“Oh, yes, that’s a great place,” she said, and I let out my breath in relief. “I know a couple of people who had rehab at the West Orange campus after their hip replacements.”
West Orange. Wherever that was. I’d have to remember that name.
“Is it just you?” She peered behind me as though I might be hiding someone.
“Yes, just me.”
The woman smoothed a strand of her salt-and-pepper hair back from her cheek and gave Poppy a preemptive “hush.”
“I tell you what,” she said. “The only room I have left I don’t usually rent out because it only works for a single traveler and doesn’t have much room for a dog crate. It’s a twin bed up three flights in an attic room, not much more than a closet, and the bathroom is a bit compact”—she winked at that—“and just has a shower. No AC up there, either, so the room is pretty unusable in the summer, but it should be fine now. I can let you have it for sixty.”
“I’ll take it,” I said, trying not to sound as desperately excited as I felt. “Can I have it for two nights?” That would give me all day tomorrow to … to what? Try to get a glimpse of my daughter, I guessed. I wished I had some idea of what I was really doing here. What I really wanted. Well, I knew what I wanted. My baby girl back. And that I could never have.
“Oh, sure,” the woman said. “I’m Winnie, by the way.”
“Carly,” I said.
“Do you want to see the room first?”
I shook my head with a smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I slipped off my backpack and reached inside it for my wallet.
“You can park in the lot behind the—”
“I don’t have a car,” I said.
“Oh, that’s fine. I need your driver’s license, though. For the registration.”
I handed over my driver’s license as she moved some of the papers from the countertop to uncover a registration book. She wrote down my name and my fake North Carolina address from my license. “What type credit card?” she asked.
“Cash,” I said, taking one hundred and twenty dollars from my wallet. “Is there tax?”
She told me the amount, which I paid from my shrinking funds. My phone rang as I handed her the money. Myra. I turned it off.
“On the other side of the living room is a dining room,” Winnie said, pointing to my right. “I serve breakfast there from six thirty to eight thirty.” She gave a tired shake of her head. “So I’m up at the crack of dawn to take care of this one”—she nodded toward the dog, who was still behind the counter and who I thought was behaving remarkably well for a six-month-old puppy—“then I make a full breakfast, then clean the place.” She sighed, but she still wore a good-humored smile. “My husband and I used to split the work and now I do it all. And my niece doesn’t understand why I didn’t want another dog.” She chuckled. “‘You’re lonely, Aunt Winnie,’ she said. ‘You need a companion.’”
“When Poppy gets a little older, you’ll be happy to have her,” I said, thinking that all I wanted at that moment was to find my little closet of a room, sink onto a bed, and imagine what it would be like to find Joanna.
“I know you’re right,” Winnie said as she handed me a key on a key chain shaped like a Shetland sheepdog. “Hope you don’t mind a few stairs.” She pointed to the narrow staircase at the side of the foyer. “There should be towels and toiletries and whatnot up there. And here’s my number if anything’s missing.” She handed me a business card. “You can call me instead of climbing down fifty flights of stairs.”
I was out of breath by the time I reached the stuffy little attic room. The scent was musty but I didn’t really care. The room was at the front of the house where the ceiling was sharply pitched and the one window, which was in need of cleaning, overlooked the street. The window was screened and, with some effort, I managed to open it. A small fan sat on the dresser next to the window. I turned it on and felt the air quickly cool, the musty smell dissipating. I pulled down the quilt and top sheet on the narrow bed and gave the linens a cursory check for bugs. All clear. Except for the window, the room appeared quite clean, actually. There was not even any dust on the dresser. I pictured Winnie keeping this room clean on top of everything else she had to do. Everything else she used to share with her husband.
I sat down on the bed and looked at the business card she’d handed me. Winnie and Bill Corman, it read, followed by the address of the Sleeping Dog Inn and a phone number. My heart twisted, seeing her husband’s name alongside her own. I wondered if she’d had no time to get new cards made or if she couldn’t bear to let go of “Winnie and Bill.” I knew how that felt. We’d been Carly and Joe for so long. It had been unbelievably painful to suddenly change from “we” to “I.”
I set the card on the dresser, exhausted from the long day. I ate a package of my cheese crackers and drank my bottle of water. Then, although it was still very early, I climbed into bed. Despite my tiredness, though, I couldn’t sleep as I tried to figure out my next move. How many nights could I afford this little room, plus food? Along with saving enough money for an eventual train ticket back to Myra so I could return to 1970? Maybe enough for two train tickets back to Myra.
What the hell are you thinking, Carly? What are you dreaming about? Are you losing your mind?
I had the feeling I’d lost it long ago. Maybe the day they came to tell me Joe was dead. Or the day they told me my baby was doomed. Or a few days ago—had it only been a few days?—when I discovered I’d landed in 2013 instead of 2001. I’d had plenty of opportunities to lose my mind, but to be honest, I didn’t care if I was crazy or not. All I wanted right now was to see my daughter.
42
The next morning, Winnie served fruit salad and a frittata in the dining room, which was a pet-free zone. I sat at the table with three other guests: an older couple, Betsy and Tom, who were in town visiting their grandchildren, and a businessman who sat at one end of the table reading the Wall Street Journal instead of conversing. My fictional life story crystallized in my mind as I described the loss of my husband in a car accident and my plan to get my New Jersey physical therapist license and a good job.
Winnie floated around us, pouring juice and coffee, taking away dirty plates and chatting easily with her guests.
“You didn’t tell me you were widowed,” she said as she refreshed my juice, and I knew she felt an instant connection to me.
“Sometimes it’s hard to talk about,” I said.
She nodded with understanding. “Don’t I know it,” she said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.
I kept glancing at my chronometer as I ate. I wanted to get to Joanna’s neighborhood before she left for school. I pictured her leaving her house to … to what? Catch the school bus? Walk a few blocks to a neighborhood school? Meet friends for a ride in a car pool? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I needed to lay my eyes on my daughter.
“How long are you staying in Summit?” Betsy asked me.
I thought of the portal Myra had given me to return to 1970. It was only two days away and I doubted I’d be ready to leave by then. Not nearly ready. There would be other portals. Myra would be angry when I returned, asking for them, but I was certain she would give them to me. She would want me gone. I was safe … as long as Myra didn’t pick up and move again. If that happened, I didn’t know what I would do.
“I’m not sure.” I tried to think of how to answer in light of my fabricated story. “I need to research the licensing exam and figure out the best place to live while I’m doing that, and find a job to tide me over,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to find something,” Betsy said. “There are all those stores and restaurants in town.”
“You’re already licensed in North Carolina?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” I said. In 1970.
“Isn’t there reciprocity between the states?” he asked.
I had no idea, but I shook my head. My story needed to make sense. “Afraid not,” I said, not ha
ving a clue if there was reciprocity. “New Jersey has its own exam.”
“I had physical therapy after I hurt my knee,” Winnie said as she poured the Wall Street Journal guy another cup of coffee. “That’s a hard job.” The man didn’t even raise his eyes from the paper to acknowledge her.
“I enjoyed it,” I said. God, it felt like a lifetime since I’d last worked! The day I found out that Joe had died had been my last day. I thought I’d take a couple of weeks off to try to pull myself together. Then I learned I was pregnant and my emotions went into a tailspin. I didn’t like to remember those weeks and months of emotional numbness when I wanted my husband home with me, whole and healthy. The last thing I’d been thinking about then had been my job.
“I bet that’s your husband’s watch you wear.” Winnie nodded toward my wrist and the chronometer.
I nodded, wishing it had been Joe’s watch. I had nothing of his with me here. “Yes,” I said. “It is.”
She set the pitcher of orange juice down on the table and lifted a chain from around her neck until a gold wedding band appeared from beneath her blouse. “This was my husband Bill’s,” she said. “Nice to keep that connection to our men, isn’t it?” She smiled at me and I returned the smile. I felt a surprising, deep kinship with her.
“When we lost our last dog,” Tom said, “Betsy carried his dog tag around in her pocket for months.”
“I sure did,” Betsy agreed.
If either of them saw the disparity between their lost dog and our lost husbands, they didn’t acknowledge it. I caught Winnie’s eye and she winked at me.
It was seven thirty before I could easily extricate myself from the dining room and leave the house, and ten to eight by the time I reached Joanna’s street. I walked casually up her block, my gaze on her front door. Was anyone watching me? Who walked this slowly so early in the morning? Anyone taking a walk at eight in the morning would be doing so for exercise, not sauntering along the way I was. The house looked still, and there was an emptiness about it. It might even be vacant. They might have moved away. I walked a block past the house, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. Then I turned around and walked past the house again. I was too late, I thought. She’d already left. Or maybe she was staying home, sick today. Or maybe she didn’t live here at all. For all I knew, I thought with a shudder, Joanna could be dead.
* * *
I found the library and spent an hour huddled over a computer. After one of the librarians helped me figure out how to get online, I once again Googled “Joanna Van Dyke,” this time adding “Summit, NJ.” A single entry popped up on my screen: the July 2013 church bulletin from a Catholic church in Summit. My anxiety mounting, I scrolled through the bulletin, reading about the Fourth of July picnic and the chorus rehearsal and the mass schedule as I hunted for her name. And there it was, in the list of birthdays: Joanna Van Dyke. July 12.
For a moment, I simply stared as though I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then my throat tightened and I felt tears on my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. Pressing my hands together hard beneath the table, I looked at her name as it blurred before my eyes.
Joanna. My baby. She was alive.
Swallowing against the ache in my throat, I quickly got to my feet and raced through the shelves of books until I reached the restroom, glad to find I had it to myself. Inside one of the stalls, I sat down fully clothed on the toilet, head buried in my hands as I sobbed. My whole body ached with longing as I felt the loss of my baby girl all over again.
But she’s alive, I told myself. She’s here.
And she almost certainly lived in that big beautiful house on Rosewood Court, no more than a few miles from where I sat.
* * *
The librarian told me that schools let out at three o’clock. Joanna was Catholic, though. She might attend a Catholic school and get out at a different time, but I would plan my afternoon around that three o’clock dismissal time. I left the library with a sense of excitement and purpose. I bought a yogurt for lunch, but I had no appetite and ended up throwing half of it away. Then I spent the afternoon walking methodically from store to store asking if they were hiring. If I worked during school hours, I’d be free in the afternoon and evening to … to what? I didn’t know. I didn’t have a plan. All I knew was that I wanted to be near her, and if I was going to stay in Summit for now, I would need money.
No one was hiring, though, or at least, they weren’t hiring me. I fended off question after question about my accent. My past experience, or lack thereof. “I was a PT in 1970” was not an answer I could give to that question. One of the restaurants asked if I could work evenings, but I turned that down. Another needed help in the morning, but my lack of waitressing experience put them off, understandably so.
I was tired but excited as I walked back to Joanna’s neighborhood, reaching Rosewood Court a few minutes past three. This time there was an empty blue van in the driveway. I walked past the house, trying to act nonchalant as I looked toward the front door from the corner of my eye. I peered down the driveway and as deep into the lush green backyard as I could see. I kept walking. After a block, I turned around and started walking toward the house again.
I was a few houses away when I saw a girl in the driveway. She walked past the blue van toward the sidewalk, an energetic brown dog tugging on a leash in front of her.
Oh my God, is that her? My heart sped up until I could feel it beating in my throat. Biting my lip, I forced myself to hang back. I pretended to study the leaves of a shrub, but my eyes were on the girl as she reached the sidewalk. She had the same pale blond hair I’d had at that age. Long, well past her shoulders. She walked with a bounce. A happy bounce. She had the look of a healthy child, and I felt overwhelmed with both gratitude and longing.
“Come this way,” I whispered to myself. “Turn this way.”
But she didn’t. Instead, she turned in the opposite direction, away from me. I didn’t know what to do. Follow her? Try to bump into her?
I had a better idea, though. It would mean waiting until tomorrow afternoon. It would require patience. But the wistful joy I felt at seeing her, even from this distance, was enough for now.
43
When I returned to the inn, I was happy to find Winnie behind the counter in the foyer. I had a proposal to make her. Winnie smiled at me, but it looked as though it took some effort. She seemed exhausted, actually, dusky circles around her eyes. I could hear Poppy barking from behind the glass door at the rear of the foyer.
“Winnie,” I said, “could I take Poppy for a walk sometime tomorrow? I’d love the exercise.”
Winnie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Heck, yes!” she said. “This poor dog.” She took a few steps to the rear of the foyer and opened the door. Poppy came bounding across the room toward me and I braced myself. “No jump!” Winnie commanded. The dog stopped short of leaping on top of me, but her entire body wriggled back and forth with the effort.
Laughing, I squatted down on the floor to cuddle her, letting her lick my face. She was a wired bundle of energy, knocking me over and stepping on top of my legs in her effort to get as close to me as possible.
“I love her to pieces,” Winnie said, “but I’m seriously thinking of sending her back to my niece. I just don’t have the time.”
I looked up at her, my hands deep in Poppy’s golden fur. “I was also wondering if you’d consider a kind of bartering arrangement with me,” I said. “I can help you clean and cook … and give Poppy walks … in exchange for the attic room. Would that be possible? I tried to find a job today with no success.”
Winnie leaned her elbows on the counter and laughed. “You and I are definitely on the same wavelength today,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about exactly that ever since breakfast this morning, when you talked about looking for work. I’ve thought about hiring help. Bill always handled the reception counter and record keeping and maintenance and I handled making breakfast, grocery shopping, and cleani
ng. I just can’t do it all myself. But I would pay you,” she added quickly. “That’s only fair. I’ve talked to some friends who run B and Bs and I think for this size place, four hundred a week plus your room and breakfast is fair.”
Four hundred a week! It sounded like a dream. “What would I be doing?” I asked as I got to my feet, dusting off the back of my jeans. Poppy looked up at me, waiting for another pat.
“Housekeeping in the morning,” Winnie said. “Cleaning the rooms and bathrooms, changing the sheets of the guests who are moving out. I’ll take care of the kitchen and making breakfast. I still enjoy making my semifamous Sleeping Dog Inn breakfasts.” She smiled. “In the afternoon, you’d shop for the groceries and paper goods for the following day. Maybe walk Poppy, if you’re willing. Any time after that would be your own. I can’t offer you health insurance, but soon you’ll be able to apply for Obamacare.”
I had no idea what “Obamacare” was, but knew better than to ask. I didn’t care, anyway. This was an amazing break. I didn’t want to take advantage of Winnie, though.
“I’d really like to do this,” I said, “but I don’t know how long I’ll be in the area. I can’t guarantee that—”
“That’s all right,” Winnie said. “That’s why I suggested a weekly salary rather than monthly. I know you’re most likely here temporarily, but you could start right away and I like you, so that’s what’s important. We have some struggles in common, don’t we.” She gave me an understanding look and I knew she was thinking of her Bill and my Joe.
I nodded, although she really had no idea the extent of my struggles. “Yes,” I said.
“What do you say, then?”
“Is there a grocery store in walking distance?” I asked. “I don’t have a car, remember.”
“Oh, you can use mine. No problem.”
My heart was thumping. With a car, I could more easily watch Joanna’s house. My God, I thought. I’ve turned into a stalker.
The Dream Daughter: A Novel Page 26