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I end up calling the hospital for news of Grace. The nurse tells me she can’t say anything about Grace’s condition or even if she’s out of surgery over the phone.
‘But I’m taking care of her son,’ I protest. ‘She’d want him to know.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She sounds firm rather than regretful.
It’s been forty-five minutes since we got home, and I’ve basically done nothing. I feel lonely in a way I didn’t expect. I’ve dreamed of this, and yet now I’m uncertain, restless.
I walk back into the living room. ‘Hey,’ I call lightly. ‘Why don’t we go out and do something?’
‘Swimming?’ Isaac asks hopefully.
‘I’m afraid I didn’t bring my swimsuit.’
‘You could borrow my mom’s.’
Grace is probably half my size. ‘I don’t think it would fit. What’s the next best thing to do, after swimming?’
Isaac lowers the iPad, his forehead furrowing. ‘Can we go to the Central Park Zoo?’ he asks at last. ‘We have a membership.’
That is something I feel capable of. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’
Twenty minutes later, both of us slathered in sun tan lotion and with a bottle of water in my bag, we head out. I decide against a cab, wanting Isaac to get a taste of the real city, or what I imagine it is. Besides my times here to see Grace I don’t have that much experience of Manhattan life.
We take the bus down Fifth Avenue, the cobblestone sidewalk outside the park filled with nannies and children, strollers and soccer balls. Dappled sunlight filters through the trees and people line up at the ice cream stands that are stationed on every other block. It almost feels like we’re in a movie, with the gleaming white spiral shape of The Guggenheim on one side and the park on the other, Manhattan at its sunny best.
We get out at Sixty-Seventh and walk down to the zoo, Isaac leading the way because he knows it better than I do. We stop outside the clock that I recognize from movies and magazines, with the mechanical animals coming to life every fifteen minutes. I’d managed to find Grace’s membership pass in a neatly organized drawer in the kitchen; she has memberships to just about everything fun or interesting in the city – Natural History, The Children’s Museum, The Met, The MOMA, Asphalt Green, even The Intrepid, the huge battleship permanently parked on the West Side. Sifting through all those laminated cards gave me an almost painful pleasure, that Isaac was experiencing all these things, the kind of things I wanted for him when I first agreed to the adoption. I picture him and Grace wandering through a museum or a park, a sunlit montage of happy mommy-and-me moments.
We line up to get into the zoo, and as soon as we’re through the doors Isaac is running off, wanting to see the penguins. I follow him around from exhibit to exhibit, baking in the heat, enjoying the way he hangs on the railing and studies the different animals so carefully and intently.
‘What’s your favorite animal here?’ I ask, and he answers immediately.
‘The grizzly bears.’
Later, I watch the two grizzly bears, Betty and Veronica, lumber about, and Isaac chortles at their antics as they try to knock a treat out of a tree. ‘Mom always likes the otters best,’ he says, glancing at me sideways. ‘Because they seem so happy.’
And so we have a look at the otters, watching them glide through the water, slick and dark and graceful. Yes, they do seem happy. I can’t help but smile as we watch them, and when Isaac asks for cotton candy, I say yes.
The pink puff of cotton candy is twice as big as his head, and I doubt he’ll eat a quarter of it, but I enjoy the sight of him pulling off wispy pieces and popping them into his mouth, savouring the clearly unusual treat. It’s been a nice afternoon, a temporary respite from the worries, the unknown.
We are strolling toward the park exit, the concrete still simmering with heat even though the sun has started to sink and there are long shadows cast on the cobblestone pavement, when, out of nowhere, I hear an incredulous voice. ‘Isaac?’
Isaac pulls up short, his face sticky and pink, his mouth dropping open at the sight of the mother and son in front of us.
The woman reminds me a little bit of Grace, with her expertly made-up face, her highlighted hair, a few gold bangles sliding down one super-skinny wrist. She’s wearing a pair of hot pink capris that look very expensive and a tight polo shirt in a bright white. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she gives me an appraising look.
‘You must be Grace’s nanny.’
I hesitate, wondering whether it’s easier to just go with it, but Isaac doesn’t let me take that option.
‘No, she’s my birth mom.’ He slurs the words together as if they’re one word, and I can tell he doesn’t really know what they mean. I doubt Grace has spent a lot of time trying to get Isaac to understand what I am to him.
The woman looks at me in surprise, and I can tell she didn’t know Isaac was adopted. And why should she? I doubt it’s something Grace has ever wanted to advertise.
‘I’m Lynne,’ she says, holding out one manicured hand, which I shake limply. ‘And this is Jasper. He’s in Isaac’s year at Buckley.’
I nod dutifully at the little boy with the blond hair that looks as if it has been expertly styled, with gel. He’s wearing a turquoise-blue polo shirt with a popped collar, khaki shorts, and loafers without socks. And he’s seven.
‘So do you and Isaac get together very often?’ Lynne asks in a trilling voice. ‘Where’s Grace?’ Her eyes dart around, looking for her.
