‘Mom?’ I look up from the computer to see Emma standing there, a textbook clutched to her chest. ‘What are you doing?’ Her eyes move to the screen and back to me, and I know she’s read the search results. Probably figured it out faster than me.
‘Nothing.’ I click the mouse to minimize the browser, even though I know it’s pointless. Emma’s gaze moves over my face, searching for answers. Of all the girls, she looks the most like me – blonde hair that will turn mousy as she gets older, light blue eyes, pale skin, freckles. She’s like me too in the way she moves quietly about, always working hard, keeping to herself. I was the same at her age.
No one expected me to get pregnant at seventeen and not even finish high school. No one ever noticed me, except Kevin, and that was only because we were assigned to work on a chemistry project together, two mousy misfits who bonded over our inability to operate a Bunsen burner. We used to laugh about it, but right now it makes me feel sad. I glance at Kevin, his gaze fixed determinedly on the TV. He’s watching some mindless game show like it holds the answer to life.
‘Is this about Isaac?’ Emma asks in a low voice. ‘Did Grace say something to you?’
Even Emma doesn’t sound surprised, like she expected this. I push the keyboard away, restless. ‘Maybe.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ I don’t know what I can do. I bet Grace is banking on me not contacting a lawyer, knowing a messy legal battle will hurt Isaac. When I consider that, I realize even I’m amazed at how long she’s let Isaac visit. She could have pulled the plug at any moment, but she didn’t. But if I’m supposed to feel grateful, I don’t. I still want more.
‘What do you think, Em?’ I ask, trying to sound practical. Strong. ‘Do you think I should give him up?’
‘Mom,’ Emma says softly, and she sounds sad, ‘you did that seven years ago.’
I blink, startled. ‘Is it hard, having him visit?’ I ask, the words tearing my throat. ‘Do you wish he didn’t?’
Emma doesn’t answer for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she says finally. ‘It’s weird. I don’t like thinking that he’s my brother, so I don’t.’
I jerk back a little at that admission. ‘Why don’t you like thinking it?’
Emma shrugs, her gaze sliding away. She doesn’t want to hurt me with her answer, but suddenly I want to know. I need to.
‘Tell me, Emma.’
‘Because you gave him away.’ Her voice is so small and soft I almost don’t hear the words. ‘And it feels wrong somehow, that you were able to just do that, so I just pretend he’s some distant relative or an old friend. Nobody who matters. Or at least no one who matters that much.’
I try to keep my face neutral, try not to show how devastating her words are, how they cut to my heart and tear it right open. I’m bleeding out, right there, and I don’t want to show it. Emma must see something of it in my face because she says, ‘Mom, I’m sorry…’
‘No.’ The word is ragged but sure. ‘No. You have nothing to be sorry for, Emma.’ But I can’t look at her; I’m afraid I’ll break down.
‘Okay.’ Emma stands there for a moment and then uncertain, she drifts away. I stay where I am, my heart like a stone within me. I don’t know how long I sit there, staring straight ahead, but eventually I take a deep breath and then I pick up the phone.
Seventeen
GRACE
We need to talk. Heather sounds grim, but I am determined to remain hopeful. At least we have something to talk about, and I’m praying she isn’t going to tell me she’s consulted some pro bono lawyer who is going to go apeshit on me. That’s the last thing I need.
‘Okay, Heather.’ I try to pitch my voice somewhere between friendly and practical, but I think my tone is a little off. ‘Do you want to talk now?’
‘Not over the phone.’ She sounds hard, almost angry. I feel a tremor of fear. With Dorothy leaving, I am not up for a big legal battle. I am just not.
‘Okay, then,’ I say, and I am really trying to hold onto my accommodating tone. ‘When is a good time for you?’
She’s silent for a long moment. ‘I can’t get time off work easily…’
No kidding. ‘On the weekend?’ I suggest, although I really don’t want Isaac there for whatever she’s going to say. The trouble is, I no longer have the childcare for him.
‘Not the weekend,’ she says decisively, and I hold onto my temper.
‘So when are you thinking?’ I ask as pleasantly as I can. I’m bending over ass-backwards but she doesn’t see it. She never does.
‘Next week, I guess,’ she says finally. ‘I get off early on Fridays. How about next Friday, around… two?’
Two o’clock in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Like that will be easy for me. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘That sounds great.’