Daughters for a Time (33 page)

Forty-eight hours later, we were home with our new daughter. Grace—named for that elusive quality that I’d admired so much in Claire, the quality I now knew came straight from God. Sam clamored around her, kissing her hands and her feet, finding a spot to snuggle against my side. Maura, too, oohed and ahhed over her new cousin/sister. At one point, I had Sam on one side, Maura on the other, and baby Grace on my chest, and I was thrilled to see that my love unfolded like a blanket to cover all of them. I just looked up to the ceiling and let the tears slide silently down my face.

A month later, Dr. Elle Reese knocked on the door, ready to complete her final post-adoption visit. Today, she was wearing a shimmery, jade-colored tunic (maybe it was a dress?) over white bell-bottomed slacks. The blouse was open far enough to reveal considerable cleavage inside her silk camisole. Her silver heels were three-inch spikes. Her gemstone earrings hung down like dewy raindrops.

“Helen, Helen, Helen,” she sang in her operatic singsong. “You certainly have been busy.” Elle pointed to my new family: Maura and Sam sitting on the floor, sewing lacing boards, baby Grace in my arms. “When I first met you,” she said. “I hypothesized that you had a hole in your heart left from your mother’s death and that you were certain that having a baby would fill that hole.”

“Good hypothesis.”

“Has it?” she asked kindly.

“It has,” I admitted. “Loving these girls in the way that I remember being loved by my mother—a love that was cut short—has definitely healed my heart.”

“I’m so glad,” Elle said. “That’s the
goal.
The relationships in our life
should
be nurturing.”

“In so many ways,” I tried to explain. “I feel repaired. The old wounds feel repaired, anyway. As if what was taken has been returned. I don’t get to be my mother’s daughter ever again. But I get to be a mother and aunt to these girls. It helps. There’s no doubt that it helps.”

“And how are you doing with the loss of your sister?”

I looked to the ceiling, considered how to phrase my response. “That wound is still wide open, and that’s exactly how I want it right now.” I closed my eyes and steadied myself against the chill that tickled the back of my neck. “What I’m trying to say is that I want to feel the pain because that’s when
I remember Claire the clearest. I’m not ready to try to heal yet. In time.”

When we were finished with our visit, I scooped Grace into my arms and walked Elle to her car. I thanked her for being more to me than a social worker, for letting me revisit my history in the safe embrace of her counsel. As she drove away, I walked to the mailbox. Mixed in with the usual junk, advertisements, and bills was a yellow envelope from the adoption agency. I slid my finger along the top and pulled out the letter.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Francis:
We are in receipt of your letter dated August 1 in which you expressed an interest in adopting a second daughter from China. We are heartened, in particular, to hear that you are interested in learning more about our Waiting Children program. The children in this group are oftentimes older and/or have special medical needs. But as they are “waiting children” already,
your
wait to adopt one would be much less than it was when you adopted your first child.
We recognize that it takes a special set of parents with an unusual amount of love and patience to open their hearts to these children.
We look forward to assisting you.
Sincerely yours.

As I walked back to the house, the memory of the day at Sam’s orphanage played vividly in my mind: touring the baby room, the playroom, and standing in front of the room that the director said contained “hard-to-place” children. I thought of the beautiful toddler girl, the mentally challenged children, the boy with the cleft palate, the other with the missing arm. Most of them, clearly, were still there. Still waiting.

I opened the door and let the clatter fill my ears: Grace babbling in my arms, Sam and Maura clanking the tops of pots to the time of their marching band, Chip gnawing on his bone. I wiped the tears from my eyes, held the letter from the adoption agency to my chest, and took a deep breath.
One more.

My thanks go to Amazon.com for providing its Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. I will forever cherish being honored as one of three first-place finalists.

Then, thanks to Amazon Publishing for offering me the chance to turn a contest manuscript into a polished and published book. Thank you to the expert eyes of the various editors, copyeditors, marketing and merchandising pros who worked on this book.

Thank you to my at-home editorial team, affectionately known as Mom and Mom: my mother and my mother-in-law who graciously read this manuscript in its many forms. Also thanks to Jen Pooley who generously offered industry advice and cheered me along every step of the way.

Thanks to my husband for allowing me to “play author,” and in doing so, take time away from our business. He has given me support and praise and has been an all-around great husband.

Thanks to my three daughters who have provided me with enough material and dialogue to last ten books. Nothing imagined is as brilliant (or hilarious) as what comes out of their
mouths. When my oldest was just a baby and she wanted more I would ask her “more what?” and she would respond “more some.” That’s what writing is like for me: each day I hope that I’ll have something to say, that the thoughts and words will arrange themselves into nifty sentences; that there will always be
more some
.

A Q&A with Jennifer Handford

Q: In the beginning of the book, Helen is struggling with infertility. Was that drawn from personal experience?

A: Yes, definitely. I struggled with infertility for three years. There was nothing I wanted more than to be a mother. The desire to carry and birth a child was hardwired in me. Being met with infertility was not just disappointing, it was devastating, as if I had been robbed of something primal. The letdown that followed each “failed” month nearly consumed me.

Q: That begs the question: Did the infertility lead to adoption? Do you have a daughter from China?

A: I do. She’s ten years old now, and we adopted her when she was one year old. But my story is different from Helen’s. My husband and I were in the thick of the adoption process, only months away from being matched with a baby when we discovered that I was pregnant—something that had never happened in three years of trying. So we put our adoption on hold, had our firstborn, and then quickly hopped back into line to resume the adoption. My husband and I each had the strong sense that we were meant to do both: birth and adopt, as if our good fortune came in a bundle of two. Our “twin” daughters—one adopted, one biological—were a package deal for us.

Q: What was that like, adopting from China?

A: The waiting was the hardest part, but the process was smooth and the reward was great. It’s a sad state of affairs in China with the one child per family law still alive and well in many parts of the country, but I have to give China credit for the efforts they’ve made to get as many of their abandoned babies adopted and into the arms of loving families. It’s the silver lining to an unfortunate policy.

Q: We find out that Helen’s fears about adoption aren’t simple. She fears that an adoptive daughter may not love her and ultimately might leave her.

A: Helen’s greatest fear is that she’ll be left. A mother who died and a father who walked away have scarred her heart. She’s uncertain about the staying power of even a child she has yet to meet. Helen’s insecurity about her lot in life, as well as her relationships, defines who she is when we first meet her. She’s self-centered and insecure because of what has happened to her, not because of who she is organically. It gives her a lot of room to grow. Watching her mature to the point where she is able to step up and stand in for Claire shows that she finally gets it.

Q: Throughout the book, you stop short Helen’s happiness by imposing an obstacle. Why couldn’t you just let Helen get what she wanted?

A: I was intrigued by the notion—a universal truth, really—that joy and grief fight for space in our lives. I liked the idea that Helen would have to find happiness—or at least, peace—with the notion that she did get what she wanted, a baby, the start of a family, but she also lost Claire. That’s a tough one to juggle, and it’s an extreme example of the cards we’re sometimes dealt in life. I liked exploring the notion that life throws
us curveballs, the idea that finally,
finally
, Helen got what she needed—a daughter. And now she was ready to play house, hang out with her sister, and even reconcile with her estranged father. She had a plan. The idea that we must deal with the good and the bad, simultaneously, all of the time, is ubiquitous. Helen—the younger sister who always relied on her older sister—now had the chance to be strong, and she was, proving it by not only caring for her new daughter, but also her sister’s daughter, then ultimately, more children.

Q: You seem to have intimate knowledge of the “sister” relationship. Do you have one?

A: I don’t have a sister, but writing about the relationship came easy to me; it was a bond that was natural to imagine: the tug of war for Helen between loving and needing Claire, while at the same time trying to break free to become her own person. Helen would have never wanted Claire to die, but it took Claire dying for Helen to see clearly. She would have never tested the limits of her strength and courage if Claire had continued to be her safety net. In writing this, the day I realized that Claire had to die was a sad one for me. The decision resonated well with me in terms of it being the right thing to do, but I mourned her loss from Helen’s point of view.

Q: Why is Helen so determined to reconnect with Larry?

A: Larry represents the family she so desperately misses. Her mother is gone, and even while Claire’s alive, she doesn’t allow Helen to wallow in the past. Helen knows that Larry is her guy; he’s the one to share in her residual grief. Neither of them have any interest in packing away the past; they want to hold it, polish it, treasure it. Helen sees herself in Larry, a guy who didn’t always do the right thing, who was sometimes short on courage, but always meant well and loved deeply.

Q: Helen thinks in terms of food: “
My daughter
, the words that used to get caught in my throat as I thought about adoption, were now smooth and welcoming, like a caramel melting in my mouth” (p. 66). Is food a big part of your life?

A: I’m a huge fan of food—good food—and luckily, my husband is a wonderful chef who whips us up delicious creations more nights than not. Though I don’t have the same skills, I definitely respect the curative value of food, the comfort that can be bestowed from a delicious meal. I’m the type of person who wakes up each day thinking about what I’m going to eat.

Q: After Claire dies, Helen admits that there are certain things that she likes about her new situation: Ross and Maura living across the street, Larry back in the picture. Is it okay for Helen to be happy even after losing her sister?

A: Definitely. Claire would have wanted Helen to be happy, just as much as their mother would have rooted for her daughters’ happiness. Helen comes to see that there are no promises of the future, that we don’t always get to play the roles we want for an entire lifetime. She says, “Sickness and accidents steal lives all the time, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t live.” Her acceptance that life is often brief is the greatest demonstration of her growth and maturity.

Q: You named your book
Daughters for a Time
. Is that related to this notion?

A: It occurred to me that all of my characters—Helen, Claire, Sam, and Maura—were all daughters. But each—in her own way—had been robbed of that position. That notion struck me as terribly sad, because who wouldn’t want to be a daughter
forever
? Being a daughter implies that one’s not alone, that there is parental comfort, security, and loving arms nearby.