Leaving Haven (30 page)

“Alice”—Dr. Jenkins's voice was gentle—“Georgia and John could put him up for adoption. He would be very much wanted by whoever was lucky enough to adopt him.”

Alice shook her head. “But what if he decides to search for his biological parents someday? Would he find Georgia, because her name is on the birth certificate? Would he find out she ran away and left him in the hospital? How do you think that would make him feel? He'd never even know about
me
.”

“I'm sure your information would be available in records somewhere. You are the biological parent.”

“I know. But if he finds out that his mother went to all the trouble of getting pregnant with a donor egg, then took one look at him and ran away—can you imagine?” Alice paused.

“Yes, I can imagine,” Dr. Jenkins said. “And believe me, people find out stuff like that about their parents and survive. So you're telling me you want to keep the baby, at the risk of losing your marriage, so the baby doesn't feel unwanted at some point?”

Alice stared at the clouds over Dr. Jenkins's head.

“Well, when you put it that way it sounds ridiculous,” she said.

“I'm not trying to make you feel ridiculous.” Dr. Jenkins leaned forward in her chair, elbows on her knees. “I want you to listen to your own voice, to figure out what you really want. It's clear to me you want this baby; I think you need to figure out how much you love Duncan and how important it is to you to keep your marriage intact.”

Alice sighed.

“Did you want a second child before this?”

“No.”

“But when you saw this baby, you felt a bond with him.”

“Yes.” Alice remembered the shock of recognition she had felt when Haven had opened his gray eyes and looked at her, the surge of love.

“Because of John?”

Alice shook her head. “No. I mean, I cared about John, I was infatuated with John, but I don't have any romantic notions about wanting the baby because he's the ‘product of our love' or anything like that.”

Dr. Jenkins sat back in her chair. “I think you need to sit with this, Alice, to really let yourself understand whatever it is that is drawing you to this baby.”

Alice looked at the clock. “Okay,” she said, hoping that “sit with this” didn't mean more meditation. “I've got to go,” she said. “I know we still have a few more minutes, but I need to pick up Wren from dance practice.”

Dr. Jenkins nodded. “I understand.”

Alice stood up, said a polite “Thank you,” and walked outside to her car, the car in which John had first leaned over and kissed her, first said, “Oh, darlin'. ” But her body didn't spark at the thought of him. She didn't want the baby because of John. Alice climbed into the car and sat there, thinking.

For most of Wren's life, Alice felt as though there had been some kind of crazy mistake putting her in charge of such a perfect, amazing, vulnerable creature. She, Alice, was not the kind of person who could really be a good mother to anyone. She had no role model for mothering, no natural instinct like Georgia, not even an affinity for the company of other women who could pass on their wisdom. Raising Wren had felt like bowling in the dark.

But now—Alice had done this terrible thing, but she knew herself in a different way now. It was as though, in failing herself and Duncan and Georgia, she had gained the compassion that completed her as a full human being.

She wanted the baby, she realized, because for the first time in her life she believed she could be a good mother.

21

Georgia

June 23, 2012

I
t doesn't surprise me so much that Chessy would do something like this,” Georgia said, as Polly set the table on the porch for dinner. “But I'm stunned
you
went along with it.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “I forgot the salad dressing,” she said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“You still have a lot of questions to answer,” Georgia called after her.

The wind had died down and now, at dusk, the lake was absolutely still, reflecting back the vivid green and gold of the trees along the shore, the clear blue and pink of the evening sky. Georgia leaned back in her chair and stared at the lake, at the same view she had known since she was four, the same view her mother had loved. She could see Chessy's dark head in the water, swimming just off the rocky point at the tip of their bay. As she watched, Chessy rolled over onto her back and floated for a moment, her face golden in the late sun.

Polly returned with a bottle of salad dressing and a basket of bread, cut into neat slices.

“Do you need any help?” Georgia said.

Polly shook her head. “You're a new mother. New mothers get waited on—at least for a few days. Don't get too used to it.”

“Please,” Georgia said. “I'm not the get-waited-on type.”

“Eat something,” Polly said. “You haven't had a decent meal in three days. You can't make major life decisions on an empty stomach.” She put the bread down, and turned to head back to the kitchen.

Georgia reached out and caught her wrist. “Polly.”

Polly stopped, and turned. “What?”

“What do
you
think I should do?”

Polly shook her head and made a little clucking sound with her tongue, something their mother used to do. Of the three of them, Polly was the most like Evy, blond, with that slight smattering of freckles across her nose, and the same way of making that clucking sound when she disapproved of something, the same habit of sitting in a chair with both legs tucked up underneath her, the same loud laugh.

“Georgia, I can't tell you what to do, not with this. You love this baby or you don't; it's not something you can talk yourself into. Do I believe you could do a good job of raising him, even on your own? Of course. You're a great mother, and you've got me and Chessy living nearby, and Liza's old enough to help. But you're the only one who can figure out whether or not you can see him as himself, and not as a constant reminder of John and Alice.”

“I know. And I don't know.”

“I don't think you can figure it out sitting up here alone. That's why we came, and that's why we brought Haven with us. So you can know.” Polly paused. “To me,” she said, “it's like adoption. Once you bring a baby home and take care of it, it's yours. You love the baby, the baby loves you—the genetics don't matter. At least, that's how I feel.”

“Said the woman with four biological children,” Georgia said.

“Which is why I think I'd love an adopted child just as much as a biological one,” Polly said. “Look at how different my kids are, from each other and from Steve and me. Teddy and all that fearlessness—he didn't get that from us. But I can't imagine loving him less if he were half Martian and half Eskimo and had
nothing
of me in him, because he's
Teddy.
He's great.”

A timer buzzed.

“That's the pasta,” Polly said. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

Georgia heard a whimper as Polly headed back into the kitchen. The babies were both asleep in the living room, the room behind where Georgia sat now. She got up and tiptoed in to peek at them. Lily was in the portable crib, on her back with one arm flung overhead. She looked more and more like Ez now that her gray eyes had darkened to brown, her plump little body had started to lengthen. Haven—Georgia was still getting used to that name, but it was better than referring to him as “the baby” all the time—was in his car seat, his head lolling to one side, dimpled fists resting on his thighs. They were so perfect, the two of them.

Georgia watched them for a few minutes, the soft rise and fall of Haven's chest, the flutter of Lily's eyelids. She heard the sizzle of sausages as Polly dropped them into the iron skillet to cook for dinner, the slam of the screen door as Chessy returned from her swim. The late-afternoon sun slanting through the windows lit up the yellow pine paneling on the walls and floor so the entire room glowed gold. The air was warm and balsam-scented. Georgia felt herself dissolve into everything around her—babies, cabin, forest, water, sky. She was
happy,
she realized, at least at that moment. It was so surprising, so unexpected, that she felt disoriented, like a nocturnal creature emerging from a cave into bright sun.

Chessy's voice behind her startled her out of her reverie. “Are they still asleep?”

Georgia nodded.

“Figures,” Chessy said. She tilted her head to the side and hopped on one foot, trying to shake water out of her ear. “I spend ten hours in a car with them and they scream the whole time, and you spend ten minutes with them in the cabin—a place you can actually
escape from
if the crying drives you insane—and they do nothing but sleep.”

“If you keep hopping around like that you'll wake them up,” Georgia said.

Georgia shooed Chessy toward the porch, and followed her out. Chessy wore a black halter one-piece suit that hugged and covered her in all the right places. Men always looked at Chessy for a few moments too long, even men who knew better, like that English teacher Georgia had threatened to slap at Chessy's high school graduation. Georgia had had that kind of body once, too, although now, five days after giving birth at age forty-one, she doubted she would ever have that kind of body again.

Chessy saw the table set for dinner on the porch. She leaned across to pick up a piece of bread and stuffed it in her mouth. She was still dripping wet, her hair wrapped up in a Little Mermaid beach towel.

“I'm glad Lily is going to have a cousin close to her in age,” Chessy said, still chewing her mouthful of bread. “They'll be buds.”

Georgia's euphoria faded. Was Haven really Lily's cousin, when they shared no blood connection? She sat down in one of the rickety wooden straight chairs at the table.

“I don't know if he's her cousin,” Georgia said. “They're not really related, are they?”

“They are if you keep the baby,” Chessy said, her voice matter-of-fact. She sat down across the table from Georgia. “Which I think you should do, even though you haven't asked me. And I didn't even
like
babies until I had Lily, but now I'm crazy about her and I think I would be even if I found out tomorrow she'd been switched at birth and wasn't related to me at all.”

“Finally, something you and Polly agree on,” Georgia said.

Chessy shrugged, and reached for another piece of bread. “What Alice did
sucked,
” Chessy said. “And don't even get me started on Chef Boyardee. But the baby had nothing to do with that.”

Polly came in bearing a bowl of spaghetti with sausage and broccoli and sweet cherry tomatoes. Georgia realized how long it had been since she had eaten a real meal. Since right after the baby was born. Three days? Four?

“Haven is your baby,” Polly said. She put the bowl down, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you that emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, even legally—I believe he's your child.”

“I don't know if he's mine legally, since I abandoned him in the hospital,” Georgia said. “And you
took
him—that can't be legal.”

Polly piled a large helping of pasta onto a plate and passed it to Georgia. “Georgia, you're jumping to all kinds of wild conclusions about exactly what is going on here. John
asked
us to take the baby. We brought the baby
to his mother
. It's not like we climbed through a window and kidnapped him.”

“John didn't ask you to bring the baby up here,” Georgia said. “And he certainly didn't ask you to bring the baby to
me
.”

“Eat your pasta,” Polly said. “You don't have to figure this out in the next five minutes. There's cheese here.” She passed a little blue bowl filled with grated Parmesan.

“We have to call John and let him know the baby is here,” Georgia said. “He may have called the police. There may be an Anna Alert or whatever it is out on the baby.”

“Amber Alert,” Polly said. “And no, there isn't.”

“Someone should put out an Alice Alert,” Chessy said. “I still can't believe that your best friend—”

“I don't want to talk about Alice,” Georgia interrupted. She turned to Polly. “Have you had any contact with John since you picked up the baby?”

“Yes,” Polly said. “Of course. Because I'm the only one here who doesn't have new mother brain.” She reached for the bottle of wine on the table and refilled her glass. “I'm also the only one here who isn't nursing, so I guess I'm the only one who can drink. Cheers.” She raised her glass toward her sisters and took a sip.

“Anyway, Chessy and I went over to your house yesterday. John looked like hell. He said he hadn't slept since the baby was born, and that his chef had called in sick at the restaurant and he didn't know what to do. He asked if we'd take the baby for a day or two, just until he got a nurse. So we packed a bag of stuff for the baby and then we left. But we did send him a text later.”