Finally a Mother

by Dana Corbit

  Before Brooke could move again, Shannon crossed to her and gave her a warm hug. With a wave, she hurried to her own room, pulling the apron over her head as she went. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, pausing to study the woman looking back at her. She nodded in approval over the pretty black dress with its modest square neckline, a feminine silhouette and the perfect amount of swish at the hemline.

  Although she’d only intended to run a comb through her hair, and maybe to plait it, she found herself blow-drying and heating up her curling iron. Where she usually didn’t bother with makeup, she was suddenly applying mascara and a touch of lip gloss with a careful hand.

  This was a special event. The house would be filled with dozens of guests. This was the first time she would spend a holiday with her son, as well. Any of those reasons could justify her desire to take extra care with her appearance today. They could even explain the nervous tension thrumming through her and keeping her distracted enough to boil the turkey and bake the cranberry sauce.

  But to say that those factors were the only ones tripping up her steps today would be downright untrue, and she was tired. Of telling herself that Mark was just Blake’s foster dad. Of reminding herself that she felt gratitude for Mark and nothing else. But most of all of lying to herself.

  * * *

  At ten minutes past one, forty-one people gathered around the two tables laden with more food than any group should eat in one day. Mark took his place in the center of one of the long tables, as four of the dads had been placed at the ends, two with the responsibility of cutting the twenty-five-pound turkeys.

  “Are we going to eat soon? I’m starving,” Blake said.

  Mark turned to answer but realized that the boy wasn’t speaking to him. Instead, he was carrying on an actual conversation with one of the girls, that younger one named Chelsea.

  “I know,” she said as she placed her napkin in her lap. “I’m hungry for two.”

  Blake blinked and lowered his gaze to the girl’s tummy, as if just remembering why she was at Hope Haven. He cleared his throat. “I’ll probably eat for four if no one stops me.”

  “You’d better wait until everyone’s had seconds before you start making a pig of yourself,” Mark said, entering the conversation as if he’d been invited.

  “Don’t worry, Trooper Mark,” the girl assured him. “We’ll have plenty of leftovers.”

  “Better not count on that,” Blake said.

  Mark slid a glance the boy’s way, smiling. Blake might not have the whole boy-girl thing down yet, but he was trying awfully hard to make this one laugh. He couldn’t blame the kid for trying. Chelsea was an attractive young woman, and about Blake’s age. He just hoped the boy wasn’t reading more into the polite dinner conversation than what was there. That would be a mistake, and Mark was making enough of those for the both of them.

  “Where are your parents?” Blake asked the girl in a low voice.

  “Remember, I said they couldn’t make it.”

  “But didn’t you say you were from Keego Harbor?”

  “They had some family thing.”

  Just then Shannon stepped to her place across the table from Blake, and instead of sitting, she rested her hands on the back of the chair.

  “Thanks to all of you for joining us and for bringing such lovely dishes to share. As has become our tradition at the Hope Haven Thanksgiving celebration, before we give thanks to God for our food, we take turns sharing something that we are thankful for. Would anyone like to start?”

  She scanned the length of one table and then, smiling, traveled the other one with her gaze. She’d spoken of holiday traditions at Hope Haven, but she hadn’t mentioned the reality that a whole new group of residents and their families came each year to observe those traditions. A new group would show up to do the same thing next year. And another the year after that, if the Hope Haven house managed to keep standing that long.

  “Now, don’t everyone jump at once,” Shannon prompted again.

  “I’ll go,” came a small voice from the other table.

  The exotic-looking young girl he’d met in the basement yesterday came to her feet.

  “Thanks for stepping up, Kelly,” Shannon said.

  The girl only grinned. “I’m thankful to have my mother here with me for Thanksgiving. She drove all the way from Cincinnati just to be with us.”

  Shannon winced, probably in honor of the girls whose parents lived closer and yet couldn’t fit the event into their schedules. “That’s great, Kelly. Anything else?”

  “I’m thankful for everyone here and for learning to make a pumpkin pie yesterday, because I’ll probably eat mine all by myself.”

  Kelly’s comment drew a laugh, and Shannon continued to the next person at the far table. Some parents expressed gratitude for their daughters not losing their faith during these difficult times. A few parents and kids repeated the sentiments that they were blessed to have their families and friends.

  “I’m thankful for Hope Haven because it provides a place for the girls to go where they can be...comfortable,” one of the dads said.

  Blake stiffened next to him, and Mark reached over and squeezed his elbow. Mark couldn’t help wanting to ask the guy whose comfort he was talking about, his and his wife’s or their daughter’s. For the first time, he had a sense of the painful alienation Shannon must have experienced while she was pregnant with Blake. He caught her gaze for a fraction of a second, but she only chewed the corner of her lip and glanced away.

  The process continued with no more unsettling comments, and the redhead seated next to Shannon started first on the second table.

  “Giving thanks that God made pregnancy last only forty weeks instead of sixty,” another girl added for a laugh.

  “Thank you, Brooke.” Shannon’s gaze lingered on the girl longer than on the others, but then she moved on.

  Soon it was Mark’s turn, and he scrambled for the right words. “I’m thankful for everyone who came here to support all of these young people,” he said in an attempt to include Blake. He forced himself not to say something about those in obvious absence.

  After a sharp glance his way, Shannon looked to Blake.

  He picked at his cuticles, not looking up from the table. “Um, I guess what I’m really thankful for is all of this food.”

  The laughter around the tables seemed to surprise him.

  “Well, at least he’s honest,” one of the other parents noted, drawing another laugh.

  If he hadn’t been watching, Mark might have missed the disappointment in Shannon’s eyes. It was there, and then it was gone. Clearly, she’d hoped for something more from her son. A few days ago Mark would have told her she was expecting too much from a teenage boy or even that she had no right to expect anything at all. Now, though, he was grateful for the table separating them. If not for it, he probably would have pulled her into his arms and told her that everything was going to be okay between her and Blake. How could he promise something like that when he knew from experience that there were no guarantees in life?

  Around the table, the guests recounted their blessings, and finally it was Shannon’s turn.

  “I am thankful for the opportunity to get to know each of your daughters,” she said without qualifying it by saying “under the circumstances.” “They have been such blessings to my life, and I have learned so much from them. I also wanted to say that I am grateful this Thanksgiving for the opportunity to get to know my son, Blake, whom I placed for adoption when I was a teenager.”

  She gestured to the boy, who was still staring at his plate, and seemed to wait for some response from the other guests, but their lack of reaction suggested this was already old news, even to the parents.

  Shannon cleared her throat. “And I’m also thankful for Trooper Mark Shoffner, who opened his
home and his life to Blake as a foster parent. If that wasn’t enough, he and Blake have been doing volunteer work to help make much-needed improvements at Hope Haven.”

  She waited for the polite applause to die down before continuing, but instead of addressing the crowd as she’d done before, she focused in on Mark. “I appreciate your help. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to get to know...my son.”

  Her voice broke at the last two words, and a lump the size of one of those sweet potatoes in front of him formed inside his throat. He caught her eye just in time to see her brush a tear off her cheek.

  “Now everyone please stand for our Thanksgiving prayer.”

  She reached for the hands of the girls sitting on either side of her and waited for the rest of the guests to join hands. Mark took hold of Blake’s work-roughened hand and that of the mother seated on his opposite side. How inappropriate it was that while they were preparing to give thanks, all he could think about was what the skin of Shannon’s hand would feel like if he’d been sitting next to her instead.

  “Father, we come to You today to give thanks for the many blessings You have bestowed on each one of us,” Shannon prayed. “Thank You for this food and for the hands that prepared it. Thank You for safe travel for all of our guests. Lead us to be Your heart and hands in our world. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  Immediately, the room was filled with the chatter of dozens of conversations and the sounds of platters and serving dishes being passed from hand to hand. Blake ladled a little of everything on his plate, except the sliced tomatoes. He managed not to make too much of a pig of himself, though he wasn’t shy when Shannon asked if anyone wanted seconds. On the other hand, Chelsea, who’d said she was starving, ate no more than a serving of turkey and a dinner roll, claiming heartburn.

  Between bites of mashed potatoes and turkey with cranberry sauce, Mark studied his fellow guests. A few of the moms sat doting on their pregnant daughters, while at least one dad appeared ready to bolt from the scene at any moment. A pair of little girls from two different families had already made friends in this party for their older sisters. A little boy crouched low in his seat, clearly miserable in his dress-up clothes.

  It was strange for Mark to think that he shared something in common with each of these girls. With Shannon, as well. All of them had disappointed their parents with their actions, and all of them would live with the consequences of their mistakes for years to come. Would they feel like he did sometimes that his family had made up their minds about him and there was nothing he could do to change them?

  The eating had begun to slow, with conversations filling the void, when Shannon stood up again. “Okay, girls, it’s time for dessert.”

  At once, all twelve girls rose from their seats and started toward the kitchen, some moving slowly, carefully, with their hands pressed to their lower backs.

  “Now, as we mentioned earlier, the girls had a lesson in pumpkin-pie baking last night. Each one has made a pie from scratch, including crust, so we hope you all will enjoy dessert, courtesy of these daughters, sisters and friends.” Shannon smiled at the families and then glanced back at the swinging kitchen door. “Don’t forget the homemade whipping cream, girls.”

  Mark couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. She’d made a holiday that could have been lonely and bitter for the residents into a true celebration and probably softened some strained relationships at the same time.

  “The girls will also be bringing out some brownies.” She looked over her shoulder at the closed door. “It’s taking longer than expected to cut the pies. Maybe I should have told them they didn’t all have to use the same knife.”

  As she stood there a few moments longer, soft murmurs around her slowly unfurled into louder questions. “I think I’ll check on the progress in there,” she said finally.

  Shannon had only taken a few steps toward the kitchen when an anguished cry came from the other side of the door.

  Kelly pushed the door open. “Miss Shannon! It’s Brooke. We need help in here.”

  Shannon kicked off her shoes and ran.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m here, Brooke,” Shannon announced as she charged through the door.

  The girls were crowded around Brooke, their voices sharp and discordant, their pies lined up on the counter, forgotten. Shannon had to squeeze through them to get to the center of the circle.

  “Oh, Brooke, honey.” She brushed back the girl’s hair.

  “I knew there was something wrong. I knew it.”

  Brooke just continued rocking in her curled position, her hands gripping the ball of her stomach. Shannon hadn’t heard him come in behind her, but Mark was suddenly in the room with them, working his way through the crowd.

  “Girls, could you do us a favor and go handle the guests out there?” he asked. “Miss Shannon and I are going to help Brooke.”

  They waited for Shannon’s nod and filed from the room.

  “Is she in labor?” he asked as soon as the door closed. “How many weeks is she? How far apart are her contractions?”

  Shannon was so focused on Brooke that his questions barely registered. “It’s too soon.” She continued stroking the girl’s arm. “I should have done something. I should have—”

  “Listen to me, Shannon.” Mark rested a hand on her shoulder. “I need to know how far along she is in case I have to deliver the baby.”

  It must have been the word deliver that broke through her haze. She blinked and then shook her head. Of course, Mark would have had training in case he had to attend an emergency delivery. “No, she shouldn’t deliver. She’s just thirty-four weeks.”

  He kneeled and took Brooke’s wrist to get a pulse. Her hands were warm and red, and perspiration dotted her face. “Brooke, can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I hurt,” she whined.

  “I know you do, kiddo. Do you know how far apart your contractions are?”

  “Don’t know.” She winced as if the pain was taking hold again. “It’s not just my stomach. My head is killing me, and I feel nauseated.”

  “Could be preeclampsia.” Shannon wasn’t even sure she’d spoken those words aloud until Mark straightened.

  “I’ll call 9-1-l,” he said.

  “No. I’ll take her. It will be faster than waiting for the ambulance.”

  “Let me,” he insisted. “I can make it there faster than you can, and I can get a patrol-car escort if necessary.”

  Her mouth opened, probably to say no again, but then she closed her lips and nodded. “I’m coming, too.”

  “Fine. Now, Brooke, I’m going to be as careful as I can, but I need to lift you so we can get you to the hospital.” He slipped his hands behind her back and knees.

  Immediately, tears started draining from Brooke’s eyes. “I want my mom.”

  Shannon stood and wiped away some of the tears making trails down the girl’s face. “I know you do. I’ll call her so she can meet us at the hospital instead of coming here.”

  “I didn’t mean to ruin your party,” Brooke said.

  “You didn’t ruin anything, sweetie.” Again Shannon brushed the girl’s hair back from her face. “Let’s just focus on making sure that you and the baby are okay.”

  Brooke closed her eyes and spoke in a low voice. “Me and Parasite.”

  “Parasite?” Mark mouthed.

  “The baby,” Shannon whispered. “I’ll get Blake.”

  She called for him out in the cafeteria area, and instead of balking as she thought he might, he hurried into the kitchen. She collected their coats from the closet and the emergency information card she kept in an index card box. She stretched Brooke’s coat over the front of her, and Blake held the door open for all of them.

  After a brief trip back to the dining area to tell everyone to
finish their dinner and to pray for Brooke and her baby, she caught up with them at the truck. Mark had already stretched the girl across the backseat and had Blake sitting back there with her, holding her head on a makeshift pillow of their coats.

  Mark took off so quickly that gravel spit up behind them. Even at that pace, the drive to the hospital in Novi took too long, allowing her memories to find purchase in today’s crisis when they should have remained banished to the past. No matter how hard she tried to squash them, those recollections clung to her like the last icicles on a roof covered in melting snow.

  How could she be so selfish? Brooke’s life and the life of her child might be in danger. The least she could do would be to give the girl her full attention.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Blake whispered.

  Shannon whipped her head to the side to see if Brooke had fallen asleep, but the girl’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Yeah, am I? And what about my baby?”

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” Shannon promised, though she knew better than to promise anything when she might not be able to deliver.

  What could she do for her? How could she help her if Brooke lost the baby? Yes, the girl had planned to place her child for adoption, but she might face unimaginable guilt if the baby didn’t survive. Shannon felt so powerless, impotent, just when Brooke needed something that would give her hope. Well, she might not have anything to offer her, but she knew someone who did.

  “Father, I’m entrusting Brooke and her baby to You.” She whispered the prayer with her eyes open so she could continue watching the girl.

  As they pulled into the hospital plaza and the big emergency sign came into view, Shannon released a breath that she hadn’t even known she was holding. They would be fine now; they were in the capable hands of medical professionals. And more than that, God would hold them in the palm of His always-sufficient hand. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she prayed He would hold on extratight.

  * * *

  Mark sneaked a peek at the woman who’d recently taken up residence next to him in one of those cloth waiting room chairs that might as well have been made of stone. Shannon still blamed herself for everything that had happened. She’d refused to leave Brooke’s bedside since they’d arrived at the hospital, and now that she’d been displaced by Brooke’s mother in her vigil, she didn’t seem to know what to do with herself.