California Diaries #7: Dawn, Diary Two (5 page)

I knew my way around the hospital from all my visits to Mrs. Winslow, so I led the way to the maternity wing on the third floor. As we passed the nursery window, I looked in. The newborns were lined up in rows of little cribs. Two were in incubators.

Was one of them my half brother or half sister?

“We’re looking for Carol Olson,” I told an attendant standing at the nursing

station.

“Her family is in the waiting room at the end of the hall,” she said.

My heart was pounding. It was hard not to run down the hall.

Mrs. Bruen and Jeff were the only ones in the waiting room. Mrs. Bruen was

pacing back and forth. Jeff was looking out the window.

“What happened?” I asked. “Are they okay?”

“Everything seems to be going according to schedule,” said Mrs. Bruen. “Poor

thing. All she must be going through.”

I hadn’t thought much about the actual birth of the baby, that it was going to be difficult for Carol.

Mrs. Bruen put her hand on my shoulder. “But don’t worry, Dawn. Carol will be fine. So will the baby.”

“You came in Maggie’s limo, didn’t you?” Jeff asked. He pointed to the parking lot. “That’s it down there. Can I go for a ride?” he begged. “Can I, Maggie?”

“Not now, Jeff,” Maggie told him.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“With Carol, of course,” Mrs. Bruen said.

Of course.

We hung out in the waiting room for two hours. Mrs. Bruen and Jeff worked on a jigsaw puzzle of a sailboat that some other nervous family had started. Maggie and I reviewed biology. Maggie had been smart enough to bring her book along. But it was hard to study and worry about Carol and the baby at the same time. I did my share of pacing.

Finally, my father came bursting into the waiting room. He was beaming. “It’s—

a girl!” he said in a choked voice. His eyes gleamed. I’ve never seen him look so happy.

“She’s beautiful. She’s fine. Carol too. They came through with flying colors.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. I have never seen my father so happy that he cried. Never. Not even the day he and Carol were married.

“A girl?!” Jeff exclaimed. “I thought it was going to be a boy. I didn’t think of any girl names.”

Dad tousled Jeff’s hair and wrapped us both in a big hug. I cried too.

But my tears of happiness were for Dad, not for myself.

Dad suggested that the rest of us go home and have some dinner while Carol and the baby rested. Then we should come back to the hospital in a couple of hours. “I want you to meet your sister,” he said.

Half sister, I thought.

“Can I go with Maggie in the limo?” Jeff asked anyone who would listen. “Can

I?”

Mrs. Bruen said Jeff and I could both go with Maggie and that she would meet us at home. For the moment, Jeff was more excited about the limo than he was about our baby half sister, No Name.

After Maggie dropped us off, I came up here to my room to write. I can see

Sunny’s bedroom window from my desk. It is so weird not to call her with the news. I guess Dad will tell Mr. Winslow and he’ll tell Sunny. Weird and sad.

11 p.m. 6/17

We rushed through dinner so we could go right back to the hospital. I brought Carol her Discman and some of her favorite CDs. Mrs. Bruen picked flowers from the garden for her. And Jeff remembered to bring the baby name book. So we could pick out a girl’s name.

As we walked through the maternity floor we stopped to look in at the newborns.

Now one if them would be Baby Schafer-Olson. We read all of the names, even the ones on the incubators. None said “Schafer-Olson.” Mrs. Bruen and I exchanged a worried glance. Had something happened to Baby Schafer-Olson? We rushed to Room 307.

There, lying in Carol’s arms, was the baby we were looking for.

“Hi,” I whispered to Carol and Dad.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Dad said in a loud, happy voice. “We want her to get used to noise.”

“Come on over and see her,” Carol said. Carol looked tired but so very happy.

I looked down at the sweetest infant I’d ever seen. Dad put his arm around me.

“You know what, Sunshine?” he asked. Dad hadn’t called me that in so long. The tone of his voice was warm and familiar. It was the voice he used to tell me bedtime stories when I was little and that he used to comfort me when I was sad. I suppose he’ll use that voice with his new daughter. It’s her turn to have bedtime stories and a dad who makes up a terrific nickname for her.

Hearing Dad call me Sunshine reminded me of Sunny too. The fact that my

nickname was Sunny’s real name was the great coincidence of our friendship. Not many people were named Sunshine. We decided this was a sign that we were supposed to be best friends forever.

I missed being Dad’s Sunshine and I missed Sunny. I felt a lump rise up in my throat, as if I was going to cry.

I swallowed and said, “What, Dad?”

“Your sister looks just like you did.”

“But…” I looked at Carol. It was Carol’s baby. Shouldn’t she look like Carol?

“She does look like you,” said Carol. “I’ve seen your baby pictures, Dawn. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I am amazed that Carol doesn’t mind that her baby looks like me. She took the baby and held her out to me. “Here.”

I took my half sister and cradled her carefully in the crook of my left arm. Other newborns I’ve seen looked scrunched up like old men. But not this baby. She had smooth, soft, pink skin. And her lips were a perfect tulip shape.

“She’s so little!” Jeff exclaimed. ‘I thought she’d be bigger. Are boys bigger?”

My father laughed. “No,” he said. “And Elizabeth Grace is eight pounds, two

ounces, which is a very respectable weight for a girl or a boy.”

“Elizabeth Grace!” Jeff cried. He threw the “name your baby” book down on

Carol’s bed and pouted. “You went ahead and named her without me.”

“I’m sorry, Jeff,” Dad said. “But it just came to us. We were looking at her and I said, ‘Let’s call her Elizabeth.’”

“And I was thinking what a grace it was that she is finally here,” Carol said.

“That she is my special Grace. We put them together and came up with Elizabeth Grace.”

“You can give her a nickname,” Dad told Jeff.

“Like Liz, maybe,” Carol suggested. “Or Lizzy.”

Jeff thought for a few seconds. “I’m going to call her Gracie,” he announced.

“That’s my nickname for her.”

“Gracie,” Carol and Dad said in unison;

My dad looked at me and I nodded. I thought Gracie was a perfect nickname for Elizabeth Grace.

“I like it,” said Dad.

“Me too,” Carol added.

“She is so lovely, Carol,” Mrs. Bruen said. “Now, wasn’t it worth all those

months in bed?”

“Yes, it was,” Carol said. “You were right.”

I felt as if I were dreaming. I couldn’t take my eyes off the peaceful infant in my arms. “Elizabeth Grace,” I whispered. “Happy birthday.”

Then we all sang “Happy Birthday” to the newest member of our family.

I’m too tired to study for my finals. I have all day tomorrow to study. I’ll go to the hospital too. I want to visit Mrs. Winslow when I’m there. I promised to tell her all about the baby after she was born.

There’s also something else I want to do with Mrs. Winslow. I hope it works.

Afternoon 6/18

It was hard to study this morning. Dad was calling all our friends and relatives to tell them about Elizabeth Grace. A lot of them wanted to talk to me. I guess they were worried that I’d be jealous, which is pretty weird since I’m thirteen years old. When Dad wasn’t on the phone, it was ringing with congratulations from people who had heard about the baby from the people he had called.

Around noon, Dad and I drove to the hospital together. “After I see Carol and Gracie,” he said, “I have to drop in at the office for a couple of hours. Mrs. Bruen is coming over this afternoon. She can give you a ride home.”

“Perfect,” I said. “I want to have time to visit Mrs. Winslow too.”

Dad was going straight to maternity on the third floor, but I got off the elevator at the cancer care unit on the second floor. There were no excited fathers on the second floor. No glowing mothers. No newborns. I walked down the hall past rooms of very sick and dying people. A shiver went down my spine and I felt overwhelmingly sad.

On this floor people were fighting for their lives. Some of them would die. Their loved ones were helping them leave the world. On the third floor infants were being helped into the world.

I took a deep breath, put a smile on my face, and walked into Mrs. Winslow’s

room.

She was sitting up in a chair looking out the window. “Hi,” I said softly. She turned to me. Two little tubes came out of her nostrils and were connected to an oxygen tank. “Sun—Dawn, she said. “Hi. At first I thought you were Sunny.”

“I have good news,” I told her.

“The baby?”

I nodded. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and told her everything. I realized that Mr. Winslow had told her Gracie had been born but still she wanted to know every one of my details.

“I love newborns,” she told me. “I always wanted more children. There was one miscarriage after Sunny. Then no more pregnancies.” She smiled. “I was very blessed to have Sunny.”

I thought angrily that Sunny wasn’t much of a blessing to anyone these days. But I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want any negative energy in Mrs. Winslow’s room.

Mrs. Winslow reached over and patted my hand. “Tell me again what the baby

looks like.”

The skin on Mrs. Winslow’s hand and arm was transparent and wrinkled. She

was very thin. I thought of the expression “skin and bones.”

“Okay,” I said. “But I think I can do better than that. I want to take you to see her.”

For an instant Mrs. Winslow looked excited by the idea. Then a cloud passed

over her face. “Oh, I can’t go,” she said.

“I bet the nurses would let you.”

‘It’ll be so depressing for Carol and everyone. I mean, it’s such a happy time for them. They don’t want to see me.”

My heart ached for Mrs. Winslow. She was worried about everyone but herself.

“Don’t say that,” I said. “Don’t even think it. I want you to see Gracie. And you said yourself that you love newborns.” I stood up. “Let me at least ask the nurses, okay?”

A big smile erupted on Mrs. Winslow’s face. A familiar twinkle came into her

eyes. “Dawn, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do today than meet Elizabeth Grace Schafer-Olson,” she said.

Her face was beautiful. She was beautiful. I thought, A person’s beauty is deep inside. It is even deeper than good health.

We got permission right away from a nurse, who hurried off to find a wheelchair.

I helped Mrs. Winslow get ready for our visit. She put on the bright blue silk robe Mr.

Winslow and Sunny had given her for her birthday in April. She ran her hand over the shiny fabric. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. “I love wonderful fabrics.”

She was practically bald from the chemotherapy, so she decided to cover her head with a scarf. She picked out a pink-and-yellow-striped one from the stack of scarves she’d brought with her to the hospital. She wrapped it around her head and I tied it in a fancy knot at the nape of her neck.

Next, she dabbed some powder on her cheeks. I held up her air tubes while she applied some pink lipstick. Finally, I helped her into the wheelchair.

“Ready?” I said.

“Ready!” she answered. She smiled up at me. “Thank you, Dawn.”

I wheeled Mrs. Winslow onto the elevator and we took the short ride to the third floor.

We stopped at the nursery window. Baby Schafer-Olson was in the first row,

asleep with her fists on her chest.

I pointed. “There she is.”

After a few seconds Mrs. Winslow whispered, “She’s perfect. Just perfect.”

“Isn’t she?” said a male voice. I looked up. It was my dad. He leaned over and kissed Mrs. Winslow on the cheek. “Isn’t this something, Betsy?” he asked.

Mrs. Winslow had tears in her eyes. Happy tears. “Yes it is,” she said.

“Something very wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Carol’s sleeping,” he said. “That’s why they put the baby back here.”

While Dad and Mrs. Winslow talked, I signaled to the maternity nurse. I

explained to her that Mrs. Winslow was a patient on the second floor and a close friend of our family. “Could she hold my sister?” I asked.

“I don’t see why not,” said the nurse. “Wheel your friend over here to the door and I’ll get the baby.”

After Dad left I told Mrs. Winslow, “You can hold her.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“I’d love that,” she said.

I wheeled Mrs. Winslow to the doorway and the nurse handed me Elizabeth

Grace. I put her in Mrs. Winslow’s arms. “Oh, look at her,” she said softly. “How precious.” She took Elizabeth Grace’s fist, gently opened it, and put her thin finger in the tiny palm of the baby’s hand. That one-day-old hand closed around Mrs. Winslow’s finger.

“Hello, my little namesake,” Mrs. Winslow said.

That’s when I realized it. Mrs. Winslow’s name—Betsy—was a nickname for

Elizabeth. I don’t think my dad had named Elizabeth after Mrs. Winslow, not

consciously anyway. But I was so glad that was the baby’s name. I felt incredibly happy and sad at the same time. Happy that my sister would go through her life with Elizabeth Winslow’s name. And sad that Elizabeth Winslow wouldn’t see her namesake and

newest neighbor grow up. I squatted beside the wheelchair and whispered to Mrs.

Winslow, “I love you.”

She smiled at me. “I love you, Dawn. You’re like a second daughter to me.

Thank you so much for bringing me up here.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I should go back to my room. I need to lie down.”

I took Elizabeth Grace from Elizabeth Winslow and gave the baby back to the

nurse. Then I wheeled Mrs. Winslow to the elevator and to her room on the second floor.