by Wade, Becky
KATHLEEN: The starting pay is just okay but the job comes with healthcare and dental care.
ROSE: Is Bradford Shipping a strong company?
KATHLEEN: They’re the largest Pacific shipping company in America. Their history dates back to the 1800s.
ROSE: Then I say go for it. A starter job is better than no job. You’ll climb the ranks at Bradford Shipping in no time.
KATHLEEN: Saying yes feels like settling.
ROSE: It’s not settling. You have to begin somewhere. Is your business wardrobe ready to go? I think you should buy a lot of white and pale blue tops to wear under your suit jackets.
KATHLEEN: Really?
ROSE: I love white and pale blue with your strawberry blond hair. And you’re keeping your hair long, right?
KATHLEEN: Right. Do you think my freckles are getting darker? I’m worried they’re getting darker.
ROSE: It’s not like your freckles are orange against milky white skin. Your skin is more of a golden tone and your freckles are only one shade darker. They’re subtle and pretty. They give you a beachy, tanned look.
KATHLEEN: I’d rather have your brown hair and non-freckly skin.
ROSE: Chin up. Take your freckles and your business suits to Bradford Shipping and impress the socks off the people in the Customer Service Department.
Phone Message from Margaret to Her Daughter, Kathleen
I just listened to your message saying that you’ve decided to accept a job with Bradford Shipping. Really, Kathleen. Your Grandfather Burke has assured me that he’s eager to give you a good position at Atlas Aeronautics. Your brother has been very successful there. If you went to work at Atlas, Shane could help you and look after you. Plus, you could live rent-free in your old room.
That seems like the most sensible choice, doesn’t it?
Call me back, please.
Phone Message from Kathleen to Her Mother, Margaret
Mom, I don’t want to rely on Grandpa’s charity. I need to make it on my own. I want to work with people who know me for me, not as Shane’s younger sister. I’ve already taken the job at Bradford Shipping and I think it’s going to be awesome.
I’ll see you and Shane at the country club for brunch on Saturday.
Phone Message from Kathleen to Her Mother, Margaret
At brunch, you mentioned hiring movers for me. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll just rent a U-Haul truck. I don’t have that much stuff. A lot of my friends are here attending summer school. They’ll help me pack the truck, and then Rose and Henry said they’d meet me at my new apartment in Shelton to help me unload.
Letter from Margaret to Her Daughter, Kathleen
Kathleen,
I’m sending this a few days in advance of your move to Shelton so that you’ll have a letter waiting for you in the mailbox at your new apartment. I didn’t want you to feel desperately lonely when you arrived.
I saw Dorothy yesterday morning at Bible study, and she told me that Bradford Shipping is privately owned by the wealthy Bradford family. Dominic Bradford is the CEO. He married a socialite from Seattle named Elizabeth and they live together in a historic brick mansion on the outskirts of Merryweather. The house is so historic that it has its own name, Bradfordwood. It sits on two hundred acres and was built by Dominic’s ancestor, Frederick Bradford. Apparently Frederick was a railroad titan. He’s the one who founded Bradford Shipping.
Dominic and Elizabeth have two children. Garner, who works for Bradford Shipping. And Glenna. They’re both around your age.
We spoke with the Bradfords a few years ago, at that gala fundraiser for leukemia we attended in Issaquah. Garner has dark brown hair and pale green eyes. Do you remember him? Glenna has brown hair, too, but she wasn’t lucky enough to receive those remarkable eyes.
Now that I think about it, I may have been the only one who spoke with them at the gala.
According to Dorothy, Bradford Shipping once controlled an extremely powerful empire of railroads and then, in more recent years, ships. However, in the last few decades, their fortunes have changed. Dominic has squandered or sold off many of the company’s resources and Bradford Shipping is a shadow of what it once was.
I was saddened to hear that Garner had a baby out of wedlock with a French woman not long ago. The French woman subsequently left him with the child.
Ephesians 5:3 reads, “. . . among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people.”
It’s upsetting to think that a young man from an upstanding family could be so easily led astray by sexual immorality. It weighs on me, how much the character of your generation has deteriorated. Your father and I were raised to value purity, modesty, and fidelity.
I think it best that you have nothing to do with Garner Bradford, should your paths cross in the workplace.
I spoke with your Grandfather Burke just now and he told me to tell you that he’ll gladly welcome you to Atlas Aeronautics.
Love to you and all my very best wishes with your new job,
Mother
Phone Conversation between Kathleen and Her Friend Rose
KATHLEEN: I just received a letter from my mom. I’m calling so you can talk me down.
ROSE: Would you like me to serve up the usual?
KATHLEEN: Yes, please. The usual.
ROSE: Your mom’s been a single mom to you and Shane since you were kids, and being a single mom is pretty much the hardest job there is.
KATHLEEN: Preach on.
ROSE: After that nightmare with your dad, your mom may have become just a wee bit overprotective of you and your brother.
KATHLEEN: Just a wee bit?
ROSE: We give her grace.
KATHLEEN: We do?
ROSE: Shane’s done every single thing your mom’s ever asked of him with a smile on his face, but you, Kathleen, may be just a wee bit headstrong and independent.
KATHLEEN: Just a wee bit?
ROSE: When I met you in the seventh grade, your mom was always trying to redo your barrette. No matter how much she tried to finger comb your hair and refasten your barrette, your hair never would cooperate. And that right there pretty much sums up your difficulties with your mother.
KATHLEEN: Preach on.
ROSE: Underneath your mom’s desire to control and her sharp opinions, is a woman who loves you. Also, she’s the only mother you have.
KATHLEEN: Thank you.
ROSE: How’s that? Better?
KATHLEEN: Much better. I can literally feel my blood pressure lowering.
Phone Message from Kathleen to Her Friend Rose
I just got home from my first day at Bradford Shipping and guess what? My duties include sitting in a cubicle wearing a headset, taking calls from complaining people.
Estée Lauder, take me away!
CHAPTER
Three
Garner’s Journal Entry
Two weeks have passed since Sylvie left. I’ve never been this tired in my life. My head feels like it’s full of cotton. My body’s shaky. I want to punch something most of the time.
When Willow wakes up in the middle of the night, I feed her and change her. Then I wrap her in her baby blanket, even though I still don’t think I’m wrapping her up the right way. Sometimes it feels like hours pass before I can get her back to sleep. Before I know it, she’s crying again and we do the whole thing over.
Up until Sylvie left, I thought I was doing my share with Willow. I didn’t realize then that I was using a piece of tape to fill a hole in a dam. What I was doing for Willow was much, much too little.
No wonder Sylvie ran.
I wish I could run.
It’s four in the morning. I finally got Willow settled a little while ago and collapsed into my own bed. I begged sleep to come, but it wouldn’t. When anxiety started to claw me, I got up. Now I’m here, at the kitchen table, hunched over this journal.
People keep telling me to sleep when
the baby sleeps. But often, when I finally have an opportunity to sleep, I can’t.
The responsibility of keeping a newborn baby alive is heavy. You see mothers in pictures and movies rocking their baby and looking joyful and peaceful. I haven’t experienced joy or peace once since I became Willow’s only parent.
Stressed? Overwhelmed? Anxious? Yes. Those I feel. All the time.
My mom and Glenna have been coming by when they can, but they have lives of their own. If one of them babysits for two hours, then I still have to cover the other twenty-two hours in every twenty-four-hour day.
Willow is my child. She lives because of my actions, and I’m the one who has to take care of her. I’ve been trying to educate myself on feedings and diapers and washing bottles and giving baths and pediatricians. It doesn’t seem to be helping. I’m totally inadequate for this job.
I keep searching Willow’s face for features that look like Sylvie’s or mine. I can’t find any. Her eyes are gray-blue. She’s bald. She looks like every other newborn—awkward and frail.
I’m supposed to love her. However, since the day Willow was born, there’s been a valley between what I’m supposed to feel and what I actually feel for her, which fills me with guilt. My primary emotions toward Willow are pity and frustration and worry.
It doesn’t help that I miss Sylvie every minute. When I wake up to Willow’s cries, the first thing that enters my head is the realization that Sylvie’s gone.
Sylvie hasn’t called.
Not even once.
Garner’s Journal Entry
I’ve finally found someone to take care of Willow during the day so that I can go back to work. It wasn’t easy. Mom and I have been looking for someone since Sylvie left three weeks ago, but Merryweather only has a population of six thousand. There aren’t a lot of unemployed nannies to choose from.
I considered looking at day cares in Shelton, where Bradford Shipping is located. But Shelton’s twelve miles away. Merryweather is where I grew up. It’s small and safe here. This is where I want Willow to spend her days.
In the end, I interviewed three nannies. One’s references didn’t check out. One I didn’t like. One speaks nothing but Russian.
The Russian’s name is Valentina Fedorov. She’s in her early twenties and newly married. Her husband’s job recently brought them to America. That’s all I know about Valentina, and I only know that much because the lady who recommended her to my mom told my mom those details.
Every time I asked Valentina a question during the interview, she answered by nodding and gesturing with her hands and speaking Russian. I was about to tell Valentina thanks but no thanks when Willow woke up from her nap. Valentina swept Willow from her bassinet, changed her diaper, and started fixing a bottle. She handled Willow confidently, as if taking care of a baby is the easiest and most natural thing in the world.
What got me, though, was the way she looked at Willow. Valentina beamed at her. Her eyes were gentle. Her smile was soft. Valentina adores Willow the way that I’m supposed to.
I sat on the couch, watching them together, and was so thankful to Valentina for her help that a lump of emotion burned in my throat. Willow deserves to have someone in her life, taking care of her for hours every day, who adores her.
I hired Valentina, then I ordered a Russian/English translation book. I’m too worn out to care about the language barrier between me and Valentina or how much money Valentina is going to cost me.
I’m not rich. None of the Bradford men have believed in trust funds, my father least of all. I get paid exactly what the other entry-level employees in the financial wing of Bradford Shipping get paid. Valentina’s going to cost me more than a third of my income.
Like I said, I’m too worn out to care.
Garner’s Journal Entry
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that Valentina has saved my life. And maybe Willow’s.
For the past two weeks, I’ve left for work each weekday filled with relief. I know I can trust Valentina. I know she’ll take better care of Willow than I can. I know that, until the end of the workday, I’m off baby duty.
It’s not as if work’s enjoyable right now. It’s not. Earnings are down and the atmosphere is tense.
My father is the most determined and driven man I’ve ever met. Control of the family company would have gone to one of his two older brothers if Dad hadn’t fought and scratched his way past them, burning bridges as he went. He ended up with the reins of the business and the deed to Bradfordwood. Despite all his ambition, he’s not a good leader. He’s unable to trust the people he’s hired. He insists on getting his way in everything. He refuses to change with the times.
Our ships are old and inefficient. We need a new fleet, the latest machinery, newer technology, and modern workflow systems in order to compete with West Coast Transporters. However, my father refuses to invest the kind of capital those upgrades would require. So West Coast Transporters has eaten into our market share more and more over the past ten years. Our contracts are down.
I don’t like the pressure we’re all under or the desperate way everyone’s treading water. But these days, when I look at my co-workers, all I can think is that at least there’s not a crying baby or a hungry baby or a baby with a fever at the office.
Work is hard. But I have a new perspective on it because I know for certain that taking care of a newborn is harder.
Garner’s Journal Entry
Every night, I sit in the rocking chair in the nursery when I give Willow her bedtime bottle. Tonight, I burped her halfway through her feeding like always. Then I sat her on my knees facing me and made funny faces.
She looked right into my eyes. And she smiled.
She’s ten weeks old and she just gave me her very first smile. I wish I’d taken a picture. I’m probably supposed to be documenting everything better for her baby book or whatever. She’s going to have a terrible baby book.
But at least she’ll have a father who loves her. Because when she smiled at me tonight, I finally felt it. Love. A rush of love.
I was so blown away by it I laughed, which made her smile at me even more. Then I hugged her small body and breathed in the smell of her Johnson’s baby shampoo. I could feel her heartbeat.
Up until tonight, I was pretty sure Willow didn’t like me, and I understood why she didn’t. I didn’t blame her for resenting the idiot, bumbling guy who started doing for her all the things her gorgeous, familiar mother had done before.
But tonight . . . tonight my little girl smiled at me. She gave her very first smile to me because I’m her person now.
I’m her daddy and, in her way, I think she might love me, too.
When I laid her against the inside of my elbow to feed her the rest of her bottle, her hand made a fist in the fabric of my shirt. She watched me as she drank down her formula.
I’m tired and lonely. Parenting is far more difficult than I understood when I was a son and not yet a father. I miss my freedom and my friends and the life I had before Sylvie told me she was pregnant. I miss who I used to be.
But tonight my daughter, a tiny girl in pink pajamas, smiled at me. Because I’m her person.
Letter from Sylvie to Garner
Greetings from Canada. I’ve been staying in an artists’ colony for the past two months. It’s beautiful here! So peaceful. I’ve been hiking, canoeing, learning, and creating every day. I am myself again.
I hope all is well with you and that you’re not too angry with me. You would never have been happy with me for very long. You’re a traditional man and I’m the opposite of that. Be happy, Garner.
Give my love to our petite cherie! I hope she enjoys her new dress from her maman.
Sylvie
Garner’s Journal Entry
I finally received communication from Sylvie. I stood by the apartment complex’s wall of mailboxes after work this evening, reading her letter. Anyone who saw me would have seen nothing but stillness. Inside me, though, a b
onfire of anger and bitterness and love and need was burning.
The dress Sylvie sent Willow is too small. Sylvie was here for the first month of Willow’s life, but she’s been gone for two months now. She’s missed two-thirds of Willow’s life and already she has no idea what size Willow wears.
I want to kill Sylvie and at the same time I desperately want her to come back and love me.
Letter from Garner to Sylvie
Sylvie,
After taking care of Willow myself, I completely understand why you would’ve needed a break. I’m glad you feel like yourself again.
Please call me as soon as you have a chance. It’s extremely important that we communicate with one another and work out a custody agreement that suits us both.
Garner
Note on the Back of the Above Letter, Which Was Returned to Sender Unopened
Sorry, but you missed Sylvie. She left the artists’ colony four days ago without leaving a forwarding address.
Garner’s Journal Entry
I need to accept the fact that Sylvie’s never coming back. I know I need to. I can’t, though. Maybe I can’t because a part of me continues to believe that the Sylvie I loved wouldn’t abandon me and Willow like this. Maybe I can’t because I’m too selfish to deal with what Sylvie’s abandonment means for my life.
A single father . . . without any end in sight? For the next eighteen years until Willow goes away to college?
Dread washes over me whenever I think about it. So I try not to think about it.
I’m still hoping that Sylvie’s love for Willow will pull Sylvie back to Washington like a kite on a string that’s being wound in and in and in.