Another Piece of My Heart (25 page)

“Here’s the secret. I’m not giving her up. I’m keeping her.”

Her eyes grow wide. This, it seems, is a worthy secret. “Noooo!” she breathes. “For real?”

I nod.

“Do you know it’s a girl?” she says, awed.

“No, but I’m pretty sure. It feels like a girl. I call her the Bean.”

“That’s so cute!” She giggles, then frowns. “But you’re not actually going to name her the Bean, right? Because that would just be awful.”

“No!” I laugh. “I was thinking maybe … Michaela?”

“Michaela?” She makes a face. “No way. You can
not
call her Michaela. I had a Michaela in fifth grade, and she was so mean!”

“So what names do you like?” I say, thinking that even though Michael asked, Sophia is right. Michaela isn’t my favorite name.

“How about Skylar!” she says excitedly. “I love that name. Or Madison!”

“God no!” I make a face. “I hate those names. I was thinking maybe Audrey. Or Evie. I kind of like old-fashioned names.”

“I love those names!” Sophia’s face lights up. “Evie!” She scoots over on the bed so she is sitting right up next to me. “Can I feel her?”

“Sure.” I smile, and she takes her hand and lays it on my stomach.

Sophia frowns. “I can’t feel anything.”

“She’s probably sleeping. She wakes up at night.”

“Wow. This must be so awesome. So how do you think Dad will be when you tell him you’re keeping Evie?”

“It’s his first grandchild. He’s going to fall in love. No one’s going anywhere.”

“That is so cool,” Sophia says happily. “I’m going to have a niece! I’m going to be Aunt Sophia! At thirteen!”

“I know. But you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Got it,” she says. “Not a soul.”

And as we lie there, during a rare moment of sisterly bonding, I wet myself.

It isn’t like normal wetting myself. I didn’t even know I had to pee, but suddenly I feel this warm whoosh of water, and I know I’m soaking and the sheets are soaking, and I’m completely mortified.

“Oh, God,” I moan, as Sophia looks at me. “Get up! Get up!”

“What is it?” she says, scared.

“I just had an accident,” I say, jumping off the bed. “Oh, my God! Soph, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, although she’s screwing up her nose and I can tell she’s as grossed out as I would have been if she had peed all over my bed.

I grab a bunch of towels from the bathroom and go back into Sophia’s bedroom, and I have no idea what makes me do this, but I lean forward and sniff the wet sheets where I’ve peed, but they don’t smell like pee at all. They smell like nothing. And I stumble backward and burst into tears.

“What is it?” Sophia says. “What’s the matter?”

“Go get Andi,” I cry. “Go get Andi.”

Twenty-eight

Andi rushes in to find a terrified Emily amid a pile of sodden towels.

“Oh, baby.” She gathers Emily in her arms, all anger and resentment forgotten, seeing before her a terrified child. “Your water broke. It’s fine. It’s okay. I’m right here. We’re going to ring the OB/GYN, then I’m going to drive you to the hospital. I’ll just call your father—”

“No!” Emily shouts. “I just want you. Not my dad. Just you. Please?” And she looks up at Andi with large, frightened eyes, and Andi feels, as she has at every moment Emily shows her vulnerability, a rush of intense love, just as strong as she would feel if Emily were her own.

“Okay.” Andi melts. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to be fine.”

*   *   *

They have not prepared anything for the hospital, assuming it was at least five weeks away, and that first babies are usually late, although Andi had found herself wondering if in fact that was an old wives’ tale.

She had read somewhere that teenagers often give birth early, had expressed that fear to the OB/GYN the last time she took Emily in, but had been reassured that everything was looking great.

The phone call is brief. Andi flies around Emily’s bedroom, putting together clean clothes, toiletries, her favorite blanket. She has nothing for the baby, she thinks with dismay, having expected to hand the baby straight to the adopting couple. There is no adopting couple yet, Emily thus far vetoing everyone Andi has picked since the disastrous meeting with Adeline and Greg.

Emily sits on the sofa, quietly crying, white with fear, as Sophia sits next to her, holding her hand and whispering how Emily should be so excited, the Bean is coming! Emily, when not shaking with fear, manages to acknowledge her.

“It’s going to be fine,” Andi reassures her each time she flies past, arms filled with things. “You’re a brave girl, and we’re going to be fine.”

When Emily is strapped into the car, Andi runs next door to Drew, explains what’s happening, urges him not to say anything to Ethan, and hands over Sophia.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come?” Sophia asks, her eyes searching out Emily in the car. “I’d like to.”

“I know, sweetie,” she tells Sophia. “We don’t know whether it’s happening now. We’re just going to the hospital to check her out.”

There is no way Ethan would want Sophia at the hospital. He doesn’t even know she knows.

“The baby’s not coming now?” There is disappointment in her voice.

“Hopefully not,” Andi lies encouragingly. “We’ll call you later.”

*   *   *

“Do you feel any contractions?” Andi asks, driving carefully.

“No.” Emily shakes her head. “That must mean it’s okay, right? If I was in labor, I’d be having contractions, wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” Andi says. “We’ll ask the doctor,” and she turns just in time to see Emily’s face crease up in pain. “What was that?”

“A stomach cramp. It’s nothing. It’s gone now.”

“How many have you had?”

“I don’t know. Just a couple.”

“Are they five minutes apart, or ten? Roughly?” Andi’s voice is now urgent.

“I don’t know. Why? Are they contractions?” Emily’s voice is filled with fear.

“I think so, Emily. I don’t know for sure, but I think so.”

“Oh, shit.” Emily leans her head back on the seat. “I am so not ready for this.”

“I don’t know that anyone is ever ready for this,” Andi says.

Emily closes her eyes and rests her hands on her stomach. Turning her head, she blinks, gazing at Andi, who looks over and smiles, reaching out and squeezing her hand reassuringly. When Andi thinks about withdrawing her hand, Emily holds it tighter. She won’t let go.

Andi looks at her. “We have to phone the adoption agency. We have to figure out what to do when the baby is born. They may have a … foster home or something.” She swallows hard, pushing aside her pain, knowing she has to be strong for Emily.

“Andi?” Emily looks straight ahead, her voice quiet. “I’m going to keep the baby.”

“What?” Andi feigns shock, but in truth she is not surprised. Emily had mentioned this before, but after Ethan’s furious reaction, hadn’t said it again. Ethan thought she had changed her mind, but Andi suspected differently.

Once upon a time, it might have made her happy. It might not be her baby, but it would still be a baby around the house, for where else will Emily go if not home? How will she support herself? How will they live? If she keeps the baby, she will have no choice but to stay at home. With them.

Instead of filling her with joy, it fills her with dismay.

If Emily keeps the baby, they get the baby, but they also get Emily. The pattern will continue. The screaming tantrums, which leave Andi discombobulated and terrified, interspersed with moments of loving calm, during which Andi feels a wave of love for her stepdaughter, a hope this signifies the beginning of a permanent change.

Andi feels a sinking in her stomach. Adopting Emily’s baby was her last chance, the perfect solution. Andi would be a mother, and Emily would have her life back. She could go to college, go traveling, live the life she was meant to live instead of being tied down by a baby she doesn’t want in a town she doesn’t like.

It would have set Emily free and given them what Andi has always wanted, but keeping the baby now means the cord will never be cut.

Plus ça change, Plus c’est la même,
she thinks, aching with sadness as she navigates the sunny streets to the hospital.

The more that changes, the more that stays the same.

*   *   *

“I’m scared.” Emily sobs, breaking Andi’s heart as Emily clutches her hand to stop her from leaving the room while the nurse snaps on gloves to perform an internal exam.

“Ssssh. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt, I promise. I’ll be right outside the door, then I’ll come straight back.” Andi brushes Emily’s hair off her face, wondering again how it is possible that this child is having a child.

“Don’t go,” Emily cries.

The nurse looks up and smiles. “It’s fine, Mom,” she says. “You can stay right in here with your daughter.”

This time, Emily doesn’t correct her, doesn’t scream that it’s her stepmother, and she hates her. She just clutches Andi’s hand tighter as Andi crouches, looking deep into Emily’s eyes and whispering that it’s all going to be fine, continuing to stroke Emily’s hair back with her other hand, ssshing her and soothing her, and doing everything she can to let her know that Emily will be okay.

“You’re just about ten centimeters dilated!” the nurse says cheerfully. “That means baby’s about ready to come. Have you discussed what drugs you’d like to take, or whether this is natural childbirth?”

“Drugs!” Emily shouts, now in the midst of a stronger contraction. “Get me drugs.”

“Let me get everything started for an epidural. We have to be quick and get it done before you start pushing. Don’t worry. We’re going to be fine,” she reassures them as Emily’s eyes widen with fear.

Andi continues stroking Emily’s hair as Emily begs her not to leave, not for a second.

“Of course,” she says. “But … I have to phone your dad.”

“I don’t want my dad here.” Emily bursts into tears, but not the histrionics Andi is so used to. Quiet, genuine tears. “I know how ashamed he is of me.”

Andi’s heart breaks. “He’s not ashamed of you, sweetie,” she says. “He loves you more than anything. He doesn’t know how to deal with any of this, that’s all. He’ll … get used to it. We have to let him know you’re going to give birth.”

“Okay.” Emily nods reluctantly, knowing that Andi is right. “Call him.”

*   *   *

Ethan is walking around a small garden in Sausalito when the call comes in. He has spent more time outside the past few days, hoping to find some solace in nature, for that was where he always found it before.

This time, it hasn’t worked. He feels empty, and doesn’t know how he will ever change that if Andi leaves him. He cannot believe he has let it go this far. He has a horrible feeling there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop his life from spinning out of control, and powerlessness is not a familiar or a comfortable feeling.

He and Andi circle each other like actors. They pretend to be husband and wife in front of the children, have conversations that might sound like the ordinary conversations of a married couple if you were to listen as an outsider, but there is no connection there, no warmth.

The intimacy that has always characterized their relationship has flown out the window, leaving two empty shells who are adept at going through the motions, who can fake the feelings when other people are around but who don’t feel anything at all.

Except Ethan
does
feel. He feels lost. Confused. Terrified. Bewildered. He kisses his wife good night every evening, but not on the lips, not the long, warm smooches of evenings gone by, kisses delivered in bed as one of them rolls over and turns off their bedside light, but instead light pecks on her proffered cheek, for she turns her head now; a cheek is all he can hope for.

He pads down the corridor to the spare room, which is cold and unwelcoming. It is beautifully decorated in blues and whites, but it is not home: as much as he is a stranger in his own bedroom, he is starting to feel like a stranger in his home.

Every evening, when he walks through the front door, Andi is in the kitchen making dinner. They sit at the dinner table, forcing small talk, with none of the easy conversation that has always flowed between them.

“How was work today?” Andi will ask. He will tell stories about his jobs, fill the silences with desperate stories because anything is better than silence.

“How about you?” he will offer when he has run out of anything else to talk about. “How was yours?”

Their time together is finite. Andi has been clear: they will reassess when the baby is dealt with, when life is back to normal. But what does that mean? That he has a few weeks to convince her to stay? A few weeks to fix something that right now feels as if it doesn’t have a chance of being anything other than broken?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, expecting it to be yet another client wanting something from him. Usually, he loves his job. He loves people. He takes enormous pride in being of service to his clients; there is nothing he loves more than walking around someone’s garden and chatting about plantings and design ideas.

Not anymore. Now he is tired, too tired to chat lightly with anyone, but he looks cursorily at the phone, seeing it is Andi. He takes the call.

“Emily’s gone into labor,” she says quietly. “We’re at the hospital.”

Ethan starts to shake. “But … she’s not due for another five weeks.”

“I know. Her water broke. She’s fine, but you should come now.”

“But … the adoption,” he sputters. “We haven’t found anyone. What do we do?”

Andi is quiet. Should she tell him what Emily just told her? Should she share the news that is now weighing her down and bringing her to the brink of tears as she hears her husband’s voice?

“Let’s worry about it later,” she says. “Let’s just make sure this baby comes safely into the world.”

*   *   *

Emily is pushing with all her might as the doctor and midwives urge her on. Andi sits at her head, encouraging her, and Ethan is pacing nervously up and down the hallway outside.

“I can’t push anymore,” Emily whimpers, her eyes crossed with exhaustion. “I’m too tired. I can’t do it.”