Scrapping Plans

by Rebeca Seitz

  Zelda hummed while Jack approached the maitre d’ stand and confirmed their reservation with the tall German standing there.

  “Certainly, right this way.”

  They followed the black-suited man through the room to a booth in the corner lit by a single overhead Tiffany lamp.

  “This is to your liking?”

  Jack nodded to the man. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Very well then. Your server will be with you shortly.”

  The maitre d’ faded away while Zelda arranged herself on the bench seat. “This is so nice of you, Jack. You know how I appreciate a nice dinner out.”

  “I do. And I know how you love the symphony. That’s why we’re going to the Schermerhorn after dinner.”

  “You’re kidding! For the Pops concert?”

  “Is there another form of symphony performance you love more?”

  “Not in all the world. Oh, you are a dear man.”

  “I try.”

  “You succeed. What a perfect night!”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t know. I think it might be lacking something.”

  “Unless they don’t serve chocolate in this restaurant, trust me, you haven’t missed a thing.”

  “No, it’s not the chocolate.” Jack put a finger to his lips, his brows knit together. “What did I forget? Hang on, I’ll remember.” He looked around the room. “Oh, yes!” He slid from the booth and, before Zelda quite knew what was happening, knelt on one knee by her seat.

  “Jack!”

  “Zelda, I’ve loved every moment of my life with you in it. While I know neither of us will be each other’s first love, I know you are the love of my life after Marian. I hope you’ll let me be the love of your life after Raymond.” He pulled a white leather box from his inner jacket pocket. “Zelda, will you marry me?” He opened the box and a little light clicked on from its top, shining down on a circular diamond surrounded by a ring of rubies, all sitting atop a band of gold.

  Zelda’s hand flew to her chest. “Jack, it’s gorgeous.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She pulled back a bit. “Do the girls know about this?”

  “They not only know, they’ve each given their blessing. They’ve known for a while.”

  Despite the night outside, she would have sworn the skies split open with rays of sunshine and bluebirds sang on every branch of every tree. “In that case, yes.”

  “Yes? You’ll marry me?”

  “Yes!”

  Jack tugged the ring from its nesting place and slid it onto Zelda’s finger. “I love you, Zelda.”

  “I love you, Jack.”

  He kissed her, and she knew the amazement of second love. No, this wasn’t that amazing, spellbinding feeling she’d shared in her twenties with a marine recruit bent on heading off to war. This was a peaceful, sure, brilliant feeling of knowing someone loved her unconditionally—enough to let her keep the memory of her first husband and know he could keep the memory of his first wife. This was perfect.

  Jack went back around to his side of the table. “Now it’s a perfect night.”

  Zelda held her ring up so that the light reflected off the stones’ brilliance. “Yes, it is. Do you realize we’re going to have two weddings in the family this year? I wonder if we’ll make it to the end without losing our sanity.”

  “Since our grip on sanity is tenuous on a good day, I’d say that’s doubtful.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Scott’s hand is warm in mine as I grip it and look out the tiny oval window at my right. The runway is as gray as the day, and I wonder again if we’re taking the right course of action. Scott laid the tickets in my hand four days ago— tickets we purchased when we had looked forward to learning about China and then sharing that knowledge with our little one.

  We don’t have a little one anymore. Not this side of heaven. I do not know why I have told Scott we can go despite what’s happened. All I know is that I cannot sit in my house for one more day and hear the echo of children’s steps, wish for children’s laughter, pass the door of the nursery, and wonder when or if our union will ever become the family of my dreams.

  Giving something else up—this trip—well, I simply could not say no right now. I’ll go to China and learn as much as I can about this land of my birth. If we decide to try again—and Dr. Murray says we can do IVF upon our return—then I have no intention of traveling outside the country or even further than a flight of stairs until my first trimester is successfully complete.

  It’s irrational, I know. I have become an irrational woman, willing to give up the normalcy of life to accomplish the normal act of womanhood. Irony shrouds the corners of my life.

  Meg told me that this trip would be good for me, would give me something to focus on, something to move me past this time of loss.

  I think she’s tired of me and no longer knows what to do or say. I cannot help her in this. I do not know either what to do or say.

  Scott’s thumb brushes my hand and I turn again to the window. In nineteen hours my homeland will be within view. Will I feel anything when my foot steps on Chinese soil? Will some part of my genetic makeup rise up and say, “This is where I was made?” Or will it be like the numerous other trips Scott and I have shared over the years—interesting and enjoyable, but certainly not life-altering?

  I do not know what to expect and that unsettles me. I cannot fully plan for the unknown and that nearly unnerves me. I have no desire for life experiences that further question my beliefs of this world, of God, of myself.

  And yet, here I sit, feeling my husband’s thumb slide back and forth across my hand, breathing the recirculated air that blows overhead, hearing the engines rev as our speed picks up down the runway.

  And wondering what on earth I’m hurtling toward.

  * * *

  THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS are in their third wardrobe change on this China Airlines flight. They are remarkable women, all bearing the stature of a traditional Chinese woman—small, slender, with shining black hair. Some of them have chosen shorter haircuts. Those with long locks have all affixed their crowning glories into neat buns.

  They’re so helpful, serving us a three-course meal during our flight. I had not expected such service here in business class but am thrilled for this small happiness.

  We stopped in Anchorage for refueling. That was the second wardrobe change for the flight attendants. I think we had a crew change, but they all look so similar—with their high heels, flawless makeup, and identical hair—that I cannot be certain these are new ladies serving us.

  By the time I awoke from my nap, the crew had again changed clothes. I think they changed in Tai Pei, our last stop before Hong Kong.

  We’re nearing touchdown in Hong Kong now. I did more research before we left, so I know that Hong Kong is at the same latitude as Havana and has the highest population density of any city in the world. We will only be in Hong Kong for two days. From there we fly to Beijing, which shares the same latitude as New York City. It’s springtime at home, so it could be chilly in Beijing. Springtime in New York still requires a coat.

  “Are you ready to meet China?” Scott asks.

  “I’m not sure.” I’ve resolved to maintain strict honesty on this trip. The temptation to hide is already growing, but I cannot succumb to its call. I must learn about this country and share that learning with my husband if there is any hope of us having a child and telling our little one where I’m from.

  “Ready or not,” Scott takes a deep breath just before our wheels lightly kiss the runway, “touchdown.”

  I smile, though I know it is feeble. I am completely out of my element. Beyond that window lies a country crowded with people whose faces bear remarkable resemblance to mine.

  And whose lives couldn’t be farther from those in a little town in the southern United States.

  * * *

  “WHERE DO YOU think she is right now?” Kendra popped a chip into
her mouth and lay back into the cushions of the couch. The credits for Top Gun rolled up the screen.

  Tandy checked the gold and silver watch on her wrist. “Should be in Hong Kong by now. She said she’d e-mail me if they found an Internet café.”

  “I still can’t believe she did it.” Kendra clicked the remote control to power off the TV.

  “Went to China?”

  “Yeah. Did she ever tell you she wanted to go?”

  “Nope.” Tandy swirled a straw around her water bottle. Light from the streetlights outside her window danced on the surface of the water. “I don’t think it really mattered to her until she got pregnant.”

  Kendra scrunched her nose. “You can bet you’ll never find me going after the woman who birthed me. I can’t believe Joy would.”

  “She’s going to learn about her birth country. Not her birth mother.”

  Kendra shrugged. “Same difference.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. She said it was something she had to do. And after what she’s been through, I think we ought to forego an opinion and just support her.”

  Kendra pushed up from the couch and popped another DVD into the player. “I hear you. Come on. It’s nine o’clock already. Let’s keep the movie marathon going.”

  “I’ll go grab more popcorn.”

  * * *

  I AM IN Hong Kong. I am lying in a bed in the central portion of downtown Hong Kong. It is noisy here, like any large city in America. I had expected to see bicycles. The tourist brochures had pictures of bicycles in the streets.

  But Hong Kong has embraced the idea of automobiles since those promotional pictures were taken.

  Cars are everywhere.

  Today we shall take the Star Ferry across the harbor to Kowloon. This is something hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong residents do every day to get to their jobs.

  I don’t want to do too many touristy things here in my birth country. I want to know the life that my fellow countrymen lead. So far, it isn’t a life that calls to any part of me. It seems hurried and busy and rushed. And crowded. I miss the wide open fields of crops back home.

  I must get up and get showered. The ferry waits for no one, we were advised, so I have planned to be there a full half hour before the one we wish to take is to leave.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Scott’s voice is smooth yet holds a note of question as he comes to stand beside the bed. He is already dressed for the day in pressed khakis and a golf shirt.

  “Good morning.” I assure him with my tone that I am all right in this land of millions.

  “Ready to see Kowloon?”

  “Just as soon as I experience a Chinese shower and find some breakfast.”

  “I spoke to the people at the front desk. There’s a restaurant downstairs that has a breakfast buffet that includes Western foods like bacon, eggs, and sausage. I’m not holding my breath that their version of bacon is too close to ours, but I’ll take anything halfway familiar and filling right about now so long as it’s accompanied by caffeine.”

  “You’re too good to me, Scott Lasky.” I reach across the bed and he takes my hand.

  “That isn’t possible.”

  It’s too early in this trip for so much emotion to clog my throat. I need to dole out my susceptibility to an onslaught of tears or I’ll run dry before we even get to Beijing, much less Changsha, from which we’ll drive three hours to see the orphanage that replaced mine.

  I squeeze his hand and release it, then get out of bed and head for the shower. I’m not certain if Chinese showers are different than American ones, but in this hotel the shower offers hot water, a strong spray, and complimentary soaps that bolster my courage to face whatever this day may offer.

  Less than thirty minutes later, Scott and I enter the dining area downstairs hand in hand. As the helpful hotel employees have advised, Western food is mingled among the traditional Chinese dishes of steamed dumplings and congee, a rice equivalent of grits. I choose more foods I’m certain of than not, needing the familiarity before braving the day. The bacon isn’t much different than what I serve at home. They haven’t yet conquered gravy, however.

  After finishing breakfast we head out the hotel doors and into the never-ending stream of people. Shoulder to shoulder, pedestrians hustle and bustle, each person determined on his or her course. Cars roll along, some jerking out of a lane and into another with no warning at all. Hong Kong may have embraced the automobile, but their infrastructure certainly hasn’t made the adjustment.

  I’m admiring an enormous structure of at least sixty stories—one among many—when I hear Scott’s warning. “Watch out!” He jerks my arm so that I fall upon his chest, flattened against a block wall. A compact car whizzes by, its horn blaring.

  “Are you all right?” Scott looks me over for scrapes and bruises. “Did it hit you?”

  “I’m fine.” Fairly certain I am, anyway. “Did he just drive right up on the sidewalk?”

  Scott puts an arm around my waist and we begin a more focused walk toward the ferry. “He did. I don’t think the Chinese have quite figured out traffic control yet. Stay close to me and stay alert.”

  We confirm Scott’s opinion just a few minutes later when we try to cross an intersection according to the directive of the light on the other side. Scott and I step from the curb and again he pulls me out of danger’s way just before a small car races past. We wait until the clump of Chinese people behind us step off the curb and brave the traffic with the safety of numbers.

  Hong Kong isn’t as welcoming as Stars Hill. I’m glad I didn’t come here while pregnant.

  * * *

  THE FERRY IS as crowded as everything else in Hong Kong, but the sights are lovely. Giant, monolithic structures rise from the coastline like enormous fingers stretching toward the heavens. Everywhere I turn, I see newly completed skyscrapers and others in the works. It seems all of Hong Kong is on a building spree. They cannot accommodate the population fast enough.

  The harbor is as packed as the streets and sidewalks, though this time with boats of every size and shape. From giant cargo ships to homemade vessels, each jockeys for position in the water.

  As we approach Kowloon, I feel a bit more at ease. This space has the same bustle, but it’s subdued somehow. I don’t know why I wanted to come here, only that the desk clerk said many Hong Kong residents take this ferry to Kowloon each day, and I wanted that experience. It’s hilly here— not mountainous exactly, though the hills are quite grand. They’re covered in greenery, with lots of bougainvillea. I snap pictures, already seeing the layouts in my scrapbook. A scrapbook I will share with our child, if we are ever blessed with one.

  If we ever choose to try again.

  Right now I can only focus on this moment. On smelling the beautiful fragrance of these flowers, on enjoying a blue sky clear of smog, on listening to the chatter of thousands on their way to work.

  * * *

  FROM HONG KONG we board a China Southern Airlines flight to Beijing. We couldn’t fly China Airlines again because it bears the flag of Taiwan, which isn’t authorized to fly in country. Such strange political undertones in this country of my birth. So much to understand, such rich history to explore.

  Beijing is only a few hours away by plane and before I’m ready, we again touch down. I haven’t had time yet to fully process our two days in Hong Kong. I feel as if I’m spinning a bit out of control, unable to find the brakes.

  Oddly I’m not certain anymore if I wish to find the brakes. Discovering new sights, sounds, smells, and feelings is a little intoxicating. I think Kendra must feel like this all the time.

  Beijing is chilly, as I expected. We hurry from the airport to our hotel and unpack the light jackets I’d insisted we bring. I’m glad now for my preparation and planning.

  Scott is unpacking our bags. We haven’t spoken too much on this trip. He knows I need the space of silence to process so many new ideas and images. I love that he knows me that way.

  Today we shall vi
sit the Forbidden City, so named because the Chinese emperors lived there in another era. Commoners could not visit the emperors; they were thought to be deities themselves and therefore untouchable or seeable by ordinary citizens.

  I don’t think I could have followed a faith that didn’t allow me access to my God. I don’t feel worthy of that access, but, having been given it, I cannot imagine living without it. How does one worship a being that is untouchable, uncommunicative? I don’t understand my country’s three-thousand-year obsession with emperors, but I’m intrigued by it. We were told by the workers at this hotel to wear comfortable shoes, for the Forbidden City requires much walking.

  I think a nap is in order before we hit those bustling streets again.

  * * *

  “HAS SHE E-MAILED you?” Meg settled onto her stool in the scrapping studio.

  Tandy shook her head. “I think she’s probably caught up in all the sights and sounds of China.”

  “I don’t know, T. It’s been days now.” Kendra ran a glue runner down the back of a photo.

  Tandy layered paper behind a picture. “She called Daddy.”

  Meg raised an eyebrow. “She did? When?”

  “Yesterday, I think. I’m not sure when that was for her. What’s the time difference again?”

  “Thirteen hours.”

  “So it would have been about ten at night her time. She called him in the morning our time.”

  “And what’d she say?”

  “Not much, according to Daddy. Just that they had made it safely, were seeing all the sights, and would have pictures to show us when they got back.”

  Kendra sniffed. “She can’t find five minutes to shoot us an e-mail?”

  “You know Joy.” Meg affixed ribbon to the bottom of her layout. “I’ll bet she’s thought of e-mailing a thousand times, but isn’t sure what to say, so she doesn’t say anything at all.”

  Kendra walked over to the Cricut machine and began typing out words for the machine to cut. “Sounds like she figured out what to say to Daddy.”