Mother's Day (4 page)

“All right.”

Karen groped for her purse and stood up as Greg scanned the room for the red hair of their waitress, caught her eye, and summoned her. Karen felt as if everyone in the restaurant were staring at them as Greg gave the waitress a tip and a hurried excuse. Karen trained her gaze on the floor as they left the inn.

Neither one of them spoke as Greg opened the door for her, then went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. “Put your seat belt on,” he said gently as the motor idled. Karen did as she was told.

Just as Greg started to back out of the parking space, their waitress appeared at the doorway to the inn and waved to them. For a moment Karen’s heart lifted as the woman trundled toward their car.

Jenny had called. It was all a mistake. She was on her way. Karen rolled down the window as the woman reached the car, her coppery hair agleam in the afternoon sun.

“You left this at your place,” said the woman breathlessly.

Karen looked down at the box holding the locket that the woman extended to her.

Karen took the box and put it in her lap. “Thank you,” she said numbly. She stared down at her gift.

“Hope you feel better,” said the waitress kindly. She waved as they pulled away.

Greg turned down their street and up the long driveway to their house. Back when they were first married, Greg and Karen had bought their home, a run-down old Colonial on one of the prettiest pieces of land in town. In the ensuing years the surrounding property had been subdivided and dotted with new houses, but their house was still relatively secluded, with many shady trees and no near neighbors. Greg had renovated the house with loving care over the years. Occasionally they talked about moving, but they doubted they could ever find a like piece of land or a house with the character of the one they had.

Greg helped Karen out of the car as if she were ill, guided her up the path with a hand on her elbow, and opened the front door.

“I might go lie down,” Karen said. She felt chilled despite the pleasant warmth of the day.

“All right,” Greg said sadly. “Why don’t you. Can I bring you a sandwich or something?”

“I’ll get something later.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Don’t you be sorry. You were just trying to give me a nice day.” Slowly Karen climbed the stairs to their room and changed into some comfortable Sunday clothes—jeans and an old sweatshirt. She placed the locket in a drawer in her bureau. The photo of Jenny smiled up at her, bright and eager. Karen winced as if jabbed. Don’t take it to heart, she kept telling herself. It seemed to take all of her energy to lie down on the bed. Once she had pulled the comforter up over her shoulders, she dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

Sometime later she was awakened by the sound of the front door slamming and then of loud voices from downstairs. For a minute she hid under the covers, the painful rejection washing over her again. Finally she dragged herself up and went downstairs, her slippered feet quiet on the steps.

“I told you how important this was,” Greg was saying, his voice clipped with rage. “I think I made it very clear. Your mother has been through a lot lately. All I asked of you was one happy, pleasant day to make her feel better. But no, you couldn’t manage that.”

Jenny’s small face was white, her freckles livid against the skin, and her blue eyes were glittering with anger. “I can’t believe this. You start screaming the minute I come in the door, like I’m some kind of criminal.”

“What do you expect? You behave like a selfish little…I don’t know what. You don’t think of anybody but yourself.”

“Nobody around here even gives me a chance to speak!”

“Stop yelling,” said Karen, standing in the doorway to the living room.

Jenny turned and looked at her mother. For a minute a guilty look flitted across her features. Then she stuck I out her chin belligerently. “He started it,” she said.

Greg shook his head in disbelief. “Nothing is ever your fault, is it? You’re the poor, put-upon one. Did you ever give a thought to how your mother might feel?”

“Of course I did,” said Jenny defensively. “But Peggy wanted to go to the movies, and she wanted me to go with her.”

“Oh, I see,” Greg said sarcastically, “Peggy wanted to go. Well, what choice did you have?”

“Forget it,” said Jenny.

“Did you stop to think we’d be worried about you?” Karen cried. “Why didn’t you at least call and tell us where you were going?”

“I knew you’d say no,” said Jenny.

“That does it,” said Greg.

“Does what?” Jenny demanded.

“Have I got this right?” asked Greg incredulously. “You want to do something and if you think we’ll say no, you just do it anyway and don’t tell us?”

“No,” said Jenny with a sigh. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You damn well better not mean that,” Greg exclaimed.

“I knew you would be like this,” said Jenny wearily.

“Jenny, for God sakes, how do you expect us to react?” Karen demanded in a shrill voice. “What are we supposed to think when we don’t know where you are or what happened to you?”

“Don’t say it,” said Jenny, mimicking a querulous, high voice. “We can’t forget what happened to Amber. Gosh, I’m so sick of Amber. Nothing happened to me. Why does it have to be such a big deal?”

“Don’t you tell me it’s no big deal,” Karen said, her voice shaking, “I’m the one sitting here worrying about you. If you can’t be trusted to let us know where you are, then you won’t be allowed to stay with your friends. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s not fair,” Jenny cried. “It was one time.”

“You heard your mother,” said Greg.

“You don’t even listen to me. You just push me around.”

“I’ve listened to you all I’m going to,” said Greg. “You get up to your room and when you are ready to apologize to your mother and act like a decent human being you can come down.”

Muttering under her breath, Jenny stamped out of the room and started up the stairs, her feet banging on each step.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. “Who’s that now?” Greg said with a scowl. “What timing.”

“I’ll get it,” said Karen. She walked out into the center hallway and opened the door. A stranger stood on the doorstep. She was around thirty, slim and nicely dressed, with dark, shoulder-length hair. She was holding a bouquet of flowers and a shining, ornate wooden box. Her face was pale and heart-shaped, with a dusting of brownish freckles across her nose. She looked at Karen with anxious blue eyes and swept her bangs off to the side with a nervous gesture that gave Karen’s heart a queer little twist.

“Mrs. Newhall?” she asked.

Karen nodded.

“I know I should have called first, but I was afraid I’d lose my courage.”

Karen’s heart thudded in her chest. “That’s all right,” she said automatically, but a voice in her head was clamoring, No, no, it’s not. This was a face she had t never seen, a voice she had never heard, a name unknown to her. But instantly, instinctively, Karen knew her.

“May I come in?”

Karen stood back, and the woman stepped into the hallway. Jenny, who had halted at the top step when the doorbell rang, came halfway down and hung curiously over the bannister.

The woman looked up and saw Jenny there. Her eyes widened. “Are you Jenny?” she asked.

Jenny nodded and came down another step.

The woman looked apologetically at Karen. “I hope you don’t think this is too terribly rude or strange, but I had to come.”

“Who is it?” asked Greg, coming into the foyer.

Karen felt as if she were frozen where she stood, her gaze riveted to the woman’s face, unable to reply.

The woman was staring at Jenny. “I’ve tried to picture you a million times,” she said almost to herself.

Jenny looked questioningly from the stranger to Karen and then back. “Am I supposed to know you? What do you want?”

It was obvious to Karen that Jenny did not see it. To a thirteen-year-old girl, her own appearance was nothing more than a collection of insoluble problems, a source of constant anxiety. A mouth too wide, hair too greasy, a pimple no makeup could disguise. A thirteen-year-old girl could not be expected to see her reflection in a middle-aged face. But Karen could see it. And more than that, she could feel it, like a threat in the air. “Wait a minute,” Karen blurted out.

But it was too late to stop her. The woman smiled tremulously.

“My name is Linda Emery,” the woman said to the bewildered girl. “I’m your mother, Jenny. Your real mother.”

A paralyzing numbness seeped through Karen’s body
as she heard the words and watched their meaning register on Jenny’s face. The girl froze on the stairway, holding the bannister in a white-knuckled grip, her stunned gaze fastened on the stranger. “You’re my mother?” she said.

Tears formed in Linda Emery’s eyes and rolled down her freckled cheeks. She nodded and then glanced at Karen apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.” She looked tenderly back at Jenny. “But seeing you here after all these years…” Jenny looked first at Karen, then at Greg, who was rigid in the doorway to the living room, his face drained of all color. Karen could see the bewilderment in Jenny’s eyes. She was looking to them for some answer, some explanation, as a child would do. Say something, she thought. Get it together. But all she could do was stare helplessly at the intruder.

“I have proof. Your birth certificate. It’s in my purse,” Linda said. She tried to reach for her purse, but she was encumbered by the bouquet of flowers and the shiny box. She held them up, offering them to Jenny. “These are for you,” she said. Jenny did not budge from her spot halfway up the staircase.

Awkwardly, Linda placed the flowers and the box on the floor beside her. Then she stood up and began to fumble in her purse. “I put it in an envelope. One of these pockets…I don’t know…here…” She held up the slip of paper in Jenny’s direction, but Jenny just shook her head. Linda turned and offered it to Karen. Karen reached for it mechanically and stared down at it. Greg walked up and pried it gently from her icy fingers.

“Let me see that,” he said. He frowned at the document as Linda lifted her gaze back to Jenny and drank in the sight of her. “You don’t know,” she said. “You don’t know how I have dreamed of seeing you.”

Greg’s voice cut her off harshly. “What do you want?” he demanded. “Why are you here?”

Linda tore her gaze from Jenny’s face and looked at Karen and Greg. “I’m sorry, Mr. Newhall, Mrs. New-hall. I know I shouldn’t have just turned up on your doorstep like this. I had to see her. Please, if we could just talk “

Slowly, as if waking from a trance, Jenny came down the stairs, walked over toward Linda, bent down, and picked up the flowers and the box.

“It’s a music box,” Linda said eagerly. “It plays ‘Beautiful Dreamer.’ “

“Thanks,” said Jenny, standing near Linda but not looking at her.

Karen finally recovered herself enough to speak. “Why don’t you come in?” she said in a leaden voice. She gestured to the living room, throwing a warning glance at Greg, and preceded Linda into the room.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Linda exclaimed. “So comfortable. You have a beautiful home.”

Karen was about to thank her when Linda added, “I’m so glad.” The implication hit Karen like a slap in the face. Linda hadn’t said “for my daughter,” but she might as well have. Karen turned and looked at Jenny. She was standing in the doorway holding her gifts, looking like a child who had lost her way home. Karen could see that she needed a chance to think, to collect herself. Karen walked back to her and gently took the music box from her. “Those flowers need water,” she said. “Why don’t you go put them in a vase.”

Jenny nodded. “Okay,” she said, and fled from the room, clutching the bouquet.

Linda had perched on the edge of the sofa. Karen seated herself in the rocker, the chair where she had rocked Jenny to sleep a thousand times, and placed the music box on the coffee table between them. Greg declined to sit.

“I’m sure you’re wondering…” Linda began.

“How did you…” Karen said at the same time.

“Go ahead,” said Linda nervously.

“What I want to know,” said Karen, “is how you found us. This was a blind adoption. Those records were sealed.”

“I hired a private investigator,” said Linda apologetically. “He was able to get the information from the lawyer’s office.”

Karen glanced at Greg, who was leaning against the mantel. She could tell he was as angry about this as she was. Arnold Richardson was careless, negligent, if he let this kind of information get out of his office. It was his job to protect them from something like this.

“I know it was…wrong for me to do that. Please, try to understand. I’m from Bay land originally, although I’ve been living in Chicago for many years. Recently I found out that my father had died, and I decided to make a trip back. I knew my baby had been adopted by a local couple, and when I knew I was coming back here, I just had to try to see her.”

“We knew the mother was a local girl,” said Karen in a dull voice. Her mind traveled back to that long-ago day when Arnold Richardson had called them to his office and told them about their baby. She could still recall the rapid beating of her heart, the clamminess of her hands, intertwined with Greg’s, as they received the news. “The mother is a local girl,” Arnold Richardson had said, and in her own heart Karen had said, God bless you, whoever you are. Thank you for this wonderful gift. I hope you have a rich and happy life. Karen looked at the woman on her sofa and tried to rekindle that blissful rush of joy and gratitude. But all she could feel now was something cold in her chest.

Linda continued to talk, trying nervously to fill the silence. “I was only seventeen when she was born. And all these years I’ve wondered about her. I’m sure you could understand that…”

“I suppose so,” said Karen stiffly. “You could have at least phoned us.”

“I was afraid,” Linda pleaded. “I was afraid you would turn me down.” She took out a tissue and wiped her eyes.

Karen glanced up again at Greg, who had moved to the front window and was staring out. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were steely, but she could see that he was holding himself back from saying anything. He was trusting it to her.