by Kay Bratt
“A monkey flower,” Lauren said, stopping to touch the tip of a bright-yellow flower that poked out from behind a tree stump. “Watch it close its lips.”
Sure enough, the petals closed at the touch of Lauren’s fingertips.
“It thinks I’m an insect, and that’s what it does to trap the pollen,” she said, as though the flower were a living being with rational thoughts. She rose, smiling, and went on, looking for the next thing.
Sadie enjoyed watching her daughter without her knowing she was being studied. She loved how Lauren’s brow furrowed when she turned, questioning her direction. She admired the light steps she took in the moments of confidence. Sadie never tired of looking at that face. She had to admit, though, that lately it excited and terrified her that Lauren’s sprint into adulthood seemed to have started all at once. Sadie wasn’t ready for it.
“Look out,” Lauren said.
Sadie jerked her head back, narrowly missing being slapped in the face by a low-hanging branch that Lauren had pushed aside and let go of too quickly.
“Watch out there, slugger,” Sadie said. “Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”
“Sorry.”
The beginning of the trail was charming, following alongside a bubbling brook for a short piece before leading them into denser woods. After they’d gone a half mile or so, Sadie was surprised that she wasn’t feeling the least bit tired yet. She began to let herself relax and enjoy the moment.
Yosemite was indeed inspiring. It was hard to imagine all it held, but Sadie felt sure it was equal parts wonder and fear, so many acres of glittering green landscapes nestled between centuries-old granite cliffs, mountains, and valleys. All with a wide variety of plants, flowers, and wildlife claiming their own small slices of heaven. Sadie wondered what all the creatures in Yosemite thought about humans entering their promised land. She couldn’t imagine they’d be too pleased at the intrusion into what had been solely theirs for centuries before it had been discovered and claimed, then trampled upon.
“Look at how the light filters through the trees,” Lauren said. “I’m reading this book written by a naturalist named John Muir. He wrote that Sierra should be called the Range of Light because of the radiance of the noonday sun on the crystal rocks, the waterfalls, and the beams that stream through the passes.”
“He sounds like a poet,” Sadie said.
“He was more than a poet. He was one of the earliest advocates for preservation of the wilderness in the United States.”
“So he’s responsible for this walk—or hike—is what you’re saying?” Sadie mumbled.
“Well, he’s the most famous, but not my favorite by any means. I really enjoyed reading about Enid Michael.”
“Never heard of her.”
“I hadn’t either until I came here. She was a park ranger.”
“And that’s unusual?” Sadie asked.
“It was back in the early nineteen hundreds, when women were expected to be limited to washing and cooking. And she was also the first female naturalist way before John Muir came along and made it popular to be called a naturalist.”
“She sounds like quite the pioneer.”
Lauren nodded. “Yes, she paved the way for so many other women to pursue jobs that were once only open to men.”
“I couldn’t even imagine what this place was like that long ago. She must’ve been really brave,” Sadie said.
“And smart. She led hikes and bird-watching expeditions and was the force behind Yosemite’s first wildflower garden. She even taught the public about bears. There’s a photo of her that looks like she’s actually dancing with a bear, taken back when they allowed hand-feeding.”
“Before the bears got out of control, huh?”
Lauren gave her a frown. “No, the bears aren’t out of control. But they did start to lose their fear of people, so the park put limits on how much we interact with them. For our own safety.”
“Oh, didn’t know you were so protective of their reputations,” Sadie teased, but she was impressed with all that Lauren had been learning.
Lauren gave her an eye roll. “Funny. But anyway, after it was all said and done, Enid gave more than two decades to the park, and you know what? She probably wouldn’t even care that there are no statues that bear her name or no awards or whatever, because she was happiest when she was surrounded by quiet and nature without the interruption of noise that people brought.”
Lauren talked on, and Sadie kept her eyes on her. Her daughter looked taller from the back. Could she still be growing? Or was it an illusion? She remembered how tiny Lauren was for her age when they first got her. Halfway across the world, when the nanny had carried her into the room, Sadie had immediately known she was their daughter. After all, she’d been staring at Lauren’s photo for nearly a year and could probably sketch every contour of her face blindfolded. How many times had she touched the picture and prayed the universe would keep her child safe until she could get to her? She’d been so anxious.
“Harlan, family of four,” she’d imagined the hostesses at every restaurant saying as they were led to their dining table.
And even after Jacob was gone and she and Tom were downgraded to being only a couple—and a fractured one at that—Sadie had clung to her right to bring her daughter home. At times she’d felt like a traitor. She’d wrestled with the guilt that to continue the adoption journey was in some way soiling her devotion for Jacob or minimizing his memory.
But focusing on getting Lauren home was the one thing that had kept her mind from crumbling under her dark thoughts, and she’d persevered. Finally, after the long paper chase and excruciating wait for travel approval, it had been their moment. In a suffocating civil affairs office in the middle of a smog-ridden Chinese city, they’d waited until the nanny had come close and told Lauren it was her māma and bàba—using the Chinese endearments.
Lauren had cried. She had been so frightened of the two foreigners who were sobbing quietly, anxious to get her into their arms. Had she ever even seen anyone who wasn’t Chinese? She’d been five years old, and all she’d known was life in China behind the secure walls of an institution. Sadie couldn’t even imagine what was going on in her little head—the fear and confusion.
That first time when Sadie held her hands out, Lauren had backed away. To say it wasn’t hurtful would be lying, but she’d never told anyone that. It was normal, she’d read. She’d reminded herself of that when the nanny had practically shoved Lauren into Tom’s arms, then fled the room, overcome with emotion.
Seeing the anguish the woman had at leaving Lauren had helped alleviate some of those initial fears that her daughter had been treated poorly or neglected. But with that discovery had come the worry that Lauren wouldn’t want to leave with them, that she’d cry for the institutional employees who were paid to be her temporary family. How could such a little one even fathom the amazing life she would have in America? Or understand that if she stayed in China, she was destined to grow up experiencing further discrimination later in life in a culture that valued authentic blood ties and was a long way from accepting the concept of adoption?
Sadie had watched Tom holding their new daughter, and secretly, she had hoped that Lauren would lean over, drop herself into her new mother’s lap, and lock her arms around her neck—and that it would magically take away the soul-crushing grief she still carried. But that hadn’t happened. It had been just the opposite. Lauren had become instantly infatuated with Tom. His long, slender nose. The scruff he’d grown out and forgotten to shave that morning. His strong arms, huge hands, and the calm voice he’d used as he comforted her.
She’d stopped crying and stared up at him as though to say, “Well, hi. So this is what a father is supposed to look like, huh?”
From then on, they’d been inseparable. All through the Chinese streets the next few days, Lauren had been either in his arms or on his shoulders, refusing the stroller they’d lugged everywhere. When they ate at the hotel buffets o
r tiny noodle shops, she’d eaten only from his hand, perched on his lap. He wasn’t even that good with her either. He was awkward, surprised at how he’d suddenly become the main caregiver. It was Sadie’s devotion to the process that had landed them there, but now he was the one in the limelight with their new daughter.
In the mornings, it had been Tom that Lauren reached for. Sadie had had to stand aside as he’d clumsily dressed her, then later let all kinds of food drop onto the outfits that she had so painstakingly chosen for their daughter.
As they’d interacted at bedtime, Sadie had watched from a safe place a few feet away, afraid if she came close, Lauren would cry. It had been really hard. Sadie had longed to touch her, to completely envelop her and claim her, flesh to flesh, heart to heart. Her body had physically ached with the need to fill the hole that Jacob had left, agonizing that finally Lauren was so close yet still so far.
As other mothers on their adoption journeys at the same time and staying in the same hotel had proudly carried their children through the lobby or down the street, showing them off as they preened back and forth, Sadie had felt invisible. Unloved. Soiled somehow because her new daughter hadn’t accepted her yet.
She’d been forced to grab tiny snippets of touches, at least until Lauren would go to sleep; then she’d reveled in having her all to herself for as long as those beautiful fringed eyes were closed. Those first weeks she’d subsisted on almost no sleep, not wanting to waste one minute of having her daughter in her arms before she woke and wanted Tom again.
But Sadie had been patient. Even during the trying weeks after their homecoming, when Lauren had seemed obsessed with eating at all hours. It was as though she couldn’t get enough food or didn’t fully expect a meal to come around again. With Lauren only five years old, it felt somehow very wrong that Sadie would find Lauren sitting at the table throughout the day, staring solemnly at her place mat until Sadie put yet another snack within reach.
The doctor had told Sadie to set boundaries—three meals a day and only a few snack times—but she’d ignored his advice. Lauren needed to feel confidence in her new surroundings, and if Sadie couldn’t connect with her daughter physically, then she was going to connect with her any other way she could find, even if it meant fattening her up to look like a little pumpkin.
Tom had tried to help, encouraging Sadie to join their small circle. And she had, but it had taken a while before Lauren would come to her willingly. She should’ve known then that Tom had some sort of magic over their daughter, and they would be lifelong allies.
Sadie felt a stir of anger that Tom had ruined the circle of trust they’d all built up for each other. She considered that Lauren might just take his side in the entire situation.
That made her feel butterflies again. And not good ones. But it could possibly go well, she told herself. Lauren was older now. She’d matured. It really could go either way. One thing Sadie’d learned over the years was that the way Lauren processed emotions could be somewhat unpredictable. She didn’t listen and then quietly process like her father, yet she also didn’t take the bull by the horns and try to divert things the way she wanted them to go, like Sadie. At times, Lauren could be secretive and stubborn, deciding in her own time how she felt before sharing it with them. Sadie didn’t know if it was because she was adopted or if that was just the way she was wired, but all she could do was hope Lauren would take the news better than expected. After all, the weather was warm and the sun high in the clear blue sky, and at ground level her daughter was truly in her element.
“Look over there—the dogwoods are getting ready to bloom,” Lauren said, pointing to some trees in the distance that had a smattering of small white flowers decorating the branches. “They won’t be fully out until May, but I’ve heard they’re beautiful.”
As they went, she named the different plants and the few flowers they came across, talking about other short hikes she and Cooper had taken, the discoveries they’d made. It sounded as though they’d spent a lot of time together. Sadie wanted to question her about it but refrained. Lauren could shut a conversation down quickly if she thought she was being interrogated, and over the last few years she’d begun to guard her romantic life a bit more.
“We want to do an overnight before I go,” Lauren said. “Maybe even take a backpacking trip if we can swing it. But I’ll need to buy some equipment.”
Sadie hoped that idea faded away. It wasn’t that Lauren had never been camping. She had—but always in safe, posted campgrounds with Tom, who Sadie knew would protect their daughter with his life. She didn’t know enough about Cooper to feel the same trust. But since saying no wasn’t an option, she kept her mouth shut and hoped the opportunity for a backpacking trip didn’t arise any time soon.
Lauren talked as she walked, barely missing a step until they rounded the curve, and she held her arm out, stopping Sadie from going farther.
“Snake,” she said, with only a trace of alarm in her voice.
Sadie immediately grabbed the back of Lauren’s shirt, as though saving her from stepping off a treacherous cliff.
“Stop, Mom,” Lauren said, shaking her off. “Stay back. I don’t want you to get hurt.” She bent and picked up a small rock, then threw it near a snake, encouraging its flight off the trail and into the brush. The snake took off, though too leisurely for Sadie’s taste.
It was hard to believe that once upon a time, Lauren would scream for her dad anytime something crawly was near her, demanding he take care of it for her. Tom always told the story of when he and Lauren had gone camping for the first time and how she’d zipped herself completely inside her sleeping bag, armed with a whistle, flashlight, and bear spray. She’d woken the next morning and declared she was ready to go home, three days early.
“Try to walk softly, and we might see a deer or two,” Lauren said, turning her head to be heard.
“I don’t know if we really want to,” Sadie said. “I read that a deer killed a boy here several years ago.”
“That’s because people come here thinking every deer is like Bambi, and they forget they’re wild animals with a strong instinct to protect themselves,” Lauren said. “I feel bad about the boy, but he cornered the deer. It wasn’t the deer’s fault.”
Sadie wasn’t surprised that Lauren defended the deer. In the early years after she’d come home, Sadie had wondered what sort of person her new daughter would be, and she read everything adoption related she could get her hands on. One article had stuck with her. It said that children couldn’t inherit bad traits, that most traits were learned behavior. Sadie would be lying to herself if she claimed to never wonder about Lauren’s birth parents and what kind of people they were. Had it been love that had made them relinquish her to a new fate? Or had it been selfishness in wanting a boy and not a girl? If the latter, could their selfishness be passed down in some twist of unfairness?
She’d worried for nothing. Lauren was the kindest, most compassionate human that Sadie knew. The study had gone on to say that if children were exposed to good role models, they could acquire those same traits. Sadie had tried to always remember that prediction and be the best role model she could be. She felt she could at least claim some responsibility for the woman Lauren was becoming. But was that too arrogant to even fathom?
She had to quit thinking so much.
They’d walked another minute or so when suddenly Lauren stopped again and waved. Sadie was walking behind her on the narrow path and almost ran into her.
“What is it?”
“There’s another hiker,” Lauren said.
“Do you know him?”
Lauren laughed. “Mom, there’s thousands of people in this park every day. Do you think I know all of them?”
“Well, you waved.” Sadie shrugged. She still couldn’t see the guy, and they began walking again, rounding a bend.
“I was being friendly. That’s what they do here. It’s hiker etiquette.”
Finally, he came into view, and from
what Sadie could see, she was glad that Lauren didn’t know him. He was tall and much too thin. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His scraggly beard and unkempt clothes made him look like a beggar, but the tattoo sleeve on one arm and those peeking out of his collar set Sadie on edge. He’d obviously been on the trail a long time, if not forever, judging by the ragged backpack that lay propped at his feet. Though in rough shape, it was one of those huge ones with a sleeping bag attached to it neatly and small items hanging from every angle.
He approached and stopped in front of them, blocking the trail. “How are y’all?”
The accent was definitely southern, probably Deep South to be precise. Alabama. Or maybe Mississippi. Sadie wondered why he was so far from home. She worked her way in beside Lauren, not quite frowning at the young man but definitely not exuding charm. She didn’t want to give him any ideas.
“We’re good,” Lauren said, smiling.
His eyes moved down a bit, and he grinned. “Nice shirt.”
“Thanks,” she said, laughing quietly. She looked over at Sadie. “My mom hates it.”
That was an understatement. The shirt read NERD? I PREFER THE TERM INTELLECTUAL BADASS. Amusing, yes, but a bit too much to be wearing in public.
Sadie watched him give Lauren a long look, taking in her dark hair and almond-shaped eyes; then he glanced at her and gave her the once-over. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He was trying to process how they could be mother and daughter. Sadie had seen it a million times, and it never ceased to irritate her. Hadn’t backwoods boy ever heard of adoption?
She steeled herself for the next question.