The Dream Daughter

by Diane Chamberlain

  “Hold her like that at least an hour to get the full benefits,” Celeste said.

  No problem, I thought. I never planned to let her go.

  The little pink cap was off her head and I could lean over to touch my lips to her soft, almost invisible, hair. I fantasized about what it would be like when I had her home with me. My real home. My 1970 home with no iBook, no microwave, no cell phone. Just my family and an abundance of love. Imagining that life brought me such a sense of calm and joy. In all the months I’d been in 2001, I’d never felt the sort of peace I experienced at that moment. I only hoped Hunter and Patti were not too upset that I hadn’t made that first portal. Hunter knew it had been unlikely, yet I couldn’t help but imagine their disappointment.

  * * *

  The social worker, Ellen Cathcart, met me in the CICU that afternoon when Joanna was back in her isolette, sleeping soundly. I’d met Ellen shortly after Joanna was born when she wanted to make sure I had transportation to get back and forth to the hospital.

  “Do you have a minute to chat?” she asked me now, then added before I could answer, “Let’s go into the lounge.”

  I followed her to the lounge at the side of the CICU and was glad to see that we had it to ourselves.

  “How are you doing?” she asked as we sat down on the recliners. She was an attractive woman who reminded me a little of my mother, with short-cropped light brown hair and the dark brown eyes I’d inherited. “I hear Joanna’s procedure went very well.”

  I nodded. “They expect to move her to the step-down unit by the end of the week,” I said.

  “That’s great news.” Ellen smiled. She glanced down at the notepad on her knees. “I need to talk to you about a couple of things,” she said. “You were part of the fetal surgery program, which is what allowed you to have that reduced rate at the Fielding Hotel, but that rate was only good for two weeks after your baby’s birth, so now you’ll have to start paying the hotel’s going rate. I’m not sure what that is, but I am sure it’s going to be pricey. Would you like me to look into space at the Ronald McDonald house for you?”

  “Um,” I said, thinking. This wasn’t a surprise. I’d known from the start that I only had two weeks of the reduced rate after giving birth, but I’d frankly forgotten about it. I hadn’t expected to need the hotel very long after Joanna’s birth and I wasn’t sure how to answer Ellen’s question. I knew about the Ronald McDonald House from other parents, but I needed to check with Myra to see what she’d like me to do. I hoped I could stay where I was. I felt safe there and it would be a hassle to move and start over someplace new when I wanted my time and energy to go into being with Joanna. “I need to make a phone call and then I’ll let you know,” I said.

  “All right.” She tapped her notepad. “Just know that the higher rate will start immediately.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you have no family in the area, Caroline.” Her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy. “And I’m concerned about what this is like for you. It must be very difficult.”

  I gave a small nod to acknowledge the truth in her statement, but added with a smile, “I’m doing fine.”

  “Joanna’s nurse, Celeste, tells me you’re a devoted mother—she’s actually very impressed with you”—she smiled—“but this has to be so challenging and tiring.”

  My throat suddenly tightened and my eyes stung. I didn’t want to cry, but her words tapped into the exhaustion I kept hidden even from myself. Every stressor from the last few months suddenly washed over me at once. “Yes, it’s been a challenge,” I managed to squeak out, “but she’s worth it.”

  Ellen smiled again. “We have volunteers here who love nothing better than to hold babies,” she said. “Why don’t you take a few hours off each afternoon? Go back to the hotel—or the Ronald McDonald House or wherever you end up—and rest, knowing that Joanna is getting plenty of care and attention?”

  “I’d rather be here with her,” I said. “I hate even leaving her at night.” I didn’t give voice to my irrational fear—that I would come in one morning and she wouldn’t be here. That after all this, I would lose her. I’d seen other babies die. I’d witnessed other mothers endure that horrible shock.

  “Well, I want you to know it’s an option,” Ellen said. “She’s well cared for here, and you’d be just a phone call away.”

  “I know.”

  She shifted position on the recliner, smoothing her skirt over her knees, and I sensed she was about to change the topic. “It’s got to be hard for you, losing your husband so recently,” she said.

  I nodded. “I wish he could see her,” I said.

  “It was a car accident?” she probed. I knew she was trying to help, but she didn’t know the depth of what I was going through and there was no way I could tell her.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You have a sister, right?”

  “In North Carolina.”

  “Would you like me to contact her? Explain what you’re going through?”

  Good luck with that, I thought. “No, thank you. It would only make things worse.”

  “Would you like to talk about whatever it is that’s driven a wedge between you?”

  I shook my head. “It’s old history,” I said. “And I’m afraid nothing will change it, but I’m fine, really.” I held up my hands to acknowledge the truth and put an end to her questions. “Yes, I’m tired, and yes, I’m scared about my baby,” I said, standing up, “but I’m holding it together. And I’ll check into the hotel situation and let you know.”

  “All right,” she said, reluctantly getting to her own feet. She handed me her card and I slipped it under my yellow gown and into the pocket of my jeans. “I admire you for your independence and gumption,” she said. “Just know that there’s help available if you need it.”

  “I know.” I smiled, more to myself than to her. I did have gumption, didn’t I? How many people would leap from an ocean pier in the middle of the night? “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Once she left the lounge, I took my phone from my pocket, sat down again on the recliner, and dialed Myra’s number. I’d spoken to her once since Joanna’s dilation to tell her we wouldn’t make the first portal. She’d sounded disappointed, but not terribly concerned. “Let’s get that baby healthy,” she’d said. “That’s the main thing.” I’d been relieved by her attitude. I hoped she’d be as unfazed when I told her I would need more money to be able to stay in the hotel.

  “I have an idea,” she said when I explained the situation. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. Remember I told you about the New York traveler I have in the 1800s?”

  “Yes,” I said, although my memory of that conversation was vague.

  “Well, he’s not due back until next year and I’m one hundred percent certain he’d let you use his condo in Sutton Place,” she said. “He told me to use it anytime I’m in the city. It wouldn’t cost you a thing.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be weird moving into someone’s home without his permission?”

  “I’m absolutely sure he’d be fine with it,” she said. “He stayed with Hunter and me for months when Hunter was little. I know he’d like to return the favor, even if he won’t know about it for quite a while.” She chuckled. “I’ll take care of having his electric turned back on, et cetera, and the housekeeping set up.”

  “I won’t need housekeeping,” I said. “I spend all my time at the hospital.”

  “You won’t be there that long,” she said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Hopefully you’ll make the next portal. It’s next week, right?”

  “August eighth,” I said. “Almost two weeks away.” I pictured Joanna, still wired up, still tube fed, still in the CICU. Celeste said they’d be removing the feeding tube soon and they were already adding a bit of my breast milk to her formula, but I had to face reality. Would she really be able to leave the hospital in two weeks? “She still may not be able to
be released by then,” I said.

  Myra said nothing for a couple of seconds. “No problem,” she said finally, though her tone of voice told me it was a problem. “Now back to the condo situation. I have my friend’s keys and codes. I can come up to the city tomorrow and get you set up. Then Hunter and I take off for Virginia next Thursday.”

  “Already?” I said. I was going to feel even more alone once they were gone.

  “I’ll email you the condo address and we can meet there tomorrow. Ten A.M. It’s about a mile, mile and half from where you are.”

  I wanted to be in the CICU at 10 A.M. tomorrow. But then there was no time I didn’t want to be in the CICU and I had to make this move while I could. “All right,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I spent the rest of the day with Joanna, breaking away from her only to grab a quick lunch and call Becky at the hotel. “I’ll be moving out tomorrow morning,” I told her.

  “Your hospital rate’s ended, you know, so today’s charges will be on your credit card.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you.” I wouldn’t miss Becky, but I would miss Raoul and Angela and Ira at the deli. I wasn’t sure how I would have made it through the last few months without them.

  * * *

  In the morning, I packed my few belongings into my suitcase and Hunter’s backpack, left a ten-dollar bill for Angela, and took the elevator to the lobby. I balanced Angela’s bassinet on top of the rolling suitcase, and as Raoul opened the hotel door for me, he looked despondent.

  “We’re going to miss you, Little Mama,” he said.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” I said. “Thanks for everything, Raoul.” I let go of the suitcase handle long enough to give him a hug I could tell he wasn’t expecting.

  “You Southern women,” he said, shaking his head. His dark skin made it hard to tell, but I thought he was blushing. “You’re somethin’ else.”

  I planned to walk to the condo where I’d meet Myra, but Raoul insisted I take a taxi.

  “Too far to drag a suitcase and that baby-bed thing,” he said. So he bundled me into a cab and in a few minutes I was in front of a towering brick-and-glass building. I paid the cab driver, then carted my belongings into the three-story lobby where I was overjoyed to find Myra standing inside the door. I wanted to hug her, but knew better. She wasn’t even smiling, and I knew in that moment that I had become more of a burden to her than she wanted. Her mind must have been full of her move to Virginia, her work, and taking care of Hunter.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I said instead of hello.

  “No problem,” she said. She took the bassinet from me and we walked across the lobby to the bank of elevators. “Let’s go up.”

  Inside the elevator, Myra used a key to access the button for the top floor. The penthouse? Seriously? My ears popped as the elevator rose silently through the building, and when the doors opened, I realized we were inside the condominium itself. I could see nearly all of it from where we stood when we stepped out of the elevator. In front of us was a living room with a beige leather three-sided sofa and a couple of chairs upholstered in beige and black fabric. The floor was covered with plush white carpeting. To our left was an open kitchen area with dark cabinets, and to the right, a long, slender dining room table. But I barely took all of that in. My eyes were drawn to the wall of glass in front of us. The view of the city made me gasp.

  “This is it?” I asked, incredulous. “Your friend’s condo?”

  “Howard is our biggest benefactor,” Myra said as she walked into the living room with a familiarity that told me she’d been to the condo many times before. She set the bassinet down near the long glass-topped coffee table. “Mostly because he wanted to travel himself,” she said. “This is his second, and therefore final, round trip, of course, so I’m sure he’s milking it for all it’s worth. His return portal isn’t until next year, so no worries about him walking in and surprising you.”

  “Well, it’s amazing,” I said. I left my suitcase on the marble floor by the elevator and stepped onto the plush carpet, walking across it to the glass wall. I could see buildings in all shapes and sizes spread out in front of me. In the distance, the windows of the Empire State Building glittered in the sunlight. “I can hardly believe this,” I said.

  “So, that baby of yours.” Myra sat down on the three-sided sofa, her voice businesslike. “You don’t know if you’ll make the next portal?”

  I shook my head, reaching into my purse for the packet of pictures I’d taken of Joanna. I sat next to Myra and opened the envelope.

  “I hope so, but no, I don’t know for sure,” I said. I handed her the stack of photos. “These are from a week ago, before her dilation. She looks a little bigger and healthier now.” I smiled down at my daughter over Myra’s shoulder.

  “Wow,” she said, sifting through the photos, too quickly for my taste. Did she even notice how beautiful Joanna was? “This level of care certainly wouldn’t have been possible in 1970,” she said.

  “She’s alive because of Hunter. And you,” I said.

  “She’s still very … hooked up, isn’t she,” Myra said, studying one of the pictures. It wasn’t a question. “This doesn’t look like she’ll be leaving there anytime soon.” She let out a heavy sigh. “That concerns me.”

  “Well, these pictures are a week old.” I tried to sound reassuring. “They’re giving her time off oxygen each day now and she’s improving practically by the hour. If we don’t make this next portal, there are still two more,” I said. “The last one isn’t until September ninth, six weeks away. I think we’ll be fine.” I felt antsy sitting there with her now. Looking at the pictures of Joanna made me want to be with her. “I’m still worried about landing with her,” I admitted. “The portals are for Jockey’s Ridge—these giant sand dunes. But sand is hard, and—”

  “I told you,” she said. “It’s not like you land with a thump, squishing her beneath you.” She handed the stack of photos back to me. “It’s more as though you … materialize. You can stop worrying about it. As long as she’s securely attached to you with that sling, both of you will be fine.” She reached into her purse and handed me a key and a slip of notepaper with numbers written on it. “This is the code to let you into the building,” she said. “And this is the elevator key.” She stood up. “If, God forbid, you run out of portals, you call me,” she said. “I’ll set you up with a new one.”

  “Thanks, but she’s doing so well, and with three more portals, I think—”

  “Well, you know how to reach me,” she said. “I have no plans to change my phone number when we move.”

  “How is Hunter?” I asked. “Is he excited about moving to Virginia?”

  “He’s not thrilled, but he’ll be fine.” She lifted her tote bag and slung it over her shoulder, clearly ready to leave. “Hunter is all about loud music and girls. He just coasted by in school this year. It’s a good thing he’s bright because he hates to study. He’s just lucky things come so easily to him.” She looked toward the glass wall for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded far away. “I don’t like knowing about the future from my travelers,” she said, “but I have to admit that you’ve reassured me about him.”

  “He’s the best,” I said, standing up myself. “And I can’t wait … absolutely can’t wait … to see him and my sister and nephew again and to show off Joanna. Thank you for making all this possible.”

  She looked at me without speaking for a moment, then nodded. “No problem,” she said, although I had the feeling she saw Joanna and me as a very big problem indeed.

  24

  August 2001

  For the first and probably last time in my life, I was living in unbelievable luxury. I had no time to relish it, though, since I spent nearly all my waking hours in the tight quarters of Joanna’s cubicle in the CICU, taking my quick meals in the brightly lit hospital cafeteria. There was no place I would rather have been than holding Joanna in my arms. At night, though, back a
t the borrowed condo, I moved one of the comfortable beige and black chairs close to the windowed wall, turned off all the lights, and stared out at the spectacular light show that was New York City.

  I felt like an old pro in the CICU now. I could ask Dr. Nguyen and the pediatrician intelligent questions. I knew what caused each beep and alarm on the monitors. I helped other parents learn the routines and keep their fears in check. It was the fathers that got to me the most. The dads. When I’d see a man holding his baby against his chest, providing kangaroo care for his son or daughter, I had to look away. Oh, Joe, I’d think. You should have had that chance. I’d read that Robert McNamara, the man who’d been secretary of defense during the Vietnam War and who’d pushed us to get more and more involved over there, recently admitted he’d been wrong. The fury I felt reading his statement nearly paralyzed me for a full day. I wanted my husband back. Fifty-eight thousand wives and mothers and children wanted their loved ones back. You bastard, I thought, reading the article. You son of a bitch.

  I was such a fixture in Joanna’s cubicle that Celeste and Deirdre and the other nurses started telling me I should take a day off. “There are no prizes here for the most devoted mom,” Celeste said. “Get out of the hospital. See the city, for heaven’s sake. You can’t go back to North Carolina and tell them you spent months in New York and never saw the Empire State Building. You need a break, Caroline.” But I didn’t want a break. I was right where I wanted to be—holding my baby in my arms.

  A couple of days after I moved into the condominium, the pediatrician in the CICU removed Joanna’s central line. They did it before I arrived that morning. She now had a line taped to her hand, and I had the feeling they’d gotten all that taken care of before my arrival so I didn’t have to witness what must have been torture for my little girl. Her cheeks were still splotchy from crying by the time I arrived. I knew it was a milestone, though. A very good one, and I told Joanna how well she was doing as I held her. The very next day, Joanna’s three-week birthday, they removed the feeding tube. She’d been making little rhythmic sucking motions with her mouth and Celeste said it was time to try nursing her. For the first time, I was able to see my daughter’s face without the tubes and the mask that held all the apparatus in place. Oh my God, she was even more beautiful than I’d thought! Her face was round, filling out in a healthy, pudgy-cheeked sort of way. Her eyes with their pale lashes stared into mine when I held her, and even when she was not in my arms, her gaze followed me. She sought me out. She knew her mama. I thought she smiled at me, but couldn’t have sworn to it. Was she mimicking my expressions, raising her eyebrows when I raised mine? Sticking out her tongue when I stuck out mine? Maybe I was only seeing what I wanted to see.