by Amy Hatvany
“If you don’t, someone else will,” Star commented.
“What about a waiting list?” Nova asked.
“There isn’t one. It’s a fairly new home. The director told me that very few people know about it. I guess Mr. Waterson’s assistant knew someone who lives in La Conner and told her about it when it opened last fall.”
“Kismet,” Star commented. “Honey,” she continued, addressing her daughter, “turn left up here at the light.”
“I see that, Mom. There’s a very large sign that says ‘La Conner.’ But thanks.” She rolled her eyes toward her hairline.
Star saw the movement in the rearview mirror and tapped the back of Nova’s seat with her foot. “Be nice,” she instructed, her voice edged in warning. The air suddenly felt tense, as I sensed the same unease between Nova and Star that I often felt with my own mother.
“Still hate backseat drivers, huh, Nova?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood in the van.
“Backseats are only good for one thing,” Nova said, smiling. “We learned that in high school, right, Nic?”
“Along with a few other things,” I answered.
Star covered her ears. “Please. I don’t need to hear this.” She grimaced. “I may be hip, but I’m still your mother.”
“Please. Like you don’t know how I ended up with four kids.”
“I’d rather not think about it, thank you.”
“How did you end up with four kids?” I asked, laughing more.
“Easy. I’m a slut.” Nova and I both roared at her joke, and even Star couldn’t help but join us. Jenny giggled at us all, and Layla cooed and smiled, batting at the colorful toys that hung over her car seat. The tension in the vehicle had lifted, suddenly upbeat and oddly out of sync with the purpose of our trip.
I sighed, still laughing a bit. “I envy you, you know that?” I twisted to look at Star. “You, too. Both of your marriages are so great.”
“Ha!” Star and Nova snorted at the same time, sounding so alike their relation suddenly became apparent.
“What do you mean, ‘ha’? You and Orion have been together how long, thirty years almost? And you and Ryan seem so close, Nova. I don’t know how you do it.”
Star reached up to touch my elbow. “You don’t think thirty years has been all candlelight and flowers, do you? Because it definitely has not.”
“And popping out a baby every few months is not exactly fuel for the romantic fires,” Nova added. “Seems like every time I’d actually get up the energy to do it, Ryan’d knock me up and poof! ‘No Sex in the Suburbs.’”
I laughed again, wistful. “I know. I guess I just wonder how it is to connect—I mean really connect—with someone. The right someone.”
“Seems like I saw some connecting going on with that Garret fellow at the barbecue,” Star commented knowingly. I wondered what Nova had told her about us.
I blushed, tucking my curls behind both ears. “Well, yeah, maybe, but I guess what I mean is how do you make it last? How do you stay together through the times when you don’t connect?” My thoughts fled to Shane as I considered whether we had ever actually connected on any level other than the physical.
“I think it’s really about expectations,” Star said. “If you expect to connect all of the time, you’re doomed.”
Nova whistled. “Watch out, Dr. Laura. Star Carson is on the air.” She followed the curve of the road onto the short main strip of downtown La Conner.
“Nova,” I groaned, shifting my body to look at my friend’s mother. “Star, that was very helpful. Thank you.”
“It was, Mom,” Nova relented. “I also happen to agree with you.”
“Well, will wonders never cease?” Star smiled. She looked out the window. “Here’s the street we’re looking for.”
“Okay, Mom!” Nova tooted the horn, obnoxiously. “Got it!”
“Just trying to help,” Star said, crossing her arms over her chest, her tone defensive.
“Well, give it a rest,” Nova said, turning the steering wheel. It was good to see another person get so easily annoyed with her mother. It almost made me feel normal.
We pulled up in front of a boxy, two-story gray house with white shutters and a wraparound porch. A wide ramp served as entrance to the double front doors, so Star and I didn’t have any trouble getting Jenny inside. Nova stayed in the car to nurse Layla, promising to join us soon.
When we entered, a short, stocky woman of what I guessed to be Latino descent approached us from behind a small desk. She wore violet-hued polyester pants and a matching nurse’s smock with sensible white orthopedic shoes.
“Hello,” she said, sticking out her hand. “You must be the Hunters.”
“Two of us are,” I answered, introducing myself, Jenny, and Star.
She bobbed her dark head sharply in our direction. “Did you have any trouble finding us?”
I shook my head. I had been expecting the director. “Is Ms. Navarro here today?”
“I’m Natalie Navarro.” Her r’s had a slight purring sound. She gestured to her appearance. “I’m also a nurse a few hours a day. Shall I give you the tour?”
“Please.” I held my breath as she led us through the house, fearful that the next corner would reveal the darkness I had been expecting, the stench that I believed accompanied all residences such as these. But all I found were orderly, professional surroundings edged by personal touches of photo galleries and stuffed animals. The two other residents were female, both with their own rooms on the first floor. The remaining room would be Jenny’s; it was a small, square space with a large window that looked out into the backyard. There were two bathrooms, both well-equipped with safety measures. Upstairs was Ms. Navarro’s office, along with an extra bedroom and half bath for the nurses to share. The kitchen was set up family-style, a long white picnic table along the wall opposite the countertop and sink. The girls’ wheelchairs would roll easily up to the table to eat. There was a television in the living room; one girl sat on the slightly worn couch watching a Sesame Street video. Nova joined us there; Layla slept peacefully in the sling. I smiled vaguely at her, and when she gripped my hand in her own, I did not let go.
“We encourage music therapy with movement,” Ms. Navarro said as we came to a halt next to the front door. “Art therapy, too. There is a reading hour every day as well.” She stepped over to the resident on the couch and adjusted the pillows around her lolling head to be of better support, then kissed the top of the girl’s head.
“Where’s the other resident right now?” Star asked, her hand resting on Jenny’s shoulder.
“Outside for physical therapy,” Ms. Navarro replied. “We try to get the girls out for at least a couple of hours a day if it’s not raining.”
We followed her down a narrow hallway out the back door, then down another ramp to a covered patio. A small grass area edged the cement, and a high wooden fence lined the entire yard. There were several thickly padded mats on the ground, one of which had a resident on it. A nurse worked the range of motion for the girl’s legs. Her touch seemed efficient but gentle.
Jenny looked at the girl with awe. She had clawed hands similar to Jenny’s and a head that drooped forward to her chest while the rest of her body looked like a tightly bound pile of rubber bands. “What do you think, Jen?” I asked nervously.
“Ahhh,” she groaned, perhaps with a touch of apprehension.
“It’s not quite what I expected,” I said.
“I’d imagine not,” Ms. Navarro concurred. “I know the flaws of most other homes; we aspire to a much higher standard of care. Residents are always supervised here, never left alone except when they are sleeping.”
“What about male nurses? Or visitors?” Nova asked the question she knew I wanted to.
“We can’t exclude male nurses from applying to work here, but so far, none have. My staff is very happy, and I don’t expect to replace anyone anytime soon. As for visitors, no man is allowed to be alone with any reside
nt except the one he is related to.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”
We agreed to stay, though I spent less time eating and more reading Jenny’s reaction to her surroundings. She seemed to relax around the table, emitting short, happy yelps along with one of the other girls. It was almost as though they were holding a conversation. By the time we left, I was emotionally exhausted but fairly settled on placing her there. I told Ms. Navarro to let me know when a room became available, and she assured me, sadly, that it looked like it might be soon.
We were a quiet bunch as Nova drove along until Star spoke up. “It wasn’t exactly a beautiful place, but I don’t think you could do much better. The staff seems very caring.”
“I know,” I sighed. “It’s just so hard, imagining leaving her again.”
“You’re not leaving her,” Nova observed. “You’re moving her to a place where she’ll get the kind of care she needs and you can continue with your life. You can go see her whenever you want.”
“I’m going to have to,” I said, something rising up in me, filling me with resolve. “I’m going to have to take the baby to visit her.”
Nova shot me a stunned look before wrenching her attention back to the road. “Excuse me?” she exclaimed, hands gripping the steering wheel.
“I’m going to adopt her baby.” My eyes filled with tears, my heart bursting with the knowledge of doing the right thing. “I’m going to be a mother.” I looked back at my sister as I said this, but she was already asleep, tired from the unusual exertion of the day’s outing.
“Nicole!” Star exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! How long have you been thinking about this?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged shakily. “I guess some part of me knew I’d do it since the day I got here.” I looked at Nova, who was darting probing looks at me while negotiating traffic. She was smiling deliriously even as a hint of apprehension danced in her eyes. “I promise,” I went on, “I’ve thought about it long and hard and I’m not doing this out of guilt. I want to be this baby’s mother. I think I just needed to know that Jenny would be okay before I could decide for sure, you know? I knew I couldn’t take care of them both.” I laughed a little before continuing, a slightly hysterical edge to the sound. “It’s so strange, but I feel like I already know this kid. Like she chose Jenny to carry her so I could be the one to raise her. She’s been talking to me.” I told them about my dream, then swallowed to push down the tight knot in my throat. “Is that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?”
Nova changed lanes and pulled over on the shoulder of the highway. “No, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard! Oh, sweetie! I’m so happy you decided to do it. I knew you would.” After shifting the van into park, she unbuckled her seat belt and threw her arms around me. “You are such an amazing woman.” She turned teary eyes to Jenny in the backseat. “Do you know what an amazing sister you have, Jen?”
Still asleep, Jenny appeared unimpressed.
I laughed. “Well, we’ll see how amazing I am.”
“What do you mean?” Nova asked, wiping at her eyes.
“I still have to tell Shane.” I sighed, leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window, and pictured giving him the news. And try as I might, the only vision that filled my head was of his back as he walked away, leaving me for good.
• • •
I was sixteen the first time my father left us. I came home from school one Friday afternoon to find my mother bent over the kitchen table, her long dark hair hanging around her face like a shroud. Her shoulders shook silently. The cheerful sounds of Sesame Street sang loudly from the living room, where Jenny usually sat this time of day.
“Mom?” I said hesitantly. I set my backpack on the floor and moved over to place my hand on her back. “Mom?”
She looked up to me, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen with tears. The corners of her lips dug deep into the flesh of her chin as she tried to speak. “He … he’s … ”
My insides rattled against each other. “He’s what, Mom?”
She tried again. “He’s leaving.”
“Who’s leaving?” She shook her head and gestured to the hall connecting their bedroom to the kitchen. I stepped slowly, deliberately, to their doorway, saw the closet open and half empty; a stray red-striped tie lingered alone on a hanger. It was the tie I had given him for Father’s Day when I was eight and didn’t know yet that most redheads couldn’t wear red. My father stood next to the bed, stuffing a suitcase with fistfuls of underwear. He stopped when he saw me, his expression wild and scared.
“What are you doing, Dad?”
“Packing.” He directed his attention back to his task, scanning the dresser for anything he might have missed.
Oddly, panic, instead of elation, danced in my belly. “Do you have a work trip?” He sometimes traveled to other cities to work on housing developments.
“No.” He looked at me again, his pale skin flushing bright pink.
“What, then?”
“Ask your mother.”
“But—”
“I told you to ask your mother.”
I went back to the kitchen, my heart rolling over in my chest. I stood by the sink, tapping my foot on the worn linoleum. “What happened, Mom?”
She shook her head again, face in her hands. It felt as though a huge purple elephant was sitting in the middle of our house, crushing the rafters, knocking over walls, tearing down the very foundation of my family’s home, and still she was silent. I wanted to yank the words from her throat, to be given some sort of explanation. I thought I deserved at least that.
When Dad came into the kitchen a moment later, he carried two suitcases and a duffel bag was slung over his shoulder. He set the luggage down next to my mother, stood tall beside her, staring at a spot above the refrigerator, not at his wife. “You’re sure, Joyce? This is what you want?”
She shot him a look brimming with anger and pleading. “It certainly is not what I want. It’s what you want. It’s always been what you want. I want you to stay. I want us to be a normal family.”
“That’s not possible. There’s nothing more we can do for her.”
My mother grabbed his hands. “We can be her parents. We can love her. You love her, Mark. I know you do.”
My father’s intensely blue eyes—the eyes that he had passed on to the daughter he could not stand to call his own—were blank. His silence said more than any words ever could. It wrapped up his resolve and handed it to my mother like a broken gift. He gently extricated his fingers from her grasp and picked up his luggage. He didn’t even look at me as he walked out the back door.
My mind bubbled with questions. What would we do? Where would we get money? Would my mom get a job? Would I have to quit school and stay home with Jenny? I looked to my mother for answers.
“What are we going to do, Mom?” I felt a strange mixture of excitement and terror at my father’s departure: the child in me curled into a dark corner, whimpering for her daddy, the adult who had only begun to blossom in my being shouting a thankful hallelujah. I was not sure to whom I should listen.
My mother stared at me, wiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “We’re going to do what we always do. We’re going to make dinner.” She stood, tucked her hair defiantly behind her ears. “Could you please go get your sister?”
And so I did. We made dinner, ate it, cleaned up, and went to bed. Life went on as usual for weeks. But for however much I despised my father, our house felt empty without him in it. I hated the part of me that missed him, the part that loved him despite everything I knew him to be. Or maybe it was everything I knew him not to be. I hated the searching look Jenny gave to his favorite chair, the murmur of Daddy? that flowed through my blood every day he was gone. How could she possibly miss him? I knew my mother did. She was unusually quiet, caring for Jenny and the house in her typical way, but seemingly disjointed, uneven, uncomfortable in her skin.
I did not know if my parents spoke during this time. I only knew that a month later, I came home one morning from spending the night at Nova’s house to find him back in his chair, reading the paper as though he had never left. He crunched the paper down into his lap, smiled at me, and I felt the urge to growl like an angry dog, protecting her turf.
No matter how much I pressed her, my mother would not tell me why he had come back or, for that matter, why, knowing what he was doing to Jenny, she had let him. And I hated her for it. The wall around my heart grew thicker.
For a while, everything remained calm in the family. My father worked, came home early, joked, and smiled with us, even got down on his knees to dance cheek to cheek with Jenny each night before she went to bed. The joy on her face as our father held her was a radiant beam, warming the air around her.
“‘You made me love you,’” my father sang to her, his hands on her shoulders. “ ‘I didn’t want to do it … I didn’t want to do it!’”
Jenny grinned ferociously, and I sat on the couch, arms crossed, watching their exchange with equal measures of disgust and envy. He was trying; I had to give him credit for that. But later that night, when Jenny’s screams pulled me from my room and I watched his frustration return in a lightning flash of anger and fist, I was glad that credit was all I had given him. I was glad I had not found it in my heart to forgive him, as my mother and sister seemed to have done. Whatever part of me had rejoiced at my father’s return was smothered by the enormous weight of once again seeing his back move into her room, the sound of her bed drowning out the silent screams that filled my blood like an aching disease—a disease that, like my sister’s, had no cure.
• • •
The house was dark when Jenny and I returned from our trip to La Conner; I figured Mom must have gone out for a movie, thinking we wouldn’t be home until late. Although we had worked out a sort of schedule with Jenny—taking turns going to her in the night and switching off caring for her on the weekend days—Mom still didn’t seem entirely comfortable being around us on a regular basis, spending time together as a family. I supposed that after eight years of living a fairly private, solitary life, having both your daughters back in your house wouldn’t be the easiest thing to get used to, even without all the complications of our particular situation. So even though part of me was bothered by her absence, I tried to be content that my face no longer tightened with anger each time she entered a room. We had come further than I ever imagined we would.