The Valeditztorian (29 page)

Chapter Twenty-o
ne

Outcomes

Over the next few days, life starts settling down. On Sunday I successfully dye my hair back to a boring shade of brown, mimicking my natural color. Studying my head in the mirror, I almost miss the purple…almost, but not quite.

That afternoon I receive an e-mail from Grace.

Subject: Life in Salvador

Dear Emma,

It was great to hear from you
, and good for you! I know you made the right decision about Thomas. Incidentally, I broke up with BJ last week. When I first confronted him about Helen, we tried to work things out, but then I realized that I didn’t trust him anymore. I ended up leaving him over the phone, and I’m still feeling pretty sad about it.

S
ince you left, dealing with Alvin has actually gotten much easier. He stopped asking me to make the hospital deliveries, and he hasn’t been nearly as critical. Initially, when you told him I was depressed and homesick, I was pretty annoyed at you, but now I’m thinking it probably helped. Either way, I’m really looking forward to coming home.

I miss you, too.

Love,

Grace

P.S. Thanks for the can opener. I ate canned string beans yesterday for the first time in nine months.

P.P.S
. Paula says, “Oi” and “Obrigada.” She wanted me to tell you that she recovered completely and is feeling just fine.

Monday and Tuesday are spent hanging out in Connie’s lab, entering data on pediatric tuberculosis patients. Though the work is mundane, I’m overjoyed to be sitting calmly in front of a computer, typing away at a keyboard, instead of performing chest compressions. Thankfully no one goes into cardiac arrest, and my own blood pressure slowly returns to normal.

By Wednesday
afternoon, I’m ready to return to Memorial. Arriving at the ICU, the first thing I notice is a large group of senior-looking doctors crowded behind Roberto’s bed, passing around sheets of paper and talking excitedly to one another. Given the intense activity level I nearly bolt, but in my moment of hesitation, Joan Riley pulls me into the mix.

“Emma, hey, Emma,” she shouts
, “come over here for a minute.”

Walking closer, I notice
Carla sitting near the head of the bed, holding a very self-satisfied looking Aimee on her lap. Roberto, I’m thrilled to see, is sitting up, smiling, and drinking what looks like a cup of coffee. With cheeks as pink as the cherry blossoms outside, his color looks absolutely wonderful. Catching my eye, Carla smiles and waves over the crowd of doctors, and I do the same.

“W
hat happened?” I ask Joan, who’s moved a few feet away from everyone to reach me.

“The last
three days were very difficult,” she says. “Roberto had one of the worst cases of tumor lysis that I’ve ever seen. Initially he went into renal failure and needed dialysis, but fortunately his kidneys are now recovering.”

“Why did he get so sick?”
I ask.

“He
had an enormous tumor burden, which probably would’ve killed someone with a weaker constitution.”

“D
id you say he ‘had’ a large tumor burden?”

“Indeed
,” says Joan.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what all of this excitement is about,” she says, gesturing toward the other doctors, who collectively appear to be scratching their heads.

“Roberto just went for a PET scan, which
showed that his tumor is gone.”

“Gone?” I ask.

“That’s right. His tumor hasn’t just regressed. It’s disappeared—like it never existed. At this point we’re unable to detect any cancer cells or biochemical tumor markers in his body. He appears to be cured.”

“Wow
. You know, this is exactly what happened with the mice in Brazil. I can’t wait to tell Grace.”

“No need
,” says Joan, smiling. “I recently contacted our esteemed oncology colleagues in Salvador. Both Alvin and Grace were very pleased to hear about these developments.”

“So what now?”
I ask.

“For the next
few days we’re keeping Roberto in the ICU, in order to monitor him for any unexpected problems or side effects. Then we’re going to send him home, with a lot of good rehab.”

“Did I hear you say something about
rehab?” Carla says, speaking over the crowd to Joan. “I can help with that.”

“How so?” asks Roberto, taking her hand.

“We’re going to start by hitting lots of tennis balls,” says Carla. “I don’t care if you have to do it from a wheelchair. I’m getting you back on the court, whether you like it or not.”

“
That sounds incredible,” he says, kissing the top of her hand.

“Can I play too?” asks Aimee.

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” says Roberto. “I’m going to need your help to regain my strength.”

Turning
my attention back to Joan, I ask, “What about GrR and the IRB approval? There must be other people around here with the Mts mutation, who also need the medicine.”

“In light of recent events, I managed to schedule an emergency IRB meeting for tomor
row, which means that anyone else needing the drug shouldn’t have to wait much longer.”

“That’s great news,
” I say.

Joan nods her head in agreement.

My moment of truth has now arrived. Taking a few steps closer to the Santos family, I notice that Carla’s long, muscular arms are wrapped protectively around Aimee, who’s nestled snugly in her lap. Mr. Santos is beaming. Similar to the tennis picture in Aimee’s room, the family appears joyful and whole. Though it will probably take some time, I’m sure they’re all going to recover, both physically and emotionally.

Making my way past
the crowd of doctors, I eventually reach the Santos family’s inner circle.

“You look great,” I say to Roberto.

“Thanks to my daughter, I feel great,” he replies, winking at Aimee.

Aimee
is grinning from ear to ear, just like the Cheshire Cat.

“I’m so happy
for you,” I say, “for all of you.”

Carla looks at me and says,
“Thank you, Emma, for everything you’ve done.”

“I
didn’t do much. Aimee was the brave one.”

I smile at my amazing daughter
.

“We’re pretty grateful to her as well,” says Carla, giving
Aimee’s shoulders a squeeze. “Emma, we’d really like to see you again, once we leave the hospital. By any chance, are you free for dinner on Saturday? We were thinking that you could come to our apartment, to celebrate Roberto’s homecoming. Since we don’t have any other relatives in New York, you could be an honorary family member.”

She looks at me hopefully.

“Oh,” I say, “umm, I’m not sure whether….”

Carla starts to look disappointed
.

“If you’re not comfortable with….”
she starts to say.

“No, no…
I’m not uncomfortable. Well, maybe I am uncomfortable. It’s just that this whole situation is a bit complicated.”

“
Why? Because you were Aimee’s tutor?”

“No, that’s not it
. You see, I….”

I can’t go on
.

It’s like I have lockjaw
. My facial muscles completely freeze up. When I was a teenager, I worked so hard to keep my pregnancy a secret that I’m not sure how to begin discussing it, especially not with this select group of individuals. Instead of trying to explain the situation verbally, I reach into the pocket of my jeans, pulling out the letter I’ve already written.

“For Carla
, please read alone” is written across the front of the envelope.

Att
empting to hand it over, my fingers are trembling so vigorously that I drop the envelope onto the floor. Rather than sticking around to watch Carla pick it up, I sprint out of the ICU. Before I reach the stairwell, my eyes are already brimming with tears.

Chapter Twenty-t
wo

Unspoken Explanations

April 25
th
, 1999

Dear Carla,

My full name
is Emmaline Rachel Silberlight. I was born in California in 1974, and my family moved to Connecticut when I was still a toddler. In high school I fell in love with a boy my age and accidentally got pregnant. Though my mother objected, I decided to carry the pregnancy and give the baby up for adoption.

If you check Aime
e’s birth certificate, I’m certain you’ll find my name recorded there as her biological mother. You should know that I didn’t purposefully seek out my daughter. By pure coincidence, or perhaps fate, I found her through the tutoring job. Initially I didn’t recognize Aimee, but eventually I suspected our true relationship. Her “mermaid toes” convinced me that I’d come to the correct conclusion.

To be clea
r, I have no intention of trying to take Aimee away from you and Roberto. I couldn’t have chosen kinder parents to raise my daughter, and I’m grateful that you’ve taken care of her for all these years.

If, by some chance, you’d be
interested in “adopting” another family member, I would love to get to know all of you better. Please understand that if you agree to this, my family situation will complicate matters. Nearly 10 years ago, when I decided to give Aimee up for adoption, my mother stopped speaking to me. Nowadays we occasionally communicate by phone, but the two of us haven’t physically seen one another since the pregnancy. While I never would’ve imagined this prior to meeting you, I believe that Aimee holds the key to reuniting my family.

Take as much t
ime as you need to consider what I’ve said. Of course I’ll understand if you want to end things here. Life is so complicated—sometimes horrible, sometimes wonderful. I’m thankful that after a brief period of “horrible,” we were able to share something wonderful at the hospital. Who knows what the future will hold? If you decide that you want me in your future, let me know. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that our relationship has come to an end.

Fondly,

Emma

Chapter Twenty-t
hree

Messages

As I jog home from Memorial, my cheeks are wet with tears. Arriving in my apartment a few minutes later, I find that the message light is already blinking on my answering machine. Despite my shaky hands, I manage to successfully push the playback button on the very first try (it’s a pretty large button). While catching my breath, I listen to the message.

“Hi, Emma
, it’s Carla. Aimee grabbed your letter off the floor before I could stop her, so she read it first.”

Some background scuffling interrupts her speech
.

Helen
pokes her head in my doorway.

“Hey
, Emma,” she says.

“Sh
h,” I say, holding up my hand to indicate that I’m listening.

“No, Aimee,” Carla
’s voice continues. “Let me go first, and then you can have a turn….Anyway, Emma, we all just read your letter, and our decision is unanimous. Now that we’ve found you, we’re not about to let you go. Without your help, our family would’ve just gotten a whole lot smaller. Given the circumstances, we’re in favor of sticking together….Okay Aimee, alright. Here you go.”

Aimee
’s little-girl voice plays out next.

“Please come back
, Emma. I want to get to know you, too. I think it’s really cool that you’re my birth mom. I’ve always wanted to meet her—I mean you. I’m so glad it turned out to be you! Can I meet my grandparents, too? Please call and say that you’ll come to dinner.”

Carla’s voice says,
“That’s all for now. Just call me as soon as you get this message.”

Standing in my bedroom doorway
, Helen is staring at me in open-mouthed disbelief.

“Hello, Helen
. How are you?” I ask, smiling.

Speech continues
to elude her, so I add, “Oh, yes, there’s a very interesting story behind that phone call. Would you like to hear it?”

She just nods
.

My voice is almost giddy as
I ask, “Do you have a few hours?”

The good news is that aside from
Aunt Pam and my parents, Helen was the only other person in my life who knew about my pregnancy, since she was living with my family at the time. This should make the storytelling much simpler. Before recounting all the details, though, I immediately return that phone call.

Chapter Twenty-f
our

Family Reunion

New York, December 1999

The holidays this year are surreal and wondrous. Significant people in my life, individuals I’d loved and thought permanently lost, are resurfacing like jewels from an old treasure chest.

I gaze in amazement around the Santos apartment, u
nable to believe my eyes. In the kitchen, my mother and Aunt Pam are teaching Carla how to make potato latkes. All three women are up to their elbows in potato peels, shrieking with laughter over God knows what. Five candles in a Hanukkah menorah burn brightly over the granite countertop. Roberto and my dad are schmoozing in the living room, talking sports. On the other side of the same room, Red’s family (his wife and their three kids—a boy and two girls, ages two, four, and five) and Aimee are all chatting excitedly around a Christmas tree. Aimee seems thrilled to be getting acquainted with this side of her family. Wearing a sparkly white tank top, her bare arms are noticeably free from scratch marks. Two small cousins from Texas, the children of Roberto’s brother, are racing around the apartment, trailed halfheartedly by their exhausted-looking parents.

Roughly eight months ago, following Robert
o’s discharge, I began learning the history of the Santos family. Originally from Argentina, both Carla and Roberto lost their parents early in life, due to an unfortunate combination of illness, accidents, and bad luck. Only Roberto had a sibling, the younger brother now residing in Texas. An only child, Carla benefitted financially from a substantial inheritance acquired following the death of her parents. Though they could’ve lived off the interest from her trust, Carla and Roberto both wanted to establish themselves in meaningful careers.

“I always
wanted to write children’s stories,” Carla explained one evening, as we sat together in their living room after Aimee had gone to bed.

“
I didn’t really have an artistic passion,” said Roberto, “so I ended up becoming an immigration lawyer.”

As Roberto spoke, I studied his face. Though he still looked
ridiculously thin, his hair seemed to be growing back in.

“Which you are pass
ionate about,” Carla said.

“Yes
, fortunately, I love my job. A lot of my work is actually pro bono.”

“Th
at’s the best part, right?” asked Carla.

“Absolutely
. I enjoy giving something back to the Latino community.”

“How about you
, Carla?” I asked. “Did you end up publishing any books?”

“No,” she shook
her head. “After college, when I was looking for a day job, an editing position opened up at
Seventeen Magazine
. Since I really don’t have much talent for creative writing, editing turned out to be the perfect profession for me. Would you believe that after all these years, I’m still working there?”

“
That’s great. So it sounds like you’re both happy with your jobs?”

“At this point in time, we are,” said Roberto, “but we weren’t always so content.”

“He’s right,” said Carla. “Before Aimee came along, we would’ve traded everything for a child.”

Carla
’s eyes started to look a bit misty.

“The jobs were fine,” Roberto continued,
placing one arm over Carla’s shoulder, “but they weren’t enough to keep us satisfied.”

“We were thankful to have them, mind you, but from an emotional standpoint, our lives felt a bit empty,” said Carla.

“What Carla is trying to say is that we both really wanted to have a baby….”

“And we couldn’t have one,” Carla finished.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Carla
tried to get pregnant for a long time, a few years at least,” said Roberto, “but it never happened.”

“That is so ironic,” I said.

“What is?” asked Roberto.

“That I got pregnant at fifteen
, without even trying.”

“Tell me about it,” said Carla
. “Of course, both of our situations are extremely common. Teenagers get pregnant by accident all the time, and plenty of older women struggle for years, trying to have a baby.”

“That must’ve been hard to deal with
,” I said.

“‘
Hard’ doesn’t come close to describing how I felt. Trying and failing to get something that I desperately wanted, over and over again, was heartbreaking.”

“Is that
why you chose adoption?” I asked.

“Eventually, yes, but
in the beginning we weren’t even thinking about adoption. After we gave up on the idea of conceiving naturally, we decided to try in-vitro,” said Carla.

“That was a terrible mistake,” said Roberto
. “The two of us were miserable during that whole fiasco.”

“Look who’s talking,” said Carla
. “At least your butt wasn’t a giant, blueberry pincushion.”

“Believe me,
” said Roberto, “I hated giving those shots. After three rounds of IVF, I was ready to shoot myself.”

Carla
moved closer to Roberto on the couch.

“Me too
. I think both of us became pretty depressed when we realized the in-vitro was also going to fail.”

“Then
what happened?” I asked.

“Carla
ended up making an appointment with a psychologist in the neighborhood,” said Roberto. “At first I was skeptical, but the woman turned out to be very helpful.”

“He’s
right,” said Carla. “During our first visit, the therapist suggested adoption. Though we hadn’t yet considered the idea, as soon as she mentioned it, adoption completely made sense.”

“
Remind me, honey,” said Roberto, “was she the one who gave us the name of the adoption agency?”

“Yes, a
nd we called immediately. Two months later we received notification that a teenager in a nearby state was ready to put a baby up for adoption.”

“That must’ve been you
,” said Roberto, looking in my direction.

“I suppose
it was,” I said.

“When we got to the h
ospital a few days later, I knew we’d made the right decision,” said Carla. “Aimee was the most beautiful thing we’d ever seen. Holding her in my arms, I immediately sensed that she was meant for us.”

“Why did y
ou name her Aimee?” I asked.

“My mother’s name was Antonia,” said Carla.

“And my father’s was Mateo,” Roberto added.

“Oh, I see,” I said
. “When you put those together, you get Aimee.”

“Essentially
,” said Carla.

“Did your lives change
much after you brought Aimee home?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly
,” said Roberto. “Bringing a baby into the house changes everything.”

“What changed the most?” I asked.

Roberto laughed.

“Probably our schedule
. Both of us started getting a whole lot less sleep. Right Carla?”

“Yes
, but I’d say that it was a labor of love.”

Locking eyes with me for a moment, Carla said,
“More than anything else, Aimee gave us a true sense of purpose.”

“She
brought happiness back into our home,” Roberto added.

Over the next few months, as we got to know one another, I marveled at the o
penness of the Santos family. Apparently unconcerned that I might usurp their relationship with Aimee, they welcomed me with open arms. Though I worried that they’d draw the line at inviting my parents, this wasn’t the case at all.

“So you’re saying
that you really won’t mind if I invite my parents to meet Aimee?” I asked Carla.

“Of course not,” she said
. “Emma, how many times have you asked us this question already?”

“Oh, about three or four.”

“I’d say at least ten,” said Carla. “Look, I know you’re having a hard time believing this, but Roberto and I actually want Aimee to meet her grandparents. So would you hurry up and call them already? They’re not getting any younger, you know, and neither are we.”

That did it
. Carla finally convinced me to face my fear of permanent rejection and dial their number.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

“Emma,” said my mother. “What’s wrong?”

“I have some news.”

“Oh, no. Are you sick? Did you drop out of medical school?”

“Neither
. Would you believe that I’m actually calling with good news?”

“Really?”

“Yes, and it’s particularly good news this time.”

“Okay,” she said
, though her voice sounded doubtful.

“I found her.”

“Found who?”

“Aimee.”

“Who’s Aimee?”

“My daughter, Mom
. Your granddaughter.”

“What do you mean
, you found her? Where is she?”

“She
lives right here in New York, just a few blocks away from me.”

“What about her family?”

“They’re wonderful, Mom, and they want you and Dad to meet her.”

“Oh, my God
. Let me take a deep breath.”

She paused
for a moment.

“I can’t believe it
. I never thought I’d get the chance to see her….” Her voice was cracked on the last word, but she continued, “When can we come?”

“As soon as possible
. How about right now?”

“You’re not kidding
? This isn’t some kind of sick joke?”

“No, Mom
. I’m not kidding.”

Then I
heard her yelling, “Larry, LARREEE….It’s Emma, and you’ll never believe what she said.”

Two hours later in my apartment, I embraced my mother for the first tim
e in a decade.

Later, w
hen I tried to thank Carla for being so magnanimous about opening the door to my family, she responded without hesitation.

“Aside from Roberto and his brother
, I’m Aimee’s only living relative. If Roberto had died, and then something happened to me, who would look after Aimee? As much as I love Roberto’s family, I wouldn’t want my daughter growing up in Texas. Don’t you understand, Emma? We were lucky to find you and your family. Aimee’s life will be richer, and more secure, with all of you in it. Plus we always wanted a big family.”

My parents,
of course, were thrilled to meet their granddaughter, and Aimee was just as ecstatic to meet them. Now they visit us in the city several times each month, taking her (and usually me as well) to every kid-friendly attraction in town. Together we’re making up for lots of lost time. On Broadway, we’ve already seen
Cats
,
The
Lion King
, and
The Sound of Music
. We’ve also visited the Central Park Zoo, all the museums, and every good dessert place in Manhattan. In fact, the only thing Carla and Roberto grumble about these days is the excessive junk food in Aimee’s diet.

One humid afternoon over the summer
, my mother and I stood on the bridge spanning the lake in the Central Park, watching Aimee and my dad paddle around in a row boat.

“You know, Emma,
ever since we met Aimee, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you,” said my mom.

In the bright, midday sunshine, I studied the line
s on her forehead, so much more obvious now than 10 years ago.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for being so hard on you and not allowing you to come home.”

“Apology accepted
.”

“Thanks, b
ut I also want you to understand why I acted this way.”

“Okay,” I said
hesitantly.

“When you first got pregnant, I didn’
t blame you at all,” she said. “Everyone makes mistakes, especially in the heat of the moment. But giving the baby up for adoption? I never understood your reasoning there. And do you want to know why?”

“You’re probably going to tell me either way,
” I said.

Ignoring my comment, she continued,
“For starters, when a woman has a baby, the baby is supposed to become the most important thing in the woman’s life—the center of her universe.”

“So much for women’s liberation.”

With a knowing a look in her eyes, my mother smiled.

“H
aving a baby
is
liberating, because it allows you to focus on what’s truly meaningful in life. Emma…from the day that I gave birth, you became the most important thing in my life.”