Desperate

by Daniel Palmer

  After the letter, we completed the profile information. We listed our education (BA for me, MS for Anna), occupations (Director of Quality Assurance at Lithio Systems for me, self-employed management consultant for Anna), ethnicity (Caucasian for us both), religion (Unitarian for me, Presbyterian for Anna), smoking (no for both), years married (one), preference for a child (baby), and special considerations. Were we willing to consider an adoption with an open grandparenting arrangement? I said sure, but Anna said not so sure, so we decided not to list any special considerations.

  The process of creating our profile offered us both the opportunity for some serious self-reflection, something neither of us did much of since we stopped attending grief group. For Anna, it rekindled a desire to start painting again. Prior to Kevin’s death, Anna would paint murals in the hospital rooms of extremely sick children near her former home in Los Angeles. Soon after we started dating, she showed me samples of her work—pictures the parents of the children had posted on social media—and it was truly breathtaking. She could paint a jungle, a moonscape, or an underwater scene with such vivid detail, it was like being transported there.

  Her passion to paint, inspired by her mother’s artistic streak, was partially responsible for her becoming a business consultant to top retail clothing brands. Anna had graduated with honors from San Diego State University, carrying a dual major in art history and business. After graduation, she moved to LA on a whim and got involved in the world of high fashion as a PR flack and quickly climbed the ranks. From there, the jump into running a successful retail consulting business was ten years and various jobs away. Uniquely skilled for her line of work, Anna could critique a balance sheet as cleverly as she could a window display.

  It took nearly a week of steady effort to complete our profile. We identified our favorite things from a preset list of categories. Mine included sweet tea, Twix, Rock’Em Sock’Em Robots. Some of the items Anna had selected were Dr Pepper, Skittles (never liked them myself), and her Strawberry Shortcake doll.

  Pictures for the photo album section of the profile presented us both with a bit of a conundrum. Prospective birth mothers would want to know what we looked like. Anna and I had a few photographs of the two of us together to share, but most of my pictures included Max or Karen. Most of Anna’s pictures, what she had on her smartphone, included both Kevin and her ex-husband, Edward. Soon after we started dating, I’d given Anna a surprise gift. I’d used Photoshop to take Edward out of one of the pictures with Kevin and had the doctored image framed so Anna could hang it up in her office. I was more than happy to delete her ex from the photograph, but I’d rather have him deleted from the planet.

  Edward was good-looking in a California businessman kind of way; I had no trouble seeing Anna’s attraction to him. Perpetually tan skin, dark hair, strong jaw line and teeth whiter than the whitecaps off the coast of Santa Monica where they used to live. He didn’t look like a rapist, but that was what he was. Six months after Kevin’s death, Edward forced himself on Anna because she was too depressed to have sex with him. The bastard raped his own grieving wife.

  Anna never reported the crime. She was mourning the loss of her only child to a rare blood disease and couldn’t endure more pain and emotional turmoil. Instead of charging Edward with rape, Anna left him in the dead of night—along with the home computer containing all of their family photographs. She hadn’t been in touch with Edward since and, despite my urging to at least get more pictures of Kevin, showed no desire to revisit that part of her past.

  So we made our profile with the photos we had, and Anna kept an online journal to show we were active on the site. When we met the crying woman, the profile had been a part of our lives for two months, our version of Geppetto’s wooden puppet before it turned into a real little boy. Anna had a few contacts via the site, e-mail exchanges with prospective birth mothers, but nothing that led to a face-to-face meeting.

  This was our life, playing the waiting game. I went to work at Lithio Systems, a manufacturer of lithium ion batteries located in Waltham. Anna went to work in her home office, or she’d travel on client business. She was working hard to reestablish client relationships neglected in the aftermath of all she had endured. Each morning brought renewed hope that we’d find a willing birth mother, and each night we went to bed with a hole in our hearts that could be filled only by the presence of a child. And so we waited and wondered when he or she was going to come home. Meanwhile, we did that thing living people were obliged to do. We lived.

  On the day everything changed, the Red Sox were playing a day game at Fenway, but I was watching a rerun of Pawn Stars. I can’t watch the Sox anymore. Can’t read the sports section, either. Our air conditioner was doing what it could to keep the apartment cool. My beer was doing what it could to numb my thoughts. It had been a long week at work. Too many meetings collided with too little time. The doorbell rang.

  Anna called from her office, “Babe, can you answer that?”

  “Who is it?” I called back to her.

  “If I knew without opening the door, I would have a superpower, love. I’m busy in here. Can you please get the door?”

  The doorbell rang again.

  I groaned as I got up from my beloved green armchair. I was too young to be groaning when I stood up. We lived in Arlington, on a street with lots of two-family houses and nice landscaping and not a lot of crime. It didn’t occur to me to check outside before I opened the door. But when I saw that woman standing there, my jaw came unhinged.

  “Hi,” the woman said. “My name is Lily. I hope you remember me.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Lily,” I said. Some quick mental math: it had been two weeks since we’d seen her crying on the curb. “What can I do for you?” She was wearing an aqua green jersey tank top sporting a peace sign shaped into a heart. Her light denim jeans, again ripped at the knees, partially concealed a pair of scuffed black lace boots. A waiflike nymph dressed in hipster clothing, Lily tilted at the waist, attempting to look past me and into the apartment.

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you and your wife for a moment,” Lily said.

  I stepped aside, motioning her in.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Please, come on in. Anna, honey,” I called. “It’s Lily, the girl from the bus stop. She wants to talk to us.”

  I tried to quiet the shake in my voice, but I’m pretty sure Lily picked up on it. I heard commotion from the back room, Anna shuffling her papers, then the sound of footsteps rushing. I loved seeing my wife in her Saturday garb, hair askew and in a loose ponytail, gray baggy sweatpants, purple tank top, and bunny slippers still on her feet in the afternoon. She looked every bit the frantic mom, with one notable exception. Anna tightened her ponytail and smoothed her hands nervously down the front of her sweatpants.

  “Lily,” Anna said. “What a nice surprise. Please, come in, sit down. Can I get you something? Something to drink?”

  I picked up the anxiety in Anna’s voice and, if I’d tuned my ears right, could have heard her heartbeat tick up a few notches, too. What was Lily doing here? What did she want from us? Was this related to her pregnancy?

  Lily took a few tentative steps inside and made a quick inspection of our home. “No, I’m fine. Nice place you have,” Lily said, following Anna into our living room.

  We lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment. The baby’s room, or what would be the baby’s room, was Anna’s office. The living room was small but nicely decorated. Anna and I bought all new furniture after we got married. We had black bookcases from Boston Interior, a nice oriental rug covering part of our hardwood floor, a plush new couch, lots of houseplants, and some artwork—oils and watercolor landscapes that Karen had collected. Anna could have painted something as good, if not better, but she was not emotionally ready to break out the brushes and paints just yet. I had kept the paintings Karen had bought in the attic of our upstairs rental unit, but Anna insisted we hang them on the walls.

  “Sh
e was your wife, Gage,” Anna had said. “She’ll always be a part of our lives. I think it’s unhealthy if you try to hide the past. We need to celebrate her.”

  This was Anna. She wasn’t threatened by my past. She embraced it. That was why she never asked me to remove the silver chain with a heart-shaped locket that hung on a corner of the wall-mounted medicine cabinet in our bathroom. I had bought the piece of jewelry for Karen’s birthday. Inside the locket, I had placed a picture of Karen, Max, and me, small as can be, but somehow we all fit. Every morning Anna sees that locket while she’s getting ready for the day. Brushing her teeth. Combing her hair. Putting on her makeup. She’s never asked me to move it, because she knows I need them there while I’m getting ready for my day. It comforts me. Anna understands that it doesn’t take away from the life we’re building together. The chain has been in the same spot day after day.

  Lily peered into the dining room, which was connected to the living room by a wall-length pass-through. She paused to study the mess on the dining room table: cardboard tubes of various sizes, smaller cylinders that functioned as engines, launchpads, glue, tape, and a small toolbox.

  “What’s all that?” she asked.

  “Oh, Gage builds model rockets for the kids at St Luke’s Hospital,” Anna said. “There’s a field out back, so if children are too sick to come outside to see the launch, they can watch it from a window.”

  Lily’s face brightened. “Oh, that’s so sweet. What made you decide to do that?”

  Like a fog drifting in, a weighty and uncomfortable silence filled the room. “Gage and his son, Max, used to build model rockets,” Anna said, her voice lowering. “He wanted to do something that would honor Max’s memory and help other children as well.”

  That Anna and I both did work with sick children—her painted murals and my model rockets—was one reason our bond had developed so quickly. Lily broke eye contact, and I got a sense she was familiar with our background. Based on her reaction, I knew better than to show her the rocket in a box I kept under my bed, the one I couldn’t bring myself to launch. It was an Estes Cosmic Explorer Flying Model Rocket with laser-cut fins and waterslide decals. The oversized body tube made for precision fin alignment, and the E engine could propel the rocket some 900 feet in the air. It had one of the biggest blow-molded nose cones of any flying model rocket. It was the rocket Max and I were building before he died.

  Lily and Anna each took a seat on the couch, while I shut off Pawn Stars and returned to my perch on the green armchair.

  “So,” Anna said, flashing me a nervous look. “What can we do for you?”

  Lily was still looking around, as if she’d never seen how two adults lived.

  “I can’t get over this place,” Lily said. “It feels so . . . homey.”

  “Gage and I are very happy here,” Anna said. “Lily, do you need something?”

  Again Lily looked around—stalling, or at least that was my interpretation. She kept massaging her interlocked hands. I noticed that she hadn’t repaired her chipped manicure since our last meeting. Lily’s mannerisms were that of a forest creature, eyes darting about, legs bouncing, a bundle of nervous energy.

  “I need some help,” Lily began.

  “Help,” Anna said.

  “I decided I don’t want to get an abortion,” Lily said. She dropped that piece of news as if we had been a part of her decision making from the very start. “I mean, I could. I could afford it, that’s what I’m saying. But I don’t want to. I want to give my baby up for adoption.”

  Anna and I looked to each other and then back to Lily.

  If Lily picked up on our shocked expressions, it didn’t register in her eyes. “I didn’t know what to do,” she continued. “I went to the library and did a Google search thing for adoptive parents. Anyway, it took me to this website with a bunch of people looking for birth mothers. I did search by state because I thought maybe I could still see my baby, you know. Not take care of it, but see it.” Lily laughed, uncomfortably. “I mean, him or her. I don’t know the baby’s sex yet. But anyway, I thought if the parents were at least in Massachusetts I’d be able to see my baby—well, not my baby, but the baby. You know what I mean. I’m sorry. I’m really nervous, and I don’t know how all this works.”

  “Go on,” Anna said, reassuringly.

  “Anyway, I started clicking through all these profiles and seeing all these different families looking to adopt, and it really made me happy. I mean, I could actually help complete somebody’s family. Really, it was amazing for me to think that I could do this. I haven’t done much good for anybody, but here I am in a position to do something really great for somebody. And then I saw your profile on the site. I remembered you right away. You guys were so nice to me.”

  Anna was nice, I thought. I didn’t do or say much of anything.

  “Lily,” Anna said. “Are you asking if we would be willing to adopt your baby? Is that what you came here to find out?” Anna’s voice lifted. Her eyes welled.

  Lily nodded as she bit at her lower lip—revealing, at least to my eyes, the girl within a woman’s body. Scared, confused, but also hopeful and excited.

  Anna was elated, her eyes beaming. But there was another side to her as well. She was already guarded, fearful of getting her hopes up. Is this really happening? she seemed to be asking herself.

  “You want us to adopt your baby?” Anna asked again. She needed Lily to say the words.

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Lily answered, still massaging her hands. “I want to pick you guys, but I don’t really know how.”

  Anna did a laugh/cry thing, inhaling a breath while swallowing a sob. I got up from my chair, went over to Anna, and sat myself down on the arm of the couch. I put an arm around her shoulder.

  “Lily, this is a huge decision,” I said. “We’re incredibly grateful, but are you sure this is what you want?”

  Lily looked around the apartment, as though searching for anything that might change her mind.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said. “I mean, I read your story on the website, so I know that you both . . . you both . . . you know.”

  “We both lost a child,” I said. “It’s okay, Lily. We can talk about it.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Lily said. “I hope this helps, you know, with . . . stuff.”

  With stuff.

  Goodness, Lily was a child herself, I thought, completely inexperienced.

  Anna leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Lily’s neck, her hug it seemed matching the force of a python’s embrace.

  “There’s so many details to work out,” Anna said as she let go, excited, which meant she was using her hands. “We’ll need to get the home study done right away, and of course I’ll have to find a new place for my office, then there’s the matter of a lawyer. I’ve got one, but we need to call her ASAP. What about medical? Are you okay with the medical care?”

  Lily made several nervous glances, first to me and then back to Anna. Lily had a look about her that I couldn’t quite fathom. Panic, perhaps? Anna’s own eyes were widening with panic. Was it the word “medical”? Could something be wrong with the baby? In the span of a few short minutes, Anna had begun bonding with Lily’s unborn child and brooding over an uncertain future. I found myself worrying as well.

  Lily clarified her predicament. “I don’t have any medical insurance,” she said. “I know I’m supposed to have it, but whatever. I work as a cocktail waitress at Jillian’s Pool Hall. They don’t have great benefits, but hey, at least I make good tips. So I haven’t really been to a doctor, but I can tell you that I’m probably close to three months along.” Lily looked down at her stomach. “I know I’m not showing much, but my clothes are definitely tighter. I Googled it just to make sure everything was okay, at the library when I found you guys, and a lot of people don’t show until like four months or something.”

  “So what’s wrong?” Anna asked, her voice steeped with concern.

  “Nothing,” Lil
y said. “Look, I’d love to get a checkup. You know, one of those picture things.”

  “Sonogram,” I said. “An ultrasound is the procedure, a sonogram is the picture.”

  Anna’s look wondered how I knew the distinction. My look said I remembered it from when Karen got her sonogram of Max.

  “Yeah. One of those,” Lily replied.

  “We can help with that,” Anna said. “We’ll get the lawyer to include your medical costs in the agreement. That’s not so unusual in these situations.” Anna was talking in her management consulting voice, direct and authoritative.

  “Yeah, that’s great,” Lily said, evidently still unsettled about something. “While you’re at it, can your lawyer work up a place for me to live?”

  Anna and I exchanged worried looks.

  “What’s going on?” Anna asked.

  “Remember my asshole boyfriend?” Lily said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, he’s changed the locks on the apartment. Says he doesn’t want to see me no more.”

  “Did he threaten you?” I asked. “Did he try to hurt you?”

  At this point in the conversation, somebody else, somebody other than Anna or me, might have stopped these proceedings. Despite my personal tragedy, I was pretty much leading a normal life. I went to work at Lithio Systems each and every weekday. I was married to a woman I loved. I liked watching shows on Nat Geo, the Discovery and History channels, and fixing stuff around the house. I built model rockets for sick kids. I grew up in Rhode Island, the only child of two loving parents, and I’ve never been much except for a good husband, good father, and a good employee. I’ve always done my best to do the right thing. This was my existence. It wasn’t about pool halls, medical insurance issues, homelessness, financial troubles, and angry ex-boyfriends with potentially violent tempers. I had been, to that point, on a steady course, my true north.