Coming Back to Me

by Caroline Leavitt

  “My sister-in-law was caring for him that day. She’s not caring for him anymore.”

  Tonette nodded, but she didn’t look less disturbed. “And who is caring for Otis while you’re at work? Who do you leave him with?”

  “Next door. A neighbor. She’s raised a daughter.”

  Tonette seemed to shift gears. “Let’s start in the kitchen,” she said pleasantly. Otis snuffled and cried louder. Tonette opened the refrigerator and peered in.

  “I was just about to go shopping today,” Gary said desperately.

  She checked the sides of every carton of yogurt. “Expiration dates,” she said. She opened the covered bowls and sniffed. She opened cabinets and looked in the dishwasher and held up the cans of formula and then she took out her notebook and wrote something.

  “What did you write?” Gary said, terrified. “Is something wrong?”

  She looked around. Her mouth pursed into a line. “And the child’s bedroom is where?” she said.

  Gary led her into Otis’s room. He couldn’t stand the way she opened Otis’s drawers, making them squeak, the way she lifted up his tiny jerseys and studied them, and he couldn’t figure out why. He hated when she looked into the crib, when she even checked the wastebasket full of dirty diapers Gary hadn’t had time to toss out. “I’m on my own here,” he blurted.

  Tonette kept moving about the room. She looked at the shelf of baby books and CDs, at the toys, and then she looked at Gary. “I’ll take him,” she said, and he tightened his grip. “No,” he said.

  “I just want to take a look at him.”

  “He’ll cry more,” Gary said, desperately, but Tonette came toward him and as soon as she reached for Otis, to Gary’s shock, Otis stopped crying altogether. The baby blinked and stared gravely at Tonette. Otis let her pick him up.

  Tonette lay Otis on the changing table. It bothered Gary the way Tonette didn’t even talk to Otis, the way Otis was so suddenly silent. She unsnapped his duck-printed coverall. She opened his diaper and studied him, for what seemed to Gary to be an eternity.

  “Is that necessary?” Gary asked, pained.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” Tonette studied Otis’s arms and legs. She turned him on his belly and checked his back and then turned him over again.

  “Everything looks fine, right?” said Gary.

  Tonette began dressing Otis up again, putting his diaper back on, snapping up the coverall, and handing the baby back to Gary.

  “Will there be another visit?” Gary asked.

  “I can’t tell you that. And if there is, it’s unannounced. Just as this one was. I can tell you that we leave your file open for three months.”

  My file. Gary couldn’t stand it.

  “My wife is ill in the hospital. I hope you’re not planning on talking to her.”

  “Well, I’ll have to at some point.”

  “Please. She needs to stay calm. She’s just starting to get better—”

  Tonette wrote something on a new piece of paper. “You might want to consider taking a parenting class,” she said. She handed him the paper. “This one is very good.” She put the cap on her pen and tucked it away in her purse.

  Gary was so upset, he could barely speak. A parenting class. Just as if he was the one who had left Otis alone in the car, who had let something bad happen to him. And in a way he had. He had left him with Suzanne.

  Gary showed Tonette to the door. She held out her hand to him. “This has been most informative,” she said. He wanted to kill Tonette. He could have put both his hands about her neck and snapped it in two. Instead, he shook her hand. He opened the door, he let her out, but he couldn’t bring himself to say good-bye, to show the least courtesy to a woman who was barging into his home like this, looking at him as if he had committed murder and she would like to be the one to pull the switch on his electric chair. He double-locked the door.

  Gary took Otis and sat in the chair, away from the window. He was lost. He couldn’t protect his wife. And now he couldn’t protect his son. And he would have to live with both those unlivable things.

  That evening at work, Gary couldn’t concentrate. He sat at the desk and stared at the four walls and if someone had broken in, he would have let them take everything, and welcome to it. He didn’t even bother to turn on the radio.

  Marty came around the corner, leaning on the electric broom, a Danish in one hand. He looked as terrible as Gary did. Unshaven. His hair matted. His face glum.

  “You look like shit,” Gary said matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, well.”

  Marty turned off the broom and sat beside Gary. “I feel like shit.” He waved the Danish in the air. “It came today. My rejection from film school. No explanation, no try again, no we think you’re talented anyway. A fucking form letter.” He sighed. “I’m getting so tired of all this. It’s like you work and work and hope for something. You do everything you can and it all just doesn’t happen. Making films is what I’ve wanted all my life. It is my life. I do everything I can to have it and I can’t figure out why I can’t have it. I can’t figure out what I’m going to do now.”

  Gary looked at Marty. “Sometimes it’s really tough,” Gary said, his voice so swallowed, Marty looked up.

  “What did you say?” Marty asked. He studied Gary. “Hey, what is it? You don’t look so hot yourself.”

  “My wife is in the hospital. My baby was in an accident. A social worker came by today to see if there were grounds to take my baby away from me.”

  Marty leaped up. “Oh, fuck me. Jesus, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? Here I am going on and on like some moron—”

  “I know film’s your life,” Gary said, “My family was my life. Now I can barely get myself up in the morning.”

  Marty blinked and was silent. And then he suddenly held out the Danish to Gary. “It’s cherry. My favorite,” he said. “Go ahead. Take it. Please. I want you to.”

  Gary wasn’t hungry but he took the pastry. “Take a bite,” Marty urged. Gary bit into it. It was sweet and sugary and delicious. He chewed and then Marty awkwardly put one hand on his shoulder.

  “You need anything, you let me know,” Marty said.

  Molly was watching an old movie on the television when Gary came in for his visit the next day. She clicked off the TV, smiling faintly at him, waiting for his kiss.

  “She’s not here today, is she?” Molly asked. She couldn’t bring herself to even say Suzanne’s name.

  “I told her to leave. I tell her that every day.”

  Molly lay still. Suzanne was right outside, staying for hours even when no one would see her or even talk to her.

  Gary took Molly’s hand. “The case worker showed up yesterday. It was awful, Molly.”

  “They came to the house?”

  “She looked at all the rooms. She went through the kitchen. She even looked at expiration dates on the cans. And she looked at Otis.” He swallowed. “She took off his diaper.”

  Molly shut her eyes for a moment. “What did she say?”

  “That’s the whole thing. She said nothing. She might come back or she might not. I couldn’t tell anything. She said she has to talk with you.”

  “I could murder Suzanne,” Molly said.

  “The house was a wreck, Molly. I wasn’t even really dressed. There wasn’t all that much food in the house. I hadn’t time. I wasn’t prepared.” He looked helplessly at her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Molly shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Maybe it won’t be a problem. Maybe this is it.”

  They sat silently for a while. “Is anyone lined up to take care of Otis?” Molly asked.

  “I’m working on it. Emma and Theresa offered. Even Belle, though I don’t know if I trust her.” Gary shrugged. “Maybe I can afford a cheap nurse.”

  Gary stood up. “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be home soon and we won’t have to worry about it at all. Right?”


  Molly tried to smile. He bent and kissed her. “Come on, chin up,” he coaxed.

  “Right,” she said, smiling, struggling to look optimistic.

  As soon as Gary was gone, Molly sank, terrified, into the bed. She looked at the hospital walls, at the brown-and-orange-striped curtain surrounding her bed. It was all sickeningly familiar. Sickeningly safe. Sickeningly known right down to the whole horrible routine. Outside suddenly seemed more dangerous than anything inside. What would she do if they took Otis away? It didn’t seem likely but unlikely things happened all the time. Hadn’t she read about birth mothers who came back to claim their kids from adoptive families four years after the adoption, and they won? Who would ever think that was reasonable? What would she do then? And even if that didn’t happen, there was still another problem: Who would take care of Otis? She couldn’t stand it. She tried to sit up and felt instantly woozy. She lay back on the pillow and her IV machine beeped and then was silent. Even with the neighbor’s help, there were bound to be times when no one was available, when Gary had to work. And even if she ever did get home, she didn’t have a clue how to care for Otis herself. She could barely lift her water pitcher, let alone a baby.

  Molly and Gary and Otis were in the solarium. Mornings almost no one was ever there. Suzanne never came until the afternoon, and they had the whole place to themselves. Molly held Otis gently on her lap. He stared up at her, batting at the tag ends of her hair with his fingers.

  “Look how he can’t take his eyes off you,” Gary said.

  “I think he likes me.”

  “Come on, what are you saying! Of course he does!”

  Molly was tickling Otis’s chin when he suddenly began babbling and kicking his legs. She looked up and there was Suzanne, in an awful red coat and sneakers, standing in the doorway, waiting, like a specter that wouldn’t go away.

  Gary stood up.

  “Please,” Suzanne said. “Just let me see Otis. Just for a minute.”

  “Just go,” Molly said wearily, and then Otis suddenly began babbling. Molly looked down at him. Otis smiled and waved his hands; he kicked out his legs. He was looking right at Suzanne. Molly took a second look, too. She saw Suzanne’s red-rimmed eyes, the circles under them like stains. She saw how Suzanne had even misbuttoned her blouse.

  “Please.” Suzanne started to cry, swiping at her eyes. “I love him.”

  Molly studied her sister’s face. She always knew when Suzanne was lying, which was nine times out of ten, but this time, she wasn’t.

  “I can’t stand not seeing him,” Suzanne wept. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. I’ll apologize five hundred times. If I could take back that day and do it differently, I swear to God, I would. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Otis made a burbling noise. He kept looking at Suzanne, veering his body toward her. “All right,” Molly said finally. “You can see him.”

  Suzanne came into the room. The closer she got to Otis, the more he squealed with delight. She bent and crouched down beside Otis. She tapped Otis’s nose, making him laugh. “How you doing, champ,” she cried. “You okay? I missed you so much.” Otis grabbed for her finger and popped it into his mouth. He sighed and shut his eyes.

  Molly watched her sister and Otis together. Otis didn’t act like that with her. He didn’t strain to reach her; he didn’t light up like that.

  Suzanne bent and showered Otis’s whole face with little nipping kisses. Otis laughed.

  “Well, maybe you can hold him.”

  “Really?” Suzanne carefully picked up Otis. She cuddled him and rocked him and kissed his hands and face.

  “Give him back now,” Molly said, and Suzanne settled Otis into Molly’s lap.

  “Thank you,” Suzanne whispered. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Molly tickled Otis’s stomach.

  “I’m staying. I got an apartment.”

  “For how long?” Molly finally said.

  “I want to be near you and Otis. Like family.”

  Molly was silent for a minute, considering. She suddenly felt more tired than she ever had before. She could barely move her mouth to say anything, even if she knew what to say. She couldn’t think anymore , what was the right thing and what wasn’t.

  “You look exhausted,” Gary said to Molly. “Let’s get you back to bed.” He looked around. “I’ll get a nurse.”

  Molly shook her head. She looked at Suzanne again, standing there, waiting. “Suzanne can take me. I need to talk to her, anyway.”

  Gary gently lifted up Otis. He kissed Molly. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said.

  Molly tried to get comfortable in bed and then gave up. She bunched a pillow by her back. She kicked at the sheets. Suzanne pulled a chair close and sat down.

  “You’ve been coming every day,” Molly said.

  Suzanne nodded.

  “Ivan really left?”

  Suzanne made a zipping sound. “Gone. I threw him out this time.” She leaned closer to Molly. “Molly, I know I fucked up.”

  “Otis was in your care. Not Ivan’s.”

  “I know. Don’t you think I think about that all the time? You can’t say anything to me that I don’t say to myself. But, Molly, I love you. I love Otis. And I’m not running away.”

  “You hate New Jersey.”

  “I hated it when I was unhappy. When I felt like I had nothing here.”

  Molly was silent for a moment. Suzanne picked up the ends of Molly’s hair and started smoothing them with her fingers. Molly recoiled.

  “Oh, don’t—” Molly said, trying to move away. Threads of hair drifted onto Suzanne’s hands. Suzanne stared down at them and then looked back quizzically at Molly.

  “My hair is falling out!” Molly cried. “It’s all the drugs. I just touch it and handfuls come out.” She rubbed at her eyes.

  “I can fix it, Molly. I can cut it a little, make it look fuller.”

  “You can?”

  “Sure I can. That’s what I do for a living. You sleep and when you wake up, we’ll make you gorgeous. They must have a scissors in this joint.”

  Molly slid down in the bed. “These beds. I think their motto is if we’re comfortable they must be doing something wrong.” Her eyes dropped shut, she yawned. Through half-closed lids, she saw Suzanne starting to stand, to gather her things.

  “Don’t go, Suzanne.”

  Suzanne sat back down. She leaned in toward Molly. Molly touched Suzanne’s hair. She began combing it out with her fingers, the way she used to when she was a little girl, when she had to stand on a kitchen stool just to reach.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Suzanne said.

  Suzanne, in overalls and T-shirt, her hair in a scarf, was perched on a ladder, roller in hand, finishing painting the walls of her apartment. Pale, creamy peach. Soft and refreshing. She had paint all over her overalls and all over the newspaper she had spread on the floor. Peach color speckled on her hands like freckles. Next door, the man with allergies was sneezing, but she didn’t really mind. There was almost something companionable about it.

  She surveyed the studio. There was still lots she wanted to do. She wanted to sand down the floor, give it a sheen. Those ugly brown cabinets in the kitchen would have to go. Maybe she could paint them. Or strip them down, give them some kind of finish. And photos. She wanted to hang photos. Sort of like Molly’s photo gallery, but her own. A big picture of Otis would look great right over there by the window.

  She ran the roller up the wall again. She felt content and happy, and she started to sing. “You Shoot Me Down,” she sang, and then she realized, with a start, it was Ivan’s song. The first song he had ever sung for her, a song he said he had made up for her. Well. So what? It was pretty. It was just a song now. It didn’t have to mean a damn thing. She could put her own meaning into it. She eased the roller over the last bare spot on the south wall when the doorbell rang.

  Suzanne hopped off the ladder. She hoped it was the super come to fix her leaky
toilet. She wiped her hands on her jeans and there was Bob Tillman, a potted green plant in his hand, smiling at her. “Heard you had moved. Brought you a homecoming gift.”

  She took the plant, pleased.

  Bob Tillman cleared his throat. She noticed suddenly he had on a shirt instead of his usual T-shirt, that even his jeans looked pressed. “Come in.” She swept her hand. “So, what do you think?”

  “The peach is peachy.”

  She laughed.

  Bob smiled at her. “You need any shelving, or a table. You come see me. I’ll give you a nice discount.” He waited and then put his hands awkwardly in his pockets. “Can I take you to dinner?” he said abruptly. The way he was looking at her made her suddenly selfconscious. Her mind hadn’t been on anything but getting her apartment in shape.

  “I guess that’s a no—” Bob Tillman shrugged matter-of-factly.

  “No—no—” Suzanne lifted up her hands. “It’s just—it’s just that I haven’t been thinking about that.” She looked around the apartment. “This is the first time in my life I’ve ever lived alone and wanted to. I kind of want to see what that’s like.” She hesitated. “You’re a nice man.”

  Bob Tillman winced. “The kiss of death! Nice!”

  “Well, you are.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t say no. At least it sounds like maybe there’s hope.”

  Suzanne smiled at him.

  “So can we go out to dinner once in a while? See a movie?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe as friends, we can.”

  “As friends.”

  “Call me and we’ll see.”

  He stood up. “I like the way you look now.”

  She looked down at herself, surprised. “Like this? I have paint on my clothes, I haven’t washed my hair, and I don’t have makeup on.”

  “I like it.”

  Suzanne showed Bob to the door. “So, I’ll see you,” he said cheerfully. “Friend.”

  She shut the door and turned back to look at the paint job. There, over on the far wall, was a tiny spot she had missed. Humming, she got back on the ladders and carefully filled it in.