Place Your Betts (The Marilyns) (40 page)

“I don’t think so, but I need him. He has to understand that giving him up wasn’t easy—”

“Then forgive yourself. The only jury convicting you is you. Tom said those things to lash out, but they wouldn’t have hurt unless you believed them. The past is dead and gone. You did the right thing, and you know it. Where would Tom be right now if you hadn’t given him up?”

Betts stared straight ahead. She’d liked to think they’d be a happy family and she’d still have a singing career, but probably not. With only a GED and no college, the best she could have hoped for was to have worked her way into a management job in a store or restaurant. The music that fed her soul would have been forgotten. Tom was worth it, but he would have suffered.

In her mind popped the image of a lonely, red-haired kid, riding the bus home to an empty house in New Orleans’s ninth ward. That would have been the only place Betts could have afforded. Her little boy would have unlocked the door, scooted inside, and relocked it as quickly as he could—a latchkey kid because his momma had to work long hours just to pay the rent. When she finally made it home, exhausted from a day on her feet, she’d scoop him up, and together they would make a quick dinner of macaroni and cheese because a real dinner wasn’t in the budget. She’d oversee his homework, and maybe they’d watch a little TV, then it was off to bed so they could get up tomorrow and do the same thing all over again. Christmases, he would have made a long Christmas list and prayed to Santa every night that he’d get at least one new toy.

Every year, he’d be disappointed because Santa only brought necessities like new shoes or a jacket. He’d have gone to school in clean but ill-fitting clothes from Goodwill or The Salvation Army or hand-me-downs from a family down the street. Kids would have laughed and pointed. He would have pretended not to care but would have been hurt deeply.

Betts knew this childhood inside and out—it had been hers. And she wouldn’t have wished it on her worst enemy. She nodded.

Things had worked out for the best. She’d done the right thing…the selfless thing and given her son a future. With a silent prayer of thanks to Gigi, Betts finally felt the past fade away.

***

“I’ll figure something out.” Tom paced the length of Gigi’s living room. Ms. Gigi would have been appalled at the dents his boots were leaving in her carpet, but it couldn’t be helped. With his forefinger and thumb, he pinched the bridge of his nose. What a mess. First the baby and now Betts was his mother?

He should be mad, really, really mad, but the anxiety of impending fatherhood kicked mad’s ass every time. He’d quit school and get a job. Maybe his job at the feed store was still open? They could live here for now. Surely Betts would agree; it was the least she could do. They’d save up and get a place of their own, something small at first, but he and Kaitlin would be together. He glanced at her rocking gently in one of the rocking chairs. Her eyes were still puffy, and she looked tired, but she wasn’t crying, and thank God, she wasn’t a whiner.

“You’ll see. We’ll make it.” Tom nodded to her. “Our baby will be…is…loved. We’re gonna build a life and a home together.”

Kaitlin smiled. “I love you, and I don’t care about anything else.”

He felt better. She made the impossible seem easy.

“Can I ask you a favor?” She tucked a stray hair into her ponytail.

“You don’t need to ask. You know that.” If only he had telepathy, he’d see her wishes as they happened. Making her happy was the only thing that mattered.

“Read these.” Kaitlin waved the bundle of letters at him.

“No.”

“Think of it as an engagement present.” She held up her left hand, knuckles out, and pointed to the drawn-on engagement ring. “I’ll take it instead of a real ring.” She dropped her hand and tugged a string of the red ribbon holding the packet together. “I’ll even read.”

The bow collapsed, and the letters spilled into her lap. She picked up the letter on top. Tucking her index finger under the flap, she peeled it open and pulled out a single piece of lined notebook paper.

“It’s dated May twenty-fifth. Hey, that’s your birthday.” Kaitlin arched an eyebrow and cleared her throat.

My Dear Baby Boy,

Someday, when you read this, I hope you can forgive me.

An hour ago, you were in my arms, a perfect, squirming bundle staring up at me with bright blue eyes. Now, you’re gone, and my heart and arms are empty. I’ve loved you for nine months and dreamed of the day we’d meet. The time has come and gone, and I barely had time to memorize your beautiful face and run my fingers through your soft, red hair—that’s from me—before you were taken away. My best friends, Charlotte (Charlie) Guidry and Buckley (Lucky) St. James, were able to cut a small bit of your hair for me to keep.

If I could have any wish in the world, it would be to keep you. I love you, and that’s why I’ve chosen to give you a better life. You deserve a mommy and a daddy and a real house with a front yard and toys and a dog. Everything in me wants to run after you and take you back, but I want better for you.

I should mention your father. He’s a good man, and just because things didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean that we don’t love you.

One day I will find you, and I hope some part of you remembers me. Until the day I can hold you in my arms, I’ll hold you in my heart.

Please forgive me.

Elizabeth Betts Dittmeyer (your mother)

Tom paced and chewed on the words. The letter didn’t change the situation. So what if she’d cared? She’d still given him away.

Kaitlin ripped open another envelope. “This is two years later.”

My Son,

You are two years old today, and I hope you had a birthday party with cake and party hats and presents. I bought you a stuffed puppy dog, but I have no idea where to send it. I promise to keep it safe until we meet again. Your aunts, Charlie and Lucky, brought over a birthday cake, and we sang “Happy Birthday” to you.

In my mind, you’re still a baby, but I bet you’re walking and talking up a storm. I wrote you another song today—did I tell you that I’m a singer/songwriter? Anyway, it’s called Baby Boy Blue, and I swear you will hear it on the radio someday.

My mother, Mama Cherie, started a new bartending job last week, and the owner has a brother who’s a talent scout for a Christian music label. Mama’s working on getting me an audition. Just think, I might get a music contract, and then we could be together.

Right now, I’m cleaning motel rooms during the day and waitressing at night, but if the music thing comes together, I’ll come find you. We will be a family. I think of you every single day and say a prayer for you every night before I go to sleep.

Please try to remember me. I love you.

Elizabeth Betts Dittmeyer

PS—Lucky got engaged to a rock star. His name is Ricky Strickland. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Your aunt Lucky’s going to be famous. How about that?

Yeah, she had made it big but still hadn’t come for him. Talk was cheap, but her actions spoke volumes.

Kaitlin pulled out a letter at random from the stack in her lap and tore it open. “This is four years later.”

My Precious Boy,

I can hardly believe you are six years old today. It seems like yesterday the doctor handed me this beautiful, redheaded baby, and I cooed and fawned over you.

Did you start first grade? Where you scared? I would give anything to have held your hand and walked you to your first class, but sometimes things don’t work out the way we’d like.

Have you lost any teeth? What color are your eyes? Are you tall or short? Do you like music or sports? It breaks my heart that I don’t know how many freckles are on your face or whether you like broccoli. Mothers should know these things; then again, I’m a poor excuse for a mother. I take some comfort in the fact that you probably do have a mother who knows your favorite color and fixes you your favorite food.

Sometimes I dream about you. My favorite is one where I pick you up from school and we go for ice cream. I like chocolate mint. Do you like it too?

After ice cream, I take you to this park by my apartment, and I push you on the swing until you beg me to stop. We race to the slide. I wait for you at the bottom, and you shoot into my arms. We walk hand-in-hand back to the apartment, and you do your homework at the kitchen table while I make dinner.

Your aunts brought over a birthday cake in the shape of Batman. Do you like Batman?

Someday, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I love you,

Elizabeth Betts Dittmeyer

P.S.—“Baby Boy Blue,” my first crossover into the country market, went platinum last week. Congratulations baby boy, you’re famous.

Betts hadn’t wanted to give him up, and she hadn’t forgotten him. Did it make a difference?

Kaitlin pulled a letter from the bottom of the bundle. “It’s dated this year.”

Dearest Baby Boy,

Happy sweet sixteen. I know you’re no longer a baby, but that’s the only memory I have of you, so like it or not, you’ll always be my baby.

Today, I made you a red velvet cake with cream cheese icing. Mama, Lucky, Charlie, and I sat down, sang “Happy Birthday” to you, and ate the whole cake. In honor of your special day, I donated a million dollars to the Boy Scouts of America. Just to be fair, Lucky donated a million dollars to the Girl Scouts, and Charlie sponsored an entire village of kids in Somalia. I’m sorry that you will probably never know of these gifts, but we still love you.

Were you a Boy Scout? I wish I knew your interests.

Mama, Lucky, Charlie, and I celebrate your birthday every year, but this year is especially hard because you’re almost a man and I have yet to meet you. A million times a day, I think about finding you, but it isn’t fair to snatch you out of your normal life, just so I can have what I want. You have a family, and it isn’t right for me to disturb it at this point. I must leave you to the life you’ve created without me.

It is my greatest hope that your adopted family loves you and celebrates you the way I wish I could. You are special and loved. I have no right to hope, but a part of me clings to the dream that one day we’ll meet and you’ll recognize me. It’s foolhardy and childish, but the only real accomplishment I have in this world is you.

Forgiveness is too much to ask, but I hope someday you will understand.

Your loving mother,

Elizabeth Betts Dittmeyer

Kaitlin leaned over and carefully stacked the letters on the coffee table. She stood and stretched and came toward Tom. “She loves you. I can keep reading if you need more proof, but she loves you.”

Tom felt like Pinocchio but in reverse. When he’d woken up this morning, he’d been a real boy, but now he was a wooden puppet hanging from a string. Nothing was real, everyone around him was play-acting, and he was watching from the audience. Kaitlin’s arms went around him as her warm body fitted against his. She was solace and love and promise.

Inside her body grew his baby. If he was being honest, the thought of giving it away or getting rid of it had crossed his mind more than once. He may not be able to forgive Betts, but maybe he could understand her reasons. She was here now, didn’t that count for something?

It was the last straw. Manhood be damned; the tears he’d spent the last few hours talking himself out of came on with a vengeance. He pulled Kaitlin into him, buried his face in her hair, and went quietly and thoroughly to pieces. Kaitlin wouldn’t make fun of him for crying. If a man couldn’t trust the woman he loved with his weaknesses, then he really didn’t love her.

“What should I do?” Tom clung to her and would have loved nothing more than to hold her like this forever.

“She’s your mother, and she’s never been anything but kind to us. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’ve thought about giving our baby up a time or two today.” She patted his back. “I don’t believe she had a choice. We’re lucky. Our parents might be angry now, but they will support us. I know it. I don’t think Betts had that. And where was your father?”

“I have no idea.” He took a deep breath and wiped his face. “I…um…had the same thoughts about the baby, but only for a second. Do you hate me?”

“Nope. It’s only natural. We are too young, but I want to be with you, and I’m not as strong as Betts. She had the courage to give you a better life, but I’m too selfish. I want to keep my…our baby even though adoptive parents could probably give it more things.”

Tom nodded. On the one hand was logic telling him to do the right thing for his baby, and on the other was his heart leading the fight to keep it—right and wrong blurred into gray areas he hadn’t known existed.

In the last few hours, he’d found out he was going to be a father and acquired a mother—not even Ozzy Osbourne could top that for family drama.

***

Gabe Swanson was a dyed-in-the-wool fuck-up, and if he had a lick of sense, he’d kick his own ass. He dropped his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. In one short evening, he’d managed to piss off the only two people he loved and drive them away. It must be some sort of record.

Tom should have told him in private, not sprung I’m-getting-married-because-I-knocked-up-my-girlfriend all at once. But it was too late now. Gabe had handled it badly.

It had taken courage for Tom to face him and tell him about the baby—more courage than Gabe had ever had. It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, but it had been a blessing that Gabe hadn’t had to tell his own father about Betts because the old man had already known. And Gabe hadn’t fought a tenth as hard as his own son had to be with the woman he loved.

The boy was a hundred times more of a man than his father. Tom hadn’t compromised or backed down or been talked out of anything. The fact of the matter was that if Gabe had anywhere near the guts of his son, he and Betts and Tom would have spent the last seventeen years as a family. But cowardice had cost him the life he’d wanted and hurt the people he loved.