by Theresa Shea
The sun hid behind a cloud and cast the bench in shadow.
“I’m adopted?”
Her mother nodded. “I never meant to keep it from you,” she rushed on, placing her hand on Elizabeth’s knee. “It just never seemed like the right time. We wanted you so much, and you’ve brought so much love into our lives.” She stopped and peered closely at her daughter.“Lizzie?”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, looking up at her mother.
A silence fell between them. A little sparrow landed on a stone at the edge of the pond and quickly scanned the surroundings before hopping into the shallow water and plunging its breast beneath the surface.
“I know you’ll have questions once the surprise wears off,” her mother said gently, “and your father and I will be happy to answer them for you.”
Adopted? That explained some things, like how no one ever said she looked like either one of her parents. She glanced up at the woman seated beside her who had a long, straight nose while Elizabeth’s was short and tended toward the pug side. The woman beside her, whose skin was liberally sprinkled with freckles while Elizabeth’s was a blank canvas. Then she thought of her father, tall and lean, who joked that he spent a good portion of his time in the Victorian Age while maintaining a life in the present. Not her real father?
The news settled into her bones. Her mother loved her; she knew that. Did it matter if she wasn’t actually her real flesh and blood?
“Did you name me?” she asked.
Her mother smiled, surprised by the question. “Yes. We did.”
“But what was I called for the first six months?”
“You weren’t given a name. The agency knew the adoptive family would want to name you.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, trying to track the questions racing in her mind. Nameless for six months. Why had it taken so long for someone to adopt her?
“My grandmother’s name was Elizabeth and I’d always wanted to name my daughter that. And Rose, well . . .” she paused. “One of the few things I learned about your birth mother was that she loved roses.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded slowly. “That feels kind of special.” She sat with that for a moment. “What else do you know?”
“Very little, except she was very young when she had you, just sixteen, and she wasn’t able to care for you. That’s why we’ve been seeing Dr. Maclean all this time. He was one of the attending physicians at your birth.”
“Do you know what she looked like?” What colour was her hair? Her eyes?
“No, I never saw her.”
Elizabeth stared at the pond. “Why did it take so long for someone to adopt me?”
Her mother shook her head. “I don’t know all the answers myself,” she admitted. “But what I know is that we wanted you from the second we saw you. Your dad and I have never agreed on something so fully in our lives.”
Elizabeth smiled as her mother reached out, took her hand, and brought it to her mouth for a kiss. “Are you okay?”
Was she okay? Elizabeth nodded. Maybe when it sank in more she’d have more questions, but for now she was okay.
THIRTY-FOUR
2002
Rain fell from slate grey clouds. Although it was late morning, the sky had not lightened at all. Elizabeth watched the many coloured umbrellas bob up and down Jasper Avenue and knew her sales would be good for the day; people bought more flowers when it rained. When the phone rang, she was pleased to hear Marie’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Are you busy today?” Marie asked. “Any chance we can have coffee?”
Elizabeth quickly checked her order book next to the till. “Can it be later, like, say, two o’clock?”
“That would be great. Thanks for taking the time. I know you’re probably busy.”
“We’re all busy, aren’t we? If you can’t make time for friends . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, who can you make time for.”
“The usual spot?”
“Sounds good,” Marie replied. “My treat.”
At one forty-five Elizabeth left the front of her flower shop and disappeared into her office. The sound of water gurgling in the small rock garden beside her desk was briefly comforting. She sat for a moment and closed her eyes, feeling the tension in her shoulders and neck. She had too much to do. It had crept up on her and now she felt overwhelmed. She made a couple of quick calls before putting on her jacket and grabbing her umbrella. The coffee shop was only a block away, but the rain was falling steadily again and the wind had picked up.
As soon as she stepped out of her office the bell over the door rang and a man slowly entered the shop. His head was bare, and thin white strands of hair were combed over a scalp thickly covered with liver spots.
Elizabeth called out a greeting and helped him fold his umbrella.
“Miserable day out there,” he said as he thanked her.
Every Tuesday afternoon, like clockwork, he bought flowers for his wife, who was in the Alzheimer’s ward at the General Hospital across the street. She loved flowers, he said, and he wanted to surround her with beauty in her final days.
“Has it been a week already?” she asked.
“Yes, it has. Can you believe it? The roses have wilted again, so it’s time to freshen them up.”
Elizabeth took her jacket off and moved to the display cooler. “What would you like this week?”
“A few red roses, if you have them.”
“We just got a fresh shipment in from California this morning,” she said. “Come and have a look.”
He tried to straighten to his full height as he walked toward her, but his back remained rounded at the shoulders. In the past six months since he’d been a regular customer, his condition had deteriorated. Likely it was some degenerative bone disorder, and soon he’d be close to bent in half. Whatever condition he had, though, it was preferable to his wife’s.
“How’s your wife doing?” she asked as she picked out the best roses from the bunch.
“Oh, she’s seen better days. Her mind wanders so much now. Some days she knows me, and some days she doesn’t. But the not-knowing-me days are increasing.”
“That must be hard.”
“Yes, it is, but I guess I’m kind of used to it now,” he said. “It’s been a gradual process for me, watching her decline, because I see her every day. But my daughter is coming to town, and she’ll notice a big change. I just hope Margaret recognizes her at least once. That would be nice.”
“Where does your daughter live?”
“In Montreal. She moved there years ago and she never left. We took a trip there by train when she was younger and she fell in love with the place. She’s a doctor, married a nice man, and raised a couple of children.”
Elizabeth wrapped a half-dozen red roses in paper and took them to the counter. As always, she gave him a large discount. If he ever came when she wasn’t in the store, she’d told him to tell the staff that he got the Elizabeth Special. Otherwise he’d be shocked by the true price of roses.
“How long have you been married?” she asked.
“Almost fifty-six years.”
“Child bride, was she?” Elizabeth teased.
“You bet. I knew if I didn’t make a move someone else would real quick.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Well, it seems to me that you both got someone good.”
“That was in the 1940s,” he continued. “Over fifty years ago. Sadly, my mother never really liked her too much. That caused my wife some difficulties. She tried so hard, but my mother wasn’t an easy woman.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped at his eyes, their blueness dulled by tears. “Damn these eyes, they’re always running these days.” He shook his head with resignation. “Age creeps up on you. But in your mind you’re never really caught up. I’d say I’m about twenty years behind my body. People see an eighty-year-old man before them, but I feel like a sixty-year-old looking out.”
Elizabeth walked him to the do
or and held his flowers while he opened his umbrella.
“Stay dry,” she said. “See you next week!”
“I hope so.”
Elizabeth watched him shuffle to the corner and wait for the light. When he’d safely crossed the street she returned to the counter and grabbed her coat.
“I’m going out for a bit,” she told the young woman who worked for her. “I won’t be gone long. If there’s an emergency, I’m just down at the café.”
Outside, she breathed in the smell of wet asphalt that always reminded her of childhood and collecting worms on the sidewalks. The temperature was milder than it had been in the morning, and Elizabeth welcomed the spring rains that helped to wash away the grime from the long winter months.
Jasper Avenue was busy with buses and cars and pedestrians. Elizabeth walked to the corner and waited at the red light. A gust of wind nearly ripped her umbrella from her hand, blowing rain into her face. A panhandler approached her, his palm open, cupping a small pool of water. “Not today,” she said to him as she breezed by.
“When?” his voice called from behind her. “If not today, when?”
She hurried on, embarrassed. He was probably used to people like her, people who liked to act as if they were generous. Not today. As if she had given yesterday and would give again tomorrow. She hurried on, noting how much the neighbourhood had changed. When she’d first leased her store ten years earlier, the old railway yards were still there—big, open land, a developer’s gold mine. Then the yards sold, the tracks were ripped up, the old black iron bridge that had spanned the avenue for decades was dismantled, and much of the land was turned into parking lots for the large stores that went in. The business district had been promised higher density apartments and condos, corner stores, restaurants, coffee shops, open-air markets, and independent bookstores. But the final product was a diluted version of the walkable and artsy neighbourhood that was supposed to enhance the area and draw more students to the new college campus nearby.
An ambulance turned quickly at the corner and headed toward the hospital emergency ward. Distracted, Elizabeth stepped into a puddle alongside the curb and cursed, annoyed with herself for not paying closer attention. She was rushing too much, that’s why she was so scattered. She wished she had more time to get organized and relax. But it was good that Marie had called. She would always make time for her, even if it did throw her afternoon off kilter. She sighed. Marie must have some news. Maybe she was pregnant with twins. That’d be her luck.
The café was spacious and warm and smelled of freshly ground coffee and damp garments. Behind the counter, two young women wore matching shirts; one of them was busy steaming milk for a slope-shouldered man standing at the counter.
Elizabeth shook the rain from her umbrella and scanned the shop. No Marie. Then she noticed a loveseat near the back wall that faced a fireplace. She walked to it, took off her coat, and sat down, drawing the warmth from the artificial fire into her dampened bones.
Two minutes later Marie came rushing in, breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, shaking the water from her hair. “I had to circle the block three times. I didn’t want to park farther away because I forgot to bring an umbrella.” She wiped her cheek with the back of one hand. “It’s really coming down out there!” she added.
“I just got here myself,” Elizabeth said.
“What would you like?” Marie asked. “It’s on me.”
“Oh no. You bought last time.”
“It doesn’t matter. I invited you, so it’s my treat. I insist.”
Elizabeth gave her order and watched Marie walk to the counter. Her belly was taut and round and strained at the thin cotton sweater that covered it. What must it feel like, to have a baby grow inside you? All the skin and organs, limbs and digits, eyelashes and hair. It truly was miraculous. And to feel a baby kick, inside your own flesh!
Marie returned with a steaming latte and a mug of herbal tea.
Elizabeth smiled. “Remember when you were pregnant with Nicole and your mother told you to put a bandage over your belly button to keep it from sticking out?”
Marie laughed. “Yes, it poked out like a hard thumb. My mom said it looked like I was constantly hitchhiking.” They laughed. “That was just one of the great pieces of advice my mother gave me.”
“I always liked your mom,” Elizabeth said. “She held down the fort pretty well.”
A dull heat came from the orangey-blue flames in the fireplace. Elizabeth stared at her wind-swept friend. When had they both become middle-aged?
“Thanks for coming,” Marie finally said. “You probably have a million things to do.”
“I always have a million things to do, but sometimes it’s good to have a reason to take a break. I should thank you instead.”
Marie smiled and looked away. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then stared into her teacup.
“I have some news,” Elizabeth said, smiling shyly. “Ron and I are back together again.”
“Really? That’s great!” Marie said. “When did that happen?”
“Last week. Remember how I said we were exchanging letters? Well, he’s pretty eloquent when he puts pen to paper. His letters were lovely, full of funny memories of the times we shared. I could just tell how much he loves me, and I realized I missed him. So I called and invited him over. It seemed like the right thing to do.” She smiled and winked. “I gave him the tour of my apartment, but he seemed most interested in the bedroom.”
It felt good to laugh together.
“I moved my stuff back home on the weekend, well, the stuff that fit, anyway—I’ve got some furniture to get rid of. But don’t worry,” she added, “I would have told you soon. I’ve been crazy busy at work, and you’ve had your own stuff you’re going through. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?” She stared at Marie’s belly. “Have you heard anything yet?”
Elizabeth saw a shadow cross the surface of her face before Marie bowed her head and struggled to hide it.
“Are you okay?”
Marie looked up, her eyes pooled with tears. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.” She shook her head. “We got the test results back. The baby has Down syndrome.”
Elizabeth felt her lungs empty of air. “Oh, Marie. I’m so sorry.”
“We just found out yesterday. I still can’t believe it. I find myself thinking that the doctor’s office is going to phone any minute and tell us they made a mistake, but another part of me knows that it’s true.” She reached inside her purse for a tissue and wiped the tears from her face. Then she leaned closer to Elizabeth. “About three months ago I woke up in the middle of the night with a horrible feeling that something was wrong with the baby. I couldn’t even explain it; it was just a feeling. The funny thing is, it was my idea to have the amnio because I thought that Barry would want to know. He’s always been so careful about things, you know, planning in advance to be sure things go the way he wants them to. Nothing happens spontaneously with him. But then out of the blue Barry tells me that he’d have been fine just going ahead with the pregnancy without knowing!” She shook her head. “I was completely shocked, and annoyed if you want to know the truth. I mean, I’ve become more careful over the years of being with him, so in a way my having the testing done was really because of his wariness about new situations.”
Marie’s hair had fallen in front of her face and she tried to tuck it behind her ears to reduce the wildness produced by the rain. “Barry doesn’t understand that pregnancy has changed, even in the short time since we had the girls. People can find out so much now, and if everybody else wants to know the sex of their child before it’s born, it’s harder not to know yourself. And the same goes for the testing. How can you not have amnio if you know the test will reassure you that your baby’s fine? Isn’t it a good thing to know in advance if something’s wrong?” She blew her nose, and her shoulders slumped. “I know we would have found out sooner or later, and maybe in the long run it’s
better to know now, but even as I say that I feel sick. I’m not talking about whether or not to take my dog to the pound, I’m talking about my child.”
Elizabeth reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand mutely. She searched for some consoling words. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she finally said.
Marie put her head in her hands and sat quietly for a moment. “You know, I’ve handled everything that’s come my way so far, and I’ve managed to do okay, give or take gaining twenty pounds.” She laughed weakly. “Mostly that’s because I haven’t known what’s coming. Can you imagine if you woke up each day knowing exactly what would happen to you? At five o’clock I’ll be in a car accident. After lunch I’m going to fall outside the school and break my ankle. Or worse, Nicole will be hit by a car; Sophia will pour boiling water on herself in the kitchen. Barry will have a major heart attack and be found slumped over his desk.”
Elizabeth imagined her own scenario. Lying on an examination table, her feet in the stirrups. The implanted eggs will not take.
“But I just bumble along, you know?” Marie continued. “I handle things when they happen. But not this time. I got scared and I wanted to know. I wanted to know that my child would be healthy before I’d even met it. The tests are there, and it’s so hard not to have them. I know this is going to sound like I’m romanticizing the past, but I envy our mothers that they didn’t have to decide whether to know or not. They just got pregnant and then waited to see what they got. They didn’t know if they were having a boy or girl. All they knew was they were having a baby. And if it had something wrong with it, they dealt with it. There was no deciding if the baby was good enough or not. They waited nine months and kept their fingers crossed.” She stopped to catch her breath. “But now I’m wondering if we’re wired to know in advance. I don’t think we are. Can you imagine asking someone in advance if they’re ready to welcome a disabled child into their lives? They’d probably all say the same thing: I couldn’t do it, I’m not strong enough. But you rise to the occasion. We all do. We do what we have to do when we have to do it. We show up. There’s something good about showing up, isn’t there?”