Elizabeth pressed her robe smooth against her belly and winced at her flat chest. Her shape looked unreal, as if someone had placed her image in a computerized photo program and swapped her top with that of a man. The idea that her breasts were gone was something she couldn’t quite grasp yet.
She turned sideways and studied her altered profile; then she faced the mirror again. Was she ready? Was this the time when she should lift her pajama top and see the damage cancer had wreaked on her body? Dr. Steinman had warned her that the sight—at first—could make her sick to her stomach.
But after spending twenty minutes hovered over the toilet, she didn’t have anything left to lose. She might as well look now and get it over with. Not looking didn’t make things different, didn’t change the fact that she’d had a double mastectomy. The sooner she could stand looking at herself in the mirror, the closer she’d be to making a comeback . . . right?
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and steeled herself to the image she was about to see. One button at a time she undid her lightweight robe and let it fall to the floor. Her thin cotton pajama shirt was all that stood in the way now. Her heart kicked into a strange double beat as she crossed her arms in front of her and took hold of the shirt bottom. Slowly, one inch at a time she lifted it until she had exposed her entire midsection.
For a while she looked at herself that way, with only her middle showing. Not bad, she thought. Not bad considering all the pregnancies and births her stomach had been through. She drew a deep breath and held it. One more inch and then another and another.
Her eyes grew wide, her expression frozen as she pulled the shirt all the way off. The flesh across her chest was pink and flat and stretched along the sides. The scar worked its way in a grotesque nonpattern around the perimeter of where each breast had been.
Elizabeth couldn’t draw a breath, couldn’t exhale, couldn’t do anything but stare in horror at herself. She would never let John see her this way—never. The longer she studied herself, the worse she looked. Shocking, horrifying, a mutilated mass of flattened, scarred tissue where she once had looked feminine and attractive.
She’d seen this look somewhere before, and finally she remembered where. On a special about nuclear war and Hiroshima, she’d seen photos of people with massive chemical burns across their bodies. That’s how she looked now. Like a burn victim, the sort of hideous look people turned away from in disgust.
With a sudden move Elizabeth turned her back to the mirror and slipped her pajama top back on. Dr. Steinman was right. She should’ve waited until she was ready, until the incisions had time to heal completely, until she was more used to the idea.
In the hours and days and weeks to come, she would feel sicker and lose more hair. Probably all of it. Life was going to get harder, more tiresome with every morning. That combined with how badly she’d been disfigured could’ve been enough to make her give up. But she couldn’t do that, not when she had so much to live for.
Elizabeth shuffled her way to the bed, fell onto it, and stretched her legs out. God . . . help me fight this battle. I can’t do it without you. I look hideous, God. Even you must think so.
The curtains rustled as a light breeze sifted through the bedroom window.
You are beautiful, daughter. I knit you together in your mother’s womb.
The holy response came at her in the wind and spoke to her soul. “God?” She whispered his name, glancing about the room. He was here, wasn’t he? Caring about her, loving her even if she looked like a monster. It was true. God had knit her together in her mother’s womb, and that’s still the way he saw her.
Whole and complete and beautiful.
Suddenly she knew the goal, knew how she’d have to see herself if she was ever to take the upper hand over cancer. God had given her a second chance with the surgery, and that could never be a bad thing, no matter how she looked. She would check her reflection in the mirror every day, praying not for a renewed body but for a renewed heart. She would know she was on the right track when she could look in the mirror and not be horrified. When her flat, misshapen chest was no longer a sign of defeat and disease and destruction.
But rather a sign of God Almighty’s redemption and deliverance.
Chapter Fourteen
The social worker had tried to warn Erin what would happen if the adoption fell through, the sorrow she would experience. “You’ll feel like your baby died,” the woman told her. “Most people don’t understand that.”
Erin had let the comments pass. Her adoption wouldn’t fall through. And if by some strange set of circumstances the adoption didn’t take place, at least she would never have known the baby.
But the social worker had been right on.
The weeks and months of putting together the nursery, talking about names with Sam, and dreaming with her mother about the joys of raising a little girl. All of it had made the child a real part of their family, even though they’d never met her. She would probably have golden curls and big blue eyes like her sisters, and just before the meeting with Dave and Candy, they’d settled on a name.
Amy Elizabeth.
Erin had talked with her mother and Ashley and Kari and Brooke, and all of them said the same thing. The feelings Erin was having, the thoughts that occupied her mind, all of it was the same as if she herself were carrying the baby. That’s how strong the maternal instinct was—whether the baby grew inside her or not.
Now she could barely force herself to go to work each day. The students didn’t know what was going on, only that their teacher wasn’t herself, wasn’t the happy, creative, energetic person they’d come to depend on. Erin couldn’t help it. Every little girl in her class seemed to have the face she’d assigned to Amy Elizabeth.
Questions assaulted her.
How come if God was so good, he’d denied them the chance to be parents? Would Candy’s baby girl have a hope for a good life living between Candy and her mother, running around barefoot in dirty clothes and eating wildflowers while Candy smoked dope?
None of it seemed right, and in the month since Candy changed her mind, Erin was certain the baby had been born. With Candy’s future hanging in the balance, the infant girl was probably being cared for by her grandmother—the one their pastor had told them about in the first place.
Erin and Sam’s car-sharing arrangement wasn’t working out. Sam usually pulled up in front of her school at about five-thirty, long after Erin had finished correcting papers and prepping for the next day. Most days she sat in the school’s library staring out the window waiting for him, hating herself for making Sam sell their car.
The whole ordeal had been such a waste.
Police had promised to try to recover the money they’d given Dave, but a search of his apartment turned up nothing but the empty envelope and ample drug paraphernalia. The money was gone—smoked or sniffed or shot up the arms of Dave and his friends.
Thinking about it didn’t make things any better, but Erin couldn’t help herself. It was Thursday night after a long week, and as she and Sam walked through the garage door into their house they were both silent. That was something else, the way she and Sam hadn’t talked to each other much since the loss of the baby.
That first night after they got the news had been good. Sam had held her and stroked her hair and helped her know she wasn’t alone in how she felt. But since then he hadn’t talked about the baby once, as if by ignoring the pain they were feeling it might somehow go away.
Erin wanted to talk about it all the time.
“Do you think she’s had the baby yet, Sam?” she’d ask. Or “What would it take for Candy to change her mind again? You know, let us adopt her baby, after all?”
Sam would give her short answers, until finally she looked deep into his eyes and accused him of not caring.
He denied that, but still . . .
Erin put her bag away and returned to the kitchen. Sam was digging through the refrigerator. When he heard her come up behind him, he turned an
d gave her a half smile. “Any ideas for dinner?”
“Not a one.” Erin flashed him a sarcastic smile and immediately let it drop from her face. “Maybe you can come up with something tonight.”
Before the ordeal with the baby, Erin got home by four o’clock, early enough to make a meal. Now that they were down to one vehicle, she often used her slow cooker to keep a dinner simmering through the day. But this week she hadn’t cooked once, falling back on tuna sandwiches, canned stew, and macaroni and cheese.
Sam released a long sigh, shut the refrigerator, and turned to her. “Wanna talk about it, Erin?”
“About what?” She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter, facing him.
“About your attitude?” His tone was even. He didn’t want to fight with her; she could see that much.
“I don’t want dinner.” She stared at her shoes, her eyes narrow. “I want that little girl.” This time her eyes met his. “It’s like I’m paralyzed, Sam. I’d do anything to make her ours again.”
A tired look pulled at Sam’s features, but he came to her anyway. “I owe you an apology.”
“Why?” She angled her head. She’d expected him to be frustrated with her, tired of talking about Candy’s baby.
“Because—” he rested against the center island and faced her, their toes touching—“every time you try to talk about what happened, I shut you down.” He crossed his arms and shifted his gaze to the window behind her. “She’s gone, Erin. I can’t think what more we can say.” He looked at her again. “But I was wrong; we have to talk about it. Otherwise we’ll walk around like—” he gestured to the silent spaces between them—“like this, Erin. Silent and hurting and never connecting with each other.”
“Somewhere in here—” Erin put her hand over her heart—“I don’t feel like it’s over, Sam. I feel like God still has a plan for that baby and for our role in her life.” She let her hand fall to her side. “That’s why I can’t stop talking about her.” Air found its way into her lungs and she held her breath for a moment. “But you’re right, too. We have to move on, and that won’t happen until I let it go. At least once in a while.”
Sam reached out and took her hands in his. “Let’s make a deal.”
“Okay.” Her heart fluttered with possibility. “What?”
“Every time you think about her, let’s take it to God. Let’s pray more, and maybe he’ll show us why you still think he has a plan for this baby in our lives, okay?”
Prayer! Of course. She and Sam hadn’t prayed about the baby since the day they’d found out. As if they’d taken the news and given up immediately.
She worked her fingers between his and drew him close. For a long time they stood that way, dinner forgotten, both lost in their own thoughts. She broke the silence first. “Can we pray now?”
“Yes.” Sam closed his eyes and let his head rest against hers. “God, you know this little baby who may or may not be born yet, Candy’s baby. Father, we still feel she’s supposed to be with us, but we’ve failed to come to you every day and ask for a miracle. Forgive us, God. Please hear our prayers.”
The rest of the evening was better than any they’d shared in the past month. They talked about Erin’s mother and the plans for a reunion that summer.
“Does your dad think she’ll be well enough?”
“He won’t say.” She was sitting beside him on the sofa. “But I know he’s worried.”
“Why?”
“Because my mom wanted the reunion in late August, around their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, but we’re planning the get-together in July. There can only be one reason for that.”
Sam nodded, sympathy flooding his eyes, his voice softer than before. “Your dad’s worried she won’t be well enough if they wait too long.”
Or worse, but Erin didn’t want to say so. They read for a while, sharing an occasional bit of conversation, and then they turned in early.
The next morning they were awakened by a phone call just after six o’clock.
Erin sat straight up in bed, her heart racing. She answered it on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Yes, Erin, hello.” It was the social worker. “I have some news for you.”
Erin’s heart stopped. “About Candy?”
“No, another baby.”
Her heartbeat was back, twice as fast as before. “Another baby?”
“Yes. I don’t know if you heard the news a few weeks ago. A teenage mother abandoned her newborn near the side door of a hospital in Dallas. The baby is mixed race. The mother is a sixteen-year-old African-American; the father is a teenage Caucasian. Anyway, the baby has been living with a short-term foster family while the courts decide what to do.”
The facts swirled about in Erin’s mind. She wrinkled her brow and gave Sam a gentle push. He eased himself up onto his elbow. “What is it?” he mouthed.
She covered the mouthpiece. “The social worker. She’s telling me about another baby.”
Sam sat up and hugged his pillow to his midsection, watching her, listening to her end of the conversation.
A bit of joy sang out in the social worker’s voice. “The mother gave birth to the baby in her bedroom, snuck out the window, and walked two blocks to the hospital, where she wrapped her in a sweatshirt and left her with a note.”
“A note?”
“Yes. Her parents are very strict, a Christian couple who never approved of their daughter’s dating the young man. Apparently he was an athlete with a penchant for beer and fast cars. The young girl went out with him anyway, and that first night she believes she was date-raped. She was afraid her parents would disown her, so she left the baby at the hospital. Now that her parents know the truth, the family is in counseling. I think they’ll be okay, actually. The girl doesn’t want the baby and neither do her parents. The boy has already signed off any rights to the baby, so he isn’t an issue.”
“And . . .” Erin’s body was tense, every fiber in her being waiting for the woman to get to the point. “What did the courts decide?”
“The mother was charged with abandonment—though I doubt she’ll be convicted because of her age. And the judge declared the baby immediately available for adoption. I had marked your case a top priority because of what happened with Candy.” The woman hesitated. “She’s a beautiful, healthy little girl, Erin. The judge wanted her placed outside the Dallas area because of the publicity surrounding the situation.” She paused. “Would you and Sam be interested?”
Erin’s mouth hung open. “Interested?” She wanted to toss the phone in the air and jump around the room. Instead she gathered her emotions and swallowed, searching for her voice. “Yes, we’re very interested. Can I call you back in five minutes?”
The social worker agreed. Erin hung up and stared at Sam. “God did it, Sam! We prayed last night and now . . . wait until you hear.”
She told him the entire story and that the social worker was waiting for an answer. Race wasn’t an issue because they’d discussed that a year ago when they first considered adoption. “Skin color isn’t all we make it out to be,” Sam had told her back then. “I think God must be up there shaking his head, wondering why we chose that as such a dividing line among peoples of the world.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Erin had looked at him, struck by the idea. “We could’ve divided ourselves by eye color or height or hair color just as easily.”
“Right.” He gave her a sad smile. “Can you imagine? You have blue eyes and I have brown. Our groups of people would’ve been at odds with each other through the centuries. One set of bathrooms and eating areas for brown-eyed people, one for blue-eyed. And since there’re more brown-eyed people in the world, the blue-eyed folks would be the minority group.”
The idea was ludicrous, the same way any discrimination based on color was ludicrous.
Of course, when they had learned about Candy, their thoughts about race were no longer an issue. Candy was white, and her
children were white. But still Erin had expected that somewhere down the road they might adopt a biracial baby or a black or Hispanic child.
Sam wiped his eyes and stared at her, disbelief shading his expression. “You mean somewhere in Dallas there’s a little girl who could be ours in a few days?”
“Yes.” Erin bit the inside of her lip. “Can you believe it, Sam?” She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “How can this be anything but a miracle?”
The phone was lying on the bed between them. Sam picked it up and tossed it to her. “Call, Erin. Before something else happens.”
Erin laughed and had the number dialed before she drew her next breath. She told the social worker yes, they wanted the baby girl. The two of them made plans to pick up the child the following weekend at the social service office in Dallas. The worker in charge of the case would be there all day Saturday.
When Erin hung up the phone, she was shaking. She shared the information with Sam, and they laughed and hugged and rehashed the details again and again. It was amazing, that just the day before they had wondered if they’d ever be parents and now, in a few days, they would bring home their first child.
“I can’t wait to call my mom.” Erin sucked in a quick breath. Her mother was having a hard time. She hadn’t said so, but Ashley and Kari and Brooke had kept her posted. The treatment was rougher than any of them had expected. The news about the baby was bound to lift her spirits.
“I still can’t imagine dropping your baby off and walking away.” Sam climbed out of bed and stretched. “Angels must’ve been watching over that baby.”
“Definitely.”
For the briefest moment, Erin thought about Candy, about the newborn who was going to have such a different life now than the one she would’ve had with them. But just as quickly she put the thought out of her mind. God had given them a different little girl, one she was already starting to love and dream about.
Reunion Page 14