When You Least Expect It (37 page)

I closed the weather website and returned to the online article
I had been reading: “International Adoption: A Beginner’s Guide.” It wasn’t that I was hiding my research from India. Not exactly. It was more that I knew she wasn’t in a place yet to hear about it. And while I knew that she might not ever get to that place without some gentle encouragement, I wanted to make sure I gathered all of the pertinent information before I broached the subject with her. And this time, I was going to handle the paperwork, and the grunt work, and the endless calls to the various government bureaucracies. This time, India wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than packing her suitcase when it was time to go pick up our baby. And this time, we would end up with a baby.

I browsed through the article, then clicked over to a few others I’d pulled up before India had come in. The first decision we had to make—and it was a fairly big one—was which country we would adopt from. Did we have strong feelings about the gender of the child? Did we want to adopt a baby who had spent a significant amount of its life in an orphanage, or was it better to find one who had been cared for by foster parents? How far did we want to travel? And for how many weeks?

I took notes and jotted down the titles of some books that other parents who’d been through the ordeal recommended, and then glanced at the clock. Lunchtime. The BLATs were calling. I headed for the kitchen, where I found India frying bacon. Otis sat at her feet, his ears pricked, all of his attention focused in the direction of the frying pan.

“Mmm, bacon,” I said, shutting the back door quickly, before the cold air could escape into the August heat.

“Funny, that’s exactly what Otis said,” India said.

“Ha-ha,” I said.

The phone rang.

“Would you mind getting that?” India said. She waved her spatula at the frying pan, indicating that she didn’t want to step away.

“Sure,” I said. I headed toward the phone—tripping over Otis—and grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”

There was a pause. And then a voice—a familiar voice—said, “Jeremy?”

My body went hot and cold at the same time.

“Are you there? It’s Lainey,” Lainey said in my ear while at the same time, India said, raising her voice to be heard over the sizzle of bacon, “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” I said, and then I took the phone and hurried into the living room, hoping that India’s fear of a grease fire would prevent her from following me. I shut the door behind me and said into the phone, “What do you want?”

There was another pause. And then a sigh. “You’re mad at me,” Lainey said. It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“That surprises you?” I asked.

“Not really. Is India there? I need to talk to her.”

“No,” I said.

“No, she’s not there?”

“No, you can’t talk to her.”

“It’s important,” Lainey persisted.

“I don’t care.”

Lainey didn’t say anything, although I could hear her breathing. Finally, she said, “How is she?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You don’t understand,” Lainey said, and for the first time, a bit of the steel I was used to hearing in her voice had crept back in.

“Yes I do. I understand perfectly. You really want to know how India is? I’ll tell you: She’s heartbroken,” I said bluntly. “And that’s because of you. You let her believe that she’d finally be a mother, and then you ripped that away from her. What could you possibly say to her now that would make any of that okay?”

A baby cried out in the background, and I found that the air
had suddenly left my lungs. It was him. That was
his
cry. I sat down heavily on the edge of the sofa.

Lainey made shushing sounds. When she returned to the phone, her voice was thin and desperate. “Will you meet me?”

“I don’t see what the point would be,” I said.

There was a long pause. When Lainey spoke again, her voice was cool and level. “If you don’t agree to see me, I’ll keep calling until India answers.”

As if summoned by name, India opened the door to the living room.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Who are you talking to?”

I cupped my hand over the phone. “No one. It’s, um—” I looked around wildly for inspiration and then spied the dusty air vent. “—the company who services our air conditioner. They’re offering a special on vent cleaning.”

“Oh.” India shrugged. “Sign us up, I guess. Anyway, lunch is ready. Come and get it.”

“Okay,” I said. Crap. Now I’d have to somehow remember to actually schedule a vent cleaning. But the ruse worked; India retreated back to the kitchen.

“Are you still there?” I said into the phone.

“Yes,” Lainey said. “Will you meet me?”

“Fine,” I said, defeated. “Where?”

We arranged to meet at a Starbucks. I arrived early, eager to get it over with. I had no idea what Lainey wanted, but I was determined to keep her away from India.

I ordered an espresso and sat down at one of the small round tables with a chessboard imprinted on it. I wished I’d brought a newspaper, and began to eye one that the woman at the next table seemed to have discarded—was it rude to ask if I could read it?—when a flurry of activity at the door caught my attention. It was Lainey, pushing a stroller in, while a wizened old man made a
production of holding the door open for her. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and looked around. I held up a hand to get her attention. Lainey hesitated for a beat and then, as if summoning her will, headed my way.

“Hi,” Lainey said when she reached me.

“Hi,” I said.

I wanted very much not to look at the baby, but found it impossible to resist. He was sleeping in one of those car seat carriers, now resting on top of the stroller. It had been two months since I’d last seen him. His cheeks were now rounder, his arms fatter. When he’d been born, he didn’t have eyebrows. But they were there now, or at least the beginnings of eyebrows. I had to resist the urge to smooth my finger over them.

I had expected Lainey to bring him. I had not known how painful seeing him would be.

“He’s gotten big, hasn’t he?” Lainey said, echoing my thoughts. She sat down across from me.

“Yes,” I said. I cleared my throat and forced myself to look away from this baby who would have been my son. She was looking at the baby, too, with an odd, almost hungry expression on her face. “What is this about, Lainey?”

“How is India?”

“She’s fine,” I said. “Or, she will be. Eventually.”

“I thought she’d hate me. Then I got that baby album and camera….” Lainey stopped and swallowed.

I knew about the album, of course, but I hadn’t known India had also sent Lainey a camera. I wasn’t surprised. It was just the sort of thing India would do. She’d have wanted to make sure that Lainey had the ability to record every precious moment of this boy’s life, even if that meant being the one to supply the camera to make it happen. I braved one more glance at the baby, then had to look away almost immediately.

“It was such an amazing gift,” Lainey finished.

“India’s an amazing person,” I said.

“I know,” Lainey said softly. “I’ll never be able to repay her for what she’s done for me.”

This unexpected admission had the effect of softening my anger. I looked down at my cardboard cup of coffee. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

I looked back up at her. “Were you planning on keeping him all along?”

Lainey sighed and rolled her shoulders back. “No. I really wasn’t. But when I saw him I just … fell in love.”

I nodded. “Us too,” I said softly.

Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. Finally, Lainey said, “Do you remember that reality show I tried out for? Down in Miami? India drove me to the audition.”

“Something to do with looking for love, right?”

Lainey nodded. “They called and offered me a place on the show.”

“Really? Wow. Are you going to do it?”

“No. I told them I couldn’t,” Lainey said, looking at the baby again with the same focused intensity.

“Right,” I said, understanding. She couldn’t bring the baby with her. “Tough break.”

“It’s probably for the best.” Lainey shrugged. “Anyway.” She reached into her bag, pulled out some papers, and slid them across the table to me. “These are for you.”

I glanced at the papers. They looked vaguely legal to me. “You’re not suing me, are you?”

Lainey laughed softly. “Of course not.”

I took a closer look at the papers and then, startled, leaned even closer. They were adoption papers. The papers Mike Jankowski had drawn up all those months ago, the ones that we’d approved. I paged through them to the last page … where Lainey had
scrawled her signature, affirmed by a notary. I looked up at her. “What is this?”

“Adoption papers. I signed them at Mike Jankowski’s office this morning. Mike contacted Trav—my ex-boyfriend—and he signed off his parental rights, too. The only thing left to do is for you and India to go in and sign the papers. And then, from what Mike said, in a few months a judge will finalize the adoption. I won’t have to be there in court, though. My part is finished.”

For the first time, I noticed how pale Lainey was—her skin was paper white and there were dark crescents under each eye. She kept blinking, as though holding back tears that might erupt at any minute.

“Wait. You’re giving him
back
to us?” I asked slowly. I was vaguely aware that my hands were shaking.

Lainey nodded. “You still want him, right?”

“I don’t understand.”

Lainey stared at the sleeping baby, and the look of intense longing returned to her face. “Because I can’t do this. Not on my own, and maybe not even if I had help. I can’t give him the life he deserves to have. And you can. So I’m giving him back to you.”

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

She nodded once, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m sure.” She tilted her head toward the door. “And you don’t have to worry about me hanging around and getting in the way. I’m leaving town.”

“So you can be on that reality show?”

“No. I turned that down. India was right. That’s not what I should be doing with my life.”

“So what will you do? Where are you going to go?” I couldn’t seem to stop asking her questions. I was still having a hard time believing that this was really happening.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m going to drive north. See how far I get.” She smiled. “Maybe New York City. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Do you have enough money?” I asked. I reached for my wallet, ready to empty it into her hands, but Lainey shook her head.

“No, I’m fine. Really.” She looked at the baby again and then looked away quickly. “I should go.”

“Wait,” I said. “You’re giving him to me
now?
Right here?”

“Mike wanted us to do this in his office, but, well …” Lainey shrugged. “I thought this way was better. You do still want him, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “We still want him.”

“Then call Mike. He’ll deal with the paperwork.” Lainey reached out, resting a hand on the baby’s leg. Then, just as quickly, she withdrew it, her hand curling into a fist. She stood. “Take care of him.”

“We will,” I said. I was surprised to find that my throat had gone dry. I stared at the baby, who was still sleeping, completely unaware that his life had just undergone a dramatic, seismic change. He breathed heavily through parted lips, and his eyelashes fluttered against rose-pink skin. “I don’t know how to—”

But before I could finish, before I could thank her, I looked up and saw that Lainey was already walking away. Her stride was long, determined, and she didn’t look back at us, not even when she passed through the door and out of our sight.

I looked back at the baby—
my
baby, I realized, my
son
—and my heart started to pound, blood rushing to my head. Just then, he opened his eyes, yawned, and blinked at me.
Does he remember me from that first day?
I wondered.
Is that even possible?

The baby shifted in his seat, his hands opening and closing, his feet flexing, his eyes darting around.

“Hi,” I said, reaching out, holding a finger for him to grab onto. His grip was surprisingly strong. His blue-gray eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a long moment, until I felt something deep within me break. Tears suddenly filled my eyes.

“Do you remember me, sweetheart?” I asked, my voice a croak. “I’m your daddy.”

———

Lainey had left the base of the car seat leaning against the carriage, along with a bag she’d packed with diapers, bottles, formula, and baby clothes. My first job as a father was to figure out how to get the base secured in the back seat of my car, and then lower the baby in his carrier onto it. Lainey had unfortunately not left directions on how to do this.

I rested the baby in his carrier on the ground next to the car, but didn’t like how vulnerable he seemed there. I’d placed him between two parked cars, but my thoughts jumped to all of the awful, grisly possibilities. What if someone driving through the parking lot suddenly lost control of his car, or his brakes went out, and he hit one of the parked cars, ramming it into the baby carrier? I shivered with horror and quickly moved him up onto the sidewalk. But then I realized I couldn’t keep an eye on him and install the car seat base at the same time. Finally, I gave up. I put the car seat back onto the carriage—this snapped with a satisfactory click—and turned toward home. It was less than a mile walk, and there were sidewalks the entire way. Once I got him safely home, I’d find someone more competent—like a police officer or India—to get the car seat set up.

India
. At the thought of her, I stopped suddenly—the baby looked up quizzically at me and then his brow darkened. Walking he seemed to like. Stopping, not so much. He opened his mouth, but before he could give voice to his disapproval, I quickly started moving again.

I knew my wife better than I knew anyone else in the world. But I had no idea what she would say, how she would react, when we arrived. She had been firm that she wasn’t ready to start thinking about another adoption yet. But that was because she had already given away her heart to this baby boy, the one who was now looking up at the soft blue sky and blowing bubbles through rosebud lips. His gaze shifted to me, and he smiled suddenly—a wide
gummy grin that was so charming I could actually feel my heart growing.