by Angela Hunt
I wanted to be happy for her, but a current of grief pulled me under each time I took Johny into my arms, a current that intertwined memories of Gideon’s death and my baby’s birth. I swallowed my misery and cooed to the baby, even giving him a bottle once, but those tasks only aggravated an old wound that ached at any mention of a little one. Because I couldn’t bear the raging maelstrom in my heart, I always handed Johny back after only a few minutes.
I suspected that my throat would always ache with regret when I thought about what happened in that horrible December, but the ache would evolve into complete wretchedness if Julien proved to be my son and I wasn’t allowed to care for him. In two years I had never given him a bottle, changed his diaper, or sung him a lullaby, but if he proved to be mine I had no intention of missing another day.
“Thank you, Mommy!” Marilee’s squeal roused me from my reverie, then she threw her arms around my neck. I hugged her, surprised to see that she had already opened the puzzle, the doll, the art set, and the CDs of classical piano music.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” I kissed her forehead and smiled. “And I hope you’re hungry, because something smells awfully good in the kitchen.”
We feasted with Mama Isa and Jorge, then laughed and joked with other family members as they arrived—Amelia, Mario, and Johny, Elaine and Tumelo, Yanela and Gordon, Carlos and Yaritza. Jenna Daniels, the grocery’s bakery manager, had also been invited, and she brought her boyfriend, a Polish student who didn’t seem to speak much English but kept his arm around Jenna’s full figure.
Yanela was sporting a new red sweater, complete with sequins, and Elaine modeled a new skirt, spinning so it flared in a circle and delighted Marilee.
When everyone had eaten their fill of Mama Isa’s delicious brunch, we moved into the living room for the family gift exchange. Marilee had drawn Gordon’s name, and was excited to give him a hand-carved pipe. I tried to tell her that he hadn’t smoked a pipe in years, but she insisted that the pipe was pretty, and wouldn’t he enjoy just looking at it?
Of course he would. He opened the box and beamed at the beautiful pipe, then called Marilee over for a warm hug and kiss on the forehead. She grinned at me, her I told you so expression reaching all the way across the family circle.
Mama Isa had just opened the lightweight sweater I bought her when the phone rang. Jorge answered, then gestured to me. “Es para ti, Mandy. Creo que es tu madre.”
Mom. Of course she would call on Christmas day, since her busy social calendar hadn’t allowed her to drive over this year. And of course she would call right in the middle of the Lisandra clan’s gift giving.
I smiled my thanks to Jorge, then went to my bedroom to pick up the extension. Any other time I would ask Mom if I could call her later, but I hadn’t yet told her about the photos of Julien. I wanted to tell her, but I’d postponed that news, not knowing how to explain a situation that still held so many uncertainties.
But she was waiting on the phone, and I’d run out of time. She’d never forgive me if she learned that I’d known about Julien and said nothing when we talked on Christmas.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.” I fell forward onto my bed and propped myself on my elbows. “Are you doing anything special today?”
“Just lunch at the Social Center,” she said, “and caroling tonight. I’ve been seeing one of my neighbors—a real nice man named Mark. I think you’d like him.”
“As long as you like him.” I pulled my pillow toward me, intending to get comfortable. “Isn’t that the important thing?”
She asked me what I got Marilee for Christmas and I told her, leaving out the part about how I waited until the last minute to do my shopping. I told her what Mama Isa and Jorge had given me (a nice necklace/earring set), and when I ran out of gifts to describe, I told her that I might have a son living in France.
While she listened in stunned silence I told her about receiving the photos, talking to my doctor, and consulting with Mr. Pippen. I told her about finding the baby hair and asking Snake Billings to pull whatever strings he could in order to get the hair tested and compared to Gideon’s DNA. I talked so fast that my words came out double-time, as if they’d been glued together.
“What—who—are you sure you can trust him to do that?” Mom said when I paused to snatch a breath.
“Mom.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Snake has friends in high places. He told me that taking care of a DNA test would be cake.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’d be easy. Simple.” I paused, waiting for her to bubble over with excitement at the thought of another grandchild, but her reaction wasn’t exactly what I expected.
“You shouldn’t pursue this child,” she said, her voice flat. “You should leave it alone. Walk away and pretend you never saw those pictures.”
My mind whirled at her response, then I swallowed hard, lifted my chin, and gripped the phone more tightly. “Thank you for sharing your opinion,” I said, a chill on the edge of my words. “And I hope you’ll understand if I don’t accept that advice. Because it’s obvious you can’t understand what I’m feeling.”
“Amanda—”
“I’ve gotta go, Mom, we’re opening Christmas presents.”
“Amanda, I—”
I dropped the old extension phone back into its cradle, not interested in her excuses and explanations. I sat on the edge of the bed, trembling inside, then picked up the receiver and laid it on my nightstand, leaving it off the hook. I didn’t want to talk to her, and I didn’t want her to interrupt the Lisandra Christmas. She’d probably try to call a couple of times, then she’d give up and go on to her luncheon, maybe take in a movie with her new boyfriend.
As for me, I had family waiting in the family room.
* * *
Because the day after Christmas was a Sunday, after church I decided to take Marilee to see Amelia’s new baby. Mama Isa and Tumelo had closed the grocery for the entire weekend, so with no school and no work, my daughter and I felt positively giddy with freedom.
We drove to Ybor City, the heart of the Cuban section of Tampa, and parked on the street. Amelia and Mario’s charming one-story home appeared neat and tidy, though I knew in a few months I’d see toys strewn on the sidewalk, a Little Tikes house on the front lawn, and maybe a swing set in the side yard. They had waited so long to be parents, they would delight in their roles as mama and papa. Everyone in the family would be happy to spoil little Johny Guevara.
After getting out of the car, I opened the trunk and picked up the baby food machine I’d brought as a gift. Mama Isa said the machine was unnecessary and too expensive since it didn’t do anything a blender couldn’t do, but I wanted to get Amelia something unique. As to Mama Isa’s objection, television remotes were unnecessary, too, but everyone I knew used one.
Marilee and I walked up the sidewalk and stopped at the front door. Ordinarily we’d exercise the prerogative of family and walk on in, but a new baby could upset even the most reliable family schedule. If Amelia and Mario were taking advantage of the post-Christmas quiet to rest, I hated to disturb them.
So I crept to the window, shaded my eyes, and peered inside. I could see Amelia in the living room, so I tapped my fingernails on the window. She looked up, startled, then jerked her head toward the door.
“It’s okay,” I told Marilee. “Amelia’s awake and so is the baby.”
A wistful look filled my daughter’s eyes. “Can I hold him?”
“You’ll have to ask your aunt Amelia.”
We went inside and joined Amelia in the living room, where she was trying to quiet a fussy baby. Marilee studied little Johny for a moment, then dropped to the carpeted floor and turned on the television.
I knew she wouldn’t want to hold the baby until he was quiet. I didn’t blame her.
“Keep the volume low,” I reminded her. “Uncle Mario is probably trying to sleep.”
“Mario’s worn out,” Amelia admitted, patting the baby
on her shoulder. “And I’m about to be. Can you take him for a while? He’s been fussing for two hours and I have no idea what’s wrong.”
Where did she get the idea I was some kind of baby whisperer? I set the gift-wrapped package on the floor and took Johny from her, steeling my heart against the incomparable feel of an infant in my arms. The beautiful little boy had a head full of dark hair, eyes like milk chocolate, and a round face, now creased in lines of extreme displeasure. Upon opening his eyes and seeing me, his crying shifted from random fussing to the steady, loud, rhythmic cries of a frustrated newborn.
I propped him on my shoulder and rubbed his back. “Is he hungry?”
Amelia shook her head. “I just fed him and now he won’t take a bottle.”
“Diaper clean?”
“Just changed it.”
“And how old is he?”
“Eight weeks, so he’s too young for teething. I think.” When Amelia bit her lower lip I understood her frustration. Nothing was more unsettling for a mother than not understanding why her child was upset.
“He might be teething,” I offered, “because some kids are born with teeth. I always used that ointment that numbs the gums. But this could be colic, and I don’t know what to do about that. Marilee never had it.”
After a few minutes of patting, jiggling, and cooing, I gave up and offered the crying baby to Amelia. Sighing, she took the little boy. “Maybe he’s sad. Maybe he hates being here with us. Is that possible?”
I looked away, not knowing what to say. Could babies that young hate anything? “Maybe he’s confused,” I suggested. “I don’t think babies know much, but they’re bound to realize something’s different when they’re dropped into a new place with new people. But you’ve had him for, what, two weeks? Give him time. Keep him warm and fed and happy and he’ll adjust.”
“You’d better be right.” Amelia gave me a wan smile, then pointed to the couch and raised her voice to be heard above the baby’s squalling. “Have a seat and tell me how you’re doing. We didn’t get to talk much at Mama Isa’s yesterday.”
I glanced at Marilee to be sure she’d be okay with staying for a while, but she seemed engrossed in the Home & Garden channel.
“Christmas was fun, wasn’t it?” I sat on the end of the sofa and tucked my legs beneath me. “Except for the call I got from my mom, the day was completely relaxing. I haven’t had a day like that in ages.”
“I noticed you seemed tense when you came out of your bedroom.” Amelia lifted a brow, family shorthand for Spill the beans. “What happened with your mom?”
“Nothing, and that’s my point. She’s a lot more concerned about her social life than she is about me and Marilee.”
“You think so?” Amelia sank into an old rocker and stroked the fussy baby. “Did you tell her about your latest obsession?”
“I’m not obsessed.”
The corner of her mouth dipped. “Could have fooled me. Mama and I talked the other day, and we both think you’re making a mistake. But Mama’s not going to say anything because you’re living under her roof and she wants to keep the peace.”
“You think I’m obsessed?” I stared, amazed at her audacity. “Who moped around the grocery for months because the social worker couldn’t find a baby for her? Who called social services every other week just to hear the woman’s voice?”
Amelia sighed. “Okay, I was obsessed, too. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with feeling passionate about something. But you can feel passionate about a thing and still be wrong—”
“Is it wrong to want my own child?”
“You don’t know that he’s your child.”
“I don’t know that he isn’t. Of all people, you should understand how I feel.”
I waited for the words to take hold, but Amelia closed her eyes. “I do know, I do, and I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I understand the pain of desperately wanting a baby, but you have a child, you have Marilee. The other baby isn’t yours. He belongs to the people who have loved him for two years.”
“I can love him forever. And I’ll soon know if he’s my son—I should have the results of a DNA test sometime next week, if the holiday doesn’t slow things down. But I will definitely have an answer after New Year’s.”
Amelia glanced at little Johny, who had finally quieted. She tossed a thin blanket over his shoulders, then met my gaze, concern and confusion flitting in her eyes. “You were able to get a test without the other couple’s cooperation?”
“I didn’t need their cooperation to see if there’s a link between Julien and Gideon. I had exactly what I needed for that.”
Amelia settled into a more comfortable position in the rocker. “I don’t know, Mandy. Something about this doesn’t seem right. I’ve been skeptical since the day you first decided to be a surrogate.”
The idea of her judging me was so absurd I wanted to laugh, though I felt miles away from genuine humor. My cousin sat in front of me with a baby in her arms, a baby she didn’t conceive. She was siding with the Amblours because her situation had skewed her perspective.
But she wouldn’t agree.
“What,” I asked slowly, “is wrong with a mother trying to retrieve the child she accidentally lost?”
Amelia blew out a breath. “You make it sound like you were on a sinking ship and the baby got lost in all the confusion. That’s not what happened. You signed papers and that other couple took the boy in good faith. If that kid isn’t their biological son, they were victims, too.”
“Agreed. But accidental mistakes can be corrected. The situation can be rectified.”
“You’re not repairing a damaged car here, you’re dealing with people’s lives. And though it’s hard to put my feelings into words, it seems like you’re violating that other family’s privacy or something. They’re going to be upset when they find out what you’re up to. You made a deal, and now you’re wanting to renege on your agreement.”
I stared and felt a dozen different emotions collide. “You think I sold my baby?”
She held her finger over her lips, reminding me of the sleeping child on her shoulder, then lowered her voice to an intense whisper. “Maybe you didn’t do it intentionally. But if that kid turns out to be yours, it doesn’t change the fact that they paid you to surrender him. Face it—they paid you to have a baby for them; you agreed with their terms and took their money. So I can’t see why anything should change just because the boy looks a bit like Marilee. Maybe he’s yours, maybe he’s not. But he has spent two years with that other family, so they are his parents. How can you even think about jerking him out of the only home he’s ever known?”
I sat back, unable to believe what I was hearing. Had her adoption experience blinded her to the fact that competent biological mothers had a right to raise their own children?
I understood the depth of desperation Amelia felt only a few weeks ago. She should have understood mine.
“I would give the money back in a heartbeat,” I said, my voice low and insistent. “Money’s not the issue.”
“Mama?” Marilee pointed to the television. “What’s happening?”
I looked at the TV. The program she’d been watching had been interrupted by a special report, something about an earthquake in Turkey. Grainy video footage played on the screen: scenes of debris, collapsing buildings, toppling palm trees, and panicked people running for their lives.
“That’s horrible.” Amelia’s voice dropped to a somber note. “Can you imagine being caught up in that?”
I couldn’t. Or maybe I could. The old dread reared its head and touched the base of my spine with its cold finger, reminding me of the heroes who rushed to face danger and never came back. My husband had given his life to fight terror, yet here was another kind, caused not by man, but by nature.
Not even Gideon and his elite operators could have made headway against the force of an earthquake.
“Experts believe this to be one of the worst earthquakes in
recorded history,” a reporter said, his voice playing over the scenes of destruction. “Up to one-third of the victims are expected to be children, since they are the least able to protect themselves against falling debris.”
Children? My gaze fell on the back of Marilee’s head and my pulse quickened. My son—the boy who might be my son—was out of my control and in a foreign country. Did earthquakes ever strike France? Even if they never had, anything could happen, especially in this age of bizarre weather patterns.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. This tragedy, as horrible as it was, only strengthened my resolve. I would never feel truly secure until I knew the truth about Julien. And if he was my son, I would never feel real peace until he was safe and with me, where I could keep an eye on him. I might not be able to stop an earthquake from endangering my son, but if we were together, at least I could try to save his life.
I leaned forward and called softly to Marilee. “You about ready to go, hon? I think we might need to help Mama Isa clean up after Christmas.”
Amelia’s expression changed, a wry thought tightening the corner of her mouth. She must have realized I was retreating to maintain the peace between us.
“I’d better go,” I said, standing. “You’re obviously exhausted from all the changes around here, so I’ll let you get some rest.”
“I’m not exhausted,” Amelia protested. “Only a little less energetic than usual.”
“Whatever. Marilee, we need to go.” I headed toward the door, then turned. “I hope you like the baby present. Your mama says it’s completely inappropriate.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll like it. And I’ll unwrap it as soon as I can move without waking Johny.” She gave me a tentative smile as I opened the door. “Think about what I said, will you?”
“Yeah. See you later.” I waved and walked toward my car, feeling proud because I’d resisted the temptation to have the last word.