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She nodded. “You’re uncomfortable with her signing away her parental rights, but lots of people give up babies for adoption.”
“I don’t think it would be fair to keep her away from the baby if she changes her mind, and shouldn’t the baby have a right to meet her biological mom, know where she comes from?”
Aunt Izzie picked up her sandwich and stared at me for several seconds without biting into it or speaking. “You’re worrying about things that may never happen. Take it one day at a time. Do you love Kyle? Do you want to be with him? If so, you owe it to yourself to give your marriage another chance.”
“It’s not about loving him or wanting to be with him. I don’t know if we can work our way through this.”
“Nonsense. If you want it bad enough, you’ll put in the effort to work it out.” With that she took a big bite of her sandwich, and we ate the rest of our lunch in silence.
By the time we’d finished eating and hiked back to the parking lot, a thick coat of pollen along with dust from the unpaved road we had driven over to get here covered Aunt Izzie’s Subaru.
“Oh, Greta,” Aunt Izzie said, looking at her car. “You need a bath.”
I laughed. “What she needs is to be put out of her misery.” Aunt Izzie had been driving around in that rust box for the last fourteen years. When she backed out of the parking space, I knew the pavement would be slick with oil. That was if the car even started.
“She doesn’t mean that, Greta.” Aunt Izzie patted the dashboard before turning the key in the ignition. Three times the car sputtered without starting.
“I knew we should have taken my car.”
Aunt Izzie patted the dashboard again. “Don’t let me down, Greta.” This time when she tried, the car started. Aunt Izzie smiled at me. “Greta and I have a long history together. I’m not going to get rid of her at the first sign of trouble.”
I knew she wasn’t talking about the car, but I wasn’t going to bite. We sat in silence as she navigated the bumpy dirt road to town. Back on the paved streets, Aunt Izzie flipped on her blinker in front of the car wash. Lines five cars deep waited in front of each of the bays. “Do you have to do this now?” I asked. I’d been afraid of car washes since I was a little kid.
A pickup truck stopped to let us go, and Aunt Izzie turned across the lane of traffic. As we waited, I wondered if I’d end up like Aunt Izzie, alone and naming my car as if it were a loved family member instead of a means of transportation. I wouldn’t even have nieces to keep me company.
When it was finally our turn, Aunt Izzie pulled into the bay and put the car in park. The door behind us shut, trapping us. Sprayers on the ends of long arms moved toward us, as if they were getting ready to attack. I took a deep breath. Jets moved over and around the station wagon, blasting it with soapy water. Suds covered all the windows so I couldn’t see out. My pulse throbbed in my neck.
Slowly the windows cleared, and my breathing returned to a normal pace. On all sides, blowers moved toward the car. Even though we were sitting still, I felt like the car was moving. I closed my eyes, hoping the feeling would pass.
A buzzer sounded. The door in front of us rose. Aunt Izzie pulled out of the bay. She parked to inspect Greta, and I jumped out for fresh air. The vehicle shone a sun-faded shade of green with no signs of the grime from the trees and dusty trail. Nobody looking at it would know what a mess the car had been minutes before.
“Greta was a bit roughed up, but with a little love, she’s as good as new,” Aunt Izzie said.
Chapter 42
The phone rang in the dead of the night, waking me from a restless sleep. Scared, I reached toward my nightstand, fumbling for my phone. A box of tissues and the book I’d been reading at bedtime crashed to the floor.
The name and picture lighting up my screen confused me: Sharon. My hands shook.Why is she calling me at two in the morning? Did something happen to Rick or one of the boys?
“I need you to come here quickly. Watch Cam and Noah.” Rick’s words came at me in a rush of nervous energy. A high-pitched squeal in the background drowned out whatever he said next.
I jumped out of bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Sharon’s in labor, and her parents are in Maine. I have to get her to the hospital.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rick’s vehicle whizzed past me, traveling in the opposite direction on a street around the corner from theirs. I brought the gas pedal all the way to the floor, and my car lurched forward. Sharon’s driveway was dark, but light poured out the living room window. I let myself in the unlocked front door and took the stairway two steps at a time. In the boys’ dark room, I could make out the outlines of their small bodies. Cameron flipped from his stomach to his side. “Mom?” he said, his voice groggy.
I backed out of the room into the hallway and listened. No other sounds came.
Downstairs on the couch, I texted Rick that I was with the boys and not to worry. A half hour later he replied,Sharon Driscoll Grey born at 2:57 am on August 10, weighing 7 pounds, two ounces.My phone vibrated with another message, an image this time, Sharon in a tranquil green johnny in her hospital bed, cradling a baby swaddled in a pink blanket. Baby Sharon’s red wrinkled face reminded me of the shrunken apple heads we used to make in elementary school in art class. My friend Sharon looked down at her daughter with shiny eyes and the most genuine smile I’d ever seen. My stomach twisted as my mind replayed our lunch at Stapleton Tavern, when I had questioned if she enjoyed being a mother. Would I ever stop regretting the things I’d said and done when Kyle and I were trying to have a baby?
My phone shook with another text; this one was from Kyle.Congrats, man. She’s a beauty!
I looked closer at Rick’s original message and realized that he’d included Kyle. In a few months, Kyle’s daughter would be born in that same hospital. My pulse quickened. Would he be in the delivery room with Casey? Would seeing the baby change Casey’s mind about walking away from her? Would she and Kyle raise the baby together? Would he marry her?
That same part of me that was embarrassed by my behavior with Sharon that day at the Stapleton Tavern scolded me again.If you hadn’t lied about the 401(k), none of this would be happening.
