Pretending to Dance (22 page)

“Amalia shouldn't have been a patient,” he said when I'd finished, as though that was the most earth-shattering thing in all Dani had revealed. “She was simply UU.” He smiled. “She still is, wouldn't you say?”

I tried to smile myself. I knew what he meant because I often typed that acronym into his case notes.
UU: Unalterably Unique
. He'd made up that diagnosis, and he liked it far better than the ordinary psychiatric labels, which he ultimately had to come up with anyway in order to get the insurance companies to pay him. He used UU for anyone who was a little bit outside the norm.

“But as I told you before,” he said, “Highland Hospital was unorthodox.” He looked down at the paper I'd typed where it rested on the corner of the desk. “She was admitted there when she was just fourteen.”

I gasped. “My age?”

He nodded. “I wish she would tell you this rather than me, but she doesn't like talking about it, and since you need to know at this moment, and I'm here and she's not, I guess I'm elected.” He sighed. “Her mother was a call girl. Do you know what that is?”

I shook my head. I'd heard the term, but could only guess at its meaning.

“Do you know what a prostitute is?”

“Women who get paid to have sex.”

He nodded. “Well, a call girl gets paid to … sort of be an escort, or a temporary girlfriend for a man. She might have sex with him or she might not. Anyway, that's what Amalia's mother did, and when Amalia turned thirteen, her mother tried to get her into that line of work as well.”

“Eww,” I said. “She had to go out with old men?”

“Well,
men,
anyway. I don't know how old they were. A lot older than she was, that's for sure. She hated it, of course. Being pawed at. Unable to just be a kid.” He looked at the sheet of paper again. “But there was one man who was quite wealthy and who took her to plays and concerts and he's the one who fostered her interest in dancing and art.” He lifted his eyes to mine again. “He was also very overweight and quite old, but I guess he treated her well and took her places, so she put up with it,” he said.

I wanted to ask if she had to have sex with this fat old man, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words. I had the feeling he wouldn't tell me that, anyway.

“When she was fourteen, her mother was arrested for drug trafficking and prostitution, and Amalia was put in a foster home, where she acted so, well, UU, that she landed herself in the Highland Hospital.” Daddy smiled with what looked like admiration and I smiled back, as though we shared a secret about Amalia, though I wasn't quite certain what that secret was.

“And she stayed there,” he said. “The hospital became her home, and it was a lot better than any other home she'd ever had. She loved it. She danced. She painted. She learned how to play the oboe, although she claims to have forgotten how.” He chuckled. “And when she was ready to leave there, they kept her on, exchanging her room and board for the dance lessons she gave. And that's when I met her.”

“And so…” I said slowly, “she got pregnant and disappeared, and then you married Mom and Amalia showed up with a baby—me—on our doorstep, wanting to give me to you. And Mom wanted children but couldn't have any, so—”

“I don't think I went into that much detail, darling.” He looked at me quizzically. “Do you feel as though I misled you?”

I nodded.

“Well, perhaps I did,” he admitted. “When she left Highland, someone told her that her mother had gone to Charlotte, so Amalia went there, but was unable to track her mother down. She found a job as a maid in a hotel and shared an apartment with another girl. And then she had you and I believe she tried her best to be a mother to you, but”—he shook his head—“she'd had such terrible mothering herself, that she really didn't know how.”

“I was really two when she brought me here?”

“Almost.”

“Did I really have sores all over my body?”

“Oh, just prickly heat,” Daddy said. “Dani is a drama queen. But you
were
malnourished. There was no denying that. And she'd leave you alone sometimes when she couldn't find anyone to babysit and needed to work. So she lost custody of you, and that's when she told the social worker about me and then they showed up here. With you.”

A worrisome thought came to me. “How do you know I'm your daughter?”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” he asked. “I knew the second I saw you. But for Nora … for your mom's sake, we had a blood test run, which provided all the proof she needed.”

“Dani made it sound like Mom didn't want me,” I said.

“She was mildly freaked out at first,” he admitted, “but she quickly came to adore you. Why don't you ask her about it? She could tell you what it was like for her.”

“You always want me to talk to her about things that are hard to talk about,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. I do,” he said. “It's important that the two of you learn to communicate better.”

“We communicate fine through you.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I may not always be here, Molly,” he said, and the way he said it struck so much terror in me that I suddenly couldn't think straight. Abruptly, I picked up the list I'd typed and held it in front of his face.

“This is going to be so cool, Daddy!” I said, the paper shaking in my hands. I didn't want him to think about dying. I didn't want him to think about anything sad. “Will I be able to hear you on the radio when you're being interviewed? Like, could I listen to the radio in the van?”

He studied me, a bemused expression on his face, and I knew he was trying to decide if he should let me change the topic so easily.

“I'm sure we can work it out, Moll,” he said finally. “One way or another, we'll work it out.”

 

29

San Diego

“Molly?” Laurie looks at me across the table. We're meeting for lunch at the Mission Valley restaurant where she's a chef and she's polished off a vegetarian wrap while I've barely touched my salad. “Are you all right?”

I raise my eyes to her in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“You're uncharacteristically quiet today.”

She's right. Laurie has been doing most of the talking, nearly all of it about Kai and Oliver. I don't remember her going on about them to this degree, but I have the feeling she feels freer to talk to me about them now that I am—she hopes—going to be a mother myself one of these days. I know she used to be afraid that talking about the twins would bring up the pain of losing Sara for me, and it did.

“Plus,” she adds when I don't respond right away, “you've lost a lot of weight. And you've barely touched your lunch.” She motions toward my salad. “Does it bother you when I talk about the twins? I thought—”

“No.” I smile. “It doesn't bother me at all. I love them to pieces and I love hearing about them, so talk away.” I run my fingertips down the side of my water glass. “But you're right that I'm not exactly myself right now,” I add. “I'm … preoccupied.”

“With work?”

I shake my head. I've been moving the lettuce around on my plate and now I set down my fork. “That birth mother who changed her mind really shook me up,” I say. “It made me realize what an iffy proposition this is.”

“And yet, most of the time, it works out, right?” Laurie says, hope in her eyes. “I mean, I told you about my two friends who adopted children and everything went pretty smoothly for them.”

“I know, and I'm sure it will eventually work out for us, too,” I say. “It's just that I keep thinking about her. The birth mother. Sienna.” This was not a lie exactly. I keep thinking about a birth mother, all right, but it's Amalia I can't seem to get out of my head. I still haven't asked Dani for her number or address.

“She really got under your skin.”

“I just hope she's okay,” I say. “I keep picturing her going through her everyday life … and I don't even know what she looks like, which makes picturing her difficult.” I laugh. “She has a voice like Julia Stiles. Do you know who that is?”

“The actress?”

“Right. So in my imagination, she looks like Julia Stiles. And I picture her in her class with all her pregnant girlfriends. And I picture her feeling afraid of the future and—”

“Aidan told me you were obsessed,” she says.

“Well, I'm not
obsessed,
” I say, annoyed with Aidan. “I just can't stop thinking about her.” We both laugh at how that sounds. I
am
obsessed.

Laurie gives me one of her warm smiles. “I hope you get another call very soon so you can put this one to rest,” she says.

I sit back in my chair, giving up on my salad entirely. “I just wish we could have done it the old-fashioned way, Laurie.” I rest my hand on my flat belly. “I loved being pregnant,” I say. “I wanted to experience all of it. Every part of bringing a baby into the world.”

“Well,” she says, “do you want to be pregnant or do you want to be a mother?”

I'm startled by her words. Then I smile. “You are wise,” I say.

She makes it sound so simple. She doesn't know, because I can't tell her, that I'm afraid I'll make a poor adoptive mother. What if I'm too distant? Too cold? I can't tell her that I'm afraid to share my child with the woman who gave her life and who might steal her affection away from me. I can't tell her about Amalia, who has ruined my sleep by visiting me in dreams every night since I received that e-mail from Dani.

So when Laurie and I part after paying for the lunch I didn't touch, and she gives me a hug and tells me she loves me and that I am going to be the best mother in the world, I let her believe that. There's no one who could understand the root of all my doubts.

*   *   *

When I get home that evening, Aidan has candles burning on the dining room table and something in the oven. I smell ginger and garlic. He takes my briefcase from me and hands me a glass of wine. “Here's the good thing about being an expectant adoptive mom,” he says, kissing me on the lips. “You can drink.”

“What's this all about?” I ask.

“A chat with my sister.” He sets his glass on the counter and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I'm sorry, Molly,” he says. “I don't think I've realized how stressed you've been.”

I wonder what Laurie told him about our lunch. I don't know whether to be grateful to Laurie or angry with her.

“Oh, I'm all right,” I say, but I can't deny that the thought of him cooking dinner and pampering me a little is appealing. “What's in the oven?”

“Salmon with a brown sugar and ginger glaze,” he says. “Laurie gave me the recipe. It smells good, huh?”

“It does.”

“And after dinner, I'm giving you a long massage.”

“You're kidding,” I say. Before we were married, massages were frequent. I don't think he's given me one—or vice versa—since before our wedding.

“You remember when we were trying to get pregnant and everyone told us to relax? That it would happen if we chilled out? And that's when you got pregnant with Sara?”

I nod.

“I think it's the same with adoption,” he says. “There's nothing we can do to rush it. We've done our best with the application and the portfolio and the letter. We might as well relax and enjoy our lives while we wait.”

“You're right,” I say, and I make up my mind to enjoy the evening. The wine. The salmon. The massage and the lovemaking that will almost certainly follow.

And every time I picture Amalia in the hospital, I'll simply block the image from my mind.

 

30

Morrison Ridge

Chris called.

I went to bed at nine o'clock, anxious to finish reading
Forever
, and I'd turned the last page when the phone rang. After the way my father had intimidated Chris and all those things Dani had said about him, I didn't think he would ever call, but he did. I was glad I was the one to answer the phone and glad I was upstairs. My parents' and Russell's rooms were both downstairs, so I had the privacy to talk to him.

“When do I get to see you again?” he asked. It was the first thing out of his mouth after, “Hi. This is Chris.”

“Soon, I hope.” I was lying on my bed and wondered if he could hear the smile in my voice. Maybe I shouldn't sound all that available, but I couldn't help myself. I didn't want to play games with him.

“Do you ever hang out at the mall?” he asked. “We could meet up there.”

I'd never been to the mall without one of my parents. It wasn't exactly around the corner from Morrison Ridge, either. How would I get there? How would I get home? I couldn't drive for another two years. “Not really,” I said.

“Maybe we could meet over at Stacy's again,” he said. Then he laughed. “Only you better have someone other than your father pick you up after.”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to think who else might drive me over there. Possibly Amalia. Maybe my mother. But my parents would never let me go there again without checking to be sure Stacy's mother was home first.

“Can you send me your picture?” he asked. “Not that dorky yearbook picture, but one that shows what you look like now?”

I thought of the pictures from my friend Genevieve's birthday party, which had been the day before school ended, so they were recent. Mom had them somewhere. There was a good one of me, although I'd been posing with Genevieve, who was really pretty. I'd have to cut her out of it.

“I can send you one,” I said. “Can you send me one of you?”

“Yeah, it's not great. Junior-year photo. They're always lame, but I can send it to you. What's your address?”