire, and we fell asleep cuddled together.

  We were awakened by the phone ringing at eight o’clock. It was Eliot. Ani had just given birth to a little girl. Charles didn’t tell him that we might have a baby with the same birthday.

  After taking the dogs out, Charles started breakfast. The comforting aroma of bacon frying on the grill and of coffee wafting through the warm, cozy house made the loud ringing of the adoption line less jarring. It was 10:00 a.m. Charles ran up the stairs and picked up the phone. It was Ray.

  “Congratulations! You have a son!”

  A boy? I thought. She was so sure she was having a girl. . . . Can she really do this?

  Echoing my thoughts, Charles said, “Really? The two of you are sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes, we’re sure. Do you have a name picked out? We need his name for the birth certificate. When can you get here?”

  We did have a name ready. It was Jonathan Adam.

  We made arrangements for a flight to Chicago late that afternoon. There were no connecting flights until the next day, so we made our way through the crowds of O’Hare, rented a car, and drove the three hours to meet our son.

  As we drove, I thought of Joni. I’ll call her later tonight to see how she is. But, amid all that was going on, I didn’t.

  As we walked into the lobby of University Hospital, Ray was there, waiting for us with a huge smile and a balloon that read IT’S A BOY!.

  “How is Janice doing?” I had to ask before I saw her; despite Ray’s smiles, I knew she was struggling. She had a son.

  “Oh, she’s doing okay. It’s hard, but she knows Jonathan is going to a wonderful home. We’re both thankful for that. I just wish her mom would stop harping on her.” My chest tightened.

  We followed Ray down the corridors and onto the elevator to the maternity floor. After a few more turns, Ray pushed open a door. There sat Janice, her long, wavy auburn hair flowing over her shoulders, the freckles on her face more noticeable then the last time we’d met. She looked tired but smiled as we walked in. She rose, holding out her arms to welcome us. She embraced us with immeasurable gratitude and love.

  “Do you want to see him?”

  “Of course,” Charles and I said together as Janice bent down over the Plexiglas bassinet hidden on the side of the bed. My breath caught like a leaf in a branch as she lifted this small bundle.

  He was wrapped in a yellow blanket and wore a yellow knit cap on his head. She held him to her chest. She placed a kiss on his forehead and then placed him in my arms. She whispered softly, “Take good care of him.”

  “Always. Thank you.” I nuzzled his soft neck and breathed in his sweet, soft newborn scent. I looked up. Janice, Ray, and Charles were crying, but Jonathan slept peacefully. I placed him in Charles’s arms, and he was clearly transported. I don’t know how long we passed the baby between the four of us, admiring his beauty. Finally, it was late and Janice was clearly exhausted. She gently placed Jonathan back into his bassinet, and we agreed on the time we would return the next day. Janice would officially relinquish Jonathan upon her discharge from the hospital.

  Charles and I made our way to a nearby motel. “What do you think?” he finally asked when we settled into the room.

  “I think she’s ambivalent. She wants to want to do this because Ray wants her to. Did you see the expression on her face change when her mother called? I’m not sure who has more power. He’s such a beautiful baby.”

  “If we can just make it through tomorrow morning, we’ll be home free.”

  “Not really, Charles. She can still change her mind.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t do that.” Charles sounded sure of himself.

  I had real doubts.

  Sleep evaded us, so we looked for a movie. All we could find was The Terminator. The action-packed film moved us toward the morning with some semblance of invigoration and hope. It also helped dispel some of that pent-up anger and frustration we were feeling. We were really into the action of the movie. It helped us to be more relaxed when we arrived at the hospital in the morning. Janice and Ray piled our arms with newborn formula, diapers, and a car seat.

  “I can’t tell you . . . ,” I started to say, as we stood by the car after packing it.

  “I know.” Janice raised her hand and smiled—a tight smile. “It’s okay.”

  That was it. The waiting was over. As we drove from the hospital parking lot, our eyes remained locked on Janice until she was out of sight. I sat in the backseat with Jonathan.

  He was a beautiful boy. When we got to O’Hare, we called my parents and then Charles’s parents. They wanted to come the next day to meet their new grandson. They would all drive together from New York.

  We said, “Absolutely.”

  Jonathan slept through most of the trip. His flaxen hair was so soft, and his eyes—his huge eyes—were the clearest blue. Charles and I took turns cuddling him throughout the flight. By the time we landed in Maryland, the temperature had warmed considerably and there was no trace of snow—only mud. We would pick up the dogs the next day.

  All seemed to be in order, but as we drove home, I sat in the back with Jonathan, feeling my arms and legs becoming increasingly tight.

  “So, who’s going to carry our boy in?” Charles asked as he parked the car, certain, I’m sure, that I planned on doing that.

  “Why don’t you do it?” I said. What I didn’t say was that I had a growing feeling deep within me that I couldn’t carry Jonathan into the house. Somehow I knew I could not allow myself to connect to this sweet bundle of love, no matter how strong the longing. But once Jonathan was inside, my feeling of dread seemed to disappear and I began to feel that maybe this was real. And Charles was so excited to have a little boy that he glowed.

  We took Jonathan upstairs to show him his nursery. For now, he’d sleep in our room in a beautiful antique French cradle that I had found and refinished and covered in quilted eyelet. As Charles and I sat in the nursery, taking in Jonathan’s scent and sounds, I noticed the flashing light of the adoption line’s answering machine. Charles turned it on, and it was a message from Joni.

  “Hi, guys. I haven’t spoken to you for a few days. What’s going on? I’d like to see you again. Miss ya. Please call when you get this.”

  My heart sank. I loved Joni. She was depending on us.

  “You should call her tomorrow and tell her that we were able to adopt a baby sooner, but that we know other couples who are trying to adopt and can hook her up with them. Our attorney can also help.”

  Maybe we’ll adopt both babies, I thought, but I said nothing and I didn’t call Joni the next day. All four grandparents arrived early Sunday morning to see their grandson. My parents were floating on air. They kvelled and hugged and kissed him throughout the day. Jonathan took it like a trouper
and slept. He opened his bright blue eyes and seemed to smile in response; then he drifted back to sleep.

  “Di, are you okay?” my mother asked, when she had finally gotten me away from everyone else. “He’s so beautiful. You’re a mother, but you don’t seem very excited. What’s going on?” She looked into my eyes in the way only a mother can. She knew.

  “I don’t know. I think it just hasn’t sunk in yet. I am excited and will be even more so as it feels more real.” Then I just started to cry, and my mom and I sat on the nursery floor while she held me.

  They left around five o’clock. Winnie, Dizzy, and Ginger were home and curious about this new little being in the house, while Charles and I settled in as new parents. I was changing Jonathan when the adoption line rang.

  “Did you call Joni?” Charles asked before he picked up the phone.

  “No. I haven’t had a chance.”

  Charles picked up the phone as I lifted Jonathan from the changing table and stood beside him. He wasn’t saying much more than “yeah” and “sure” and “I understand.” His final response was, “Okay. Tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

  His expression was unreadable until he spoke. “That was Ray. Janice can’t do it. She’s been sick from this. She wants the baby back. They’ve already called Jim and told him she’s coming tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’ll call any minute.” His face was filled with pain.

  With Jonathan between us, we hugged. Then I lifted him up and said, “Hey, little guy, you’re going back to Illinois.” With all my years of training and practice, I had called this one right. I hadn’t been able to bring Jonathan into the house because, despite having hoped differently, I knew what I knew. After crying with Charles, I called my mom and cried with her.

  The next morning, carrying Jonathan in his car seat, we walked into our attorney’s office. As if it were Macy’s, I asked, in an uncharacteristically loud voice, “Is this the Return Department?” I knew Janice must be nearby. I couldn’t help it.

  Chapter Seven