Her Daughter's Dream (14 page)

“I pray—”

“Don’t lie to me. I wasn’t born yesterday.” He shook his head, mouth tight. “I confronted you. And you stared at me after that. Open defiance. I can see everything from where I stand. I can see
you
.”

Her body grew colder as his tone grew hotter.

“You can look like a Christian on the outside, but it’s the fruit that shows what you are.” His gaze flickered down, resting pointedly on her abdomen, then back up to stare coldly into her eyes. “You can’t hide now, can you? Everyone will know what you are.”

She didn’t think it could get worse, but he wasn’t finished.

“When your brother died, you didn’t even have the decency to come home for his funeral. You didn’t care enough to show him the honor he deserved. You wanted your own way. Now you have to live with the consequences.”

She bowed her head and cried.

“You’re sorry now.” Rev. Elias sounded weary. “You have regrets; you feel remorse. But I have yet to hear your confession. I see no evidence of repentance.”

What kind of evidence did he want? She was about to ask, but one look at his face kept her silent. She didn’t see even a hint of love or compassion in his eyes. He’d been the only pastor she’d ever known, but as she searched for Jesus in his face, she couldn’t find Him.

The wall clock
tick, tick, tick
ed.

“Well, Carolyn? Don’t you have anything to say? Or do you think it’s all water under the bridge?”

What could she say? She had sinned, she was paying, and she’d keep paying as long as she lived.

Rev. Elias let out an impatient sigh. “Go on then. Have it your way. I’ll pray for your mother and your father, but I won’t pray for you. I’m giving you over to Satan. Let the devil sift you.”

Carolyn sat in Charlie’s Impala, gripping the steering wheel. She wanted a drink. Not just one, a whole bottle, and it didn’t matter if it was wine or whiskey. She wanted a drink so badly, she shook and broke out in a cold sweat. She wanted a joint. She wanted acid. She wanted oblivion!

The only thing that stopped her from driving to Hagstrom’s grocery store and buying booze was the child tucked beneath her heart.

When Carolyn entered the house, Mom stood in the kitchen fixing dinner; Dad stood nearby talking with her. Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Did you have your talk with Rev. Elias?” She sounded hopeful.

“Yes.”

Dad’s mouth tightened. “I hope you took everything he said to heart.”

“I have.” She’d never set foot in a church again.

Carolyn went into her bedroom and closed the door. She thought she might have some respite, but Dad tapped on her door and said to come out in the living room. They had something to tell her. She went on leaden legs.

Dad sat, hands gripping the arms of his recliner. Mom spoke, hands clasped in her lap. “We’ve found a place for you to live until the baby comes.” She looked so relieved. “Jasia Boutacoff is an old friend of mine. We went to nurses’ training together. She lives in the San Fernando Valley. I called and told her the situation. She said she’d be happy to have you come and stay with her. She’ll take good care of you, Carolyn.” She actually smiled as though things couldn’t have worked out better. “What do you think?”

Dad’s face darkened. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. It’s what’s best.”

Mom covered her anger quickly. “You’ll be much better off with Boots.”

“Boots?”

“Jasia’s nickname.”

Dad’s fingers stopped digging into the arm of his chair. “Charlie’s car is yours now. I had it registered in your name.” Dad glanced at Mom. “Boots gave you directions, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Mom took a map and short note off the side table and held them out. “She said it would be easy to find. Her telephone number is at the bottom.”

Carolyn took the map and directions in trembling fingers. They didn’t have to say any more. She understood. They couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

Dear Rosie,

I thought things might work out between Carolyn and her parents. Trip had softened, and I saw a desire on all sides to bridge the chasm. No matter the circumstances, this baby could have bound them together in love.

Trip and Hildemara sent Carolyn to Rev. Elias. The poor girl looked like something had broken inside her. She won’t tell me a word of what the man said, but I can guess. I will never set foot in that church again as long as that sanctimonious hypocrite stands in the pulpit!

If that wasn’t bad enough, this morning I learned Hildemara has sent Carolyn away. She and Trip decided Carolyn would be “better off” in Southern California among strangers than in Paxtown, “where she would be the brunt of cruel gossip.” I asked Hildemara Rose if she cared more about what others think than how their daughter feels. She told me she knew what it felt like to be cast out, but that wasn’t what she was doing to her daughter.

I am in Yosemite. I needed fresh air. I needed a walk in the mountains. My heart is broken, Rosie. I wanted to make my girl strong, not hard. . . .

17

Winds gusted as Carolyn drove over Altamont Pass. Spotting the Speedway sign, she remembered how much Chel had wanted to go to the concert. They’d both been too stoned to make it. Just as well. They missed the Hells Angels, the brawls, the fights and chaos. A steady stream of commuters headed back the way she had come, going west to Hayward and Oakland, maybe even as far as San Francisco.

August heat made the inside of Charlie’s car feel soupy, even with the windows down. She turned south and kept on, pushing, wanting to speed, and then wondering why she was in such a hurry to get to a stranger’s house. Before long, the Tehachapi Mountains loomed ahead, the Grapevine winding upward like a gray snake half-hidden by the inversion layer of smog and haze.

By the time she reached the San Fernando Valley, five o’clock traffic clogged the gray macadam arteries. She’d driven in traffic before, but not like this—six lanes, bumper to bumper, cars weaving, nosing in, taillights flashing red, horns honking if you hesitated a few seconds before making your decision. Adrenaline rushed in her veins. She developed a splitting headache. Her fingers ached from clutching the steering wheel. But she made the right exit and got on the right freeway.

It took forty-five minutes to go eleven miles, but she found her way to Canoga Park. She pulled into a shopping mall and bought her first meal of the day, Kentucky Fried Chicken. She didn’t want to arrive on Jasia Boutacoff’s doorstep hungry and begging for food. She reread the directions while she ate, and she had them memorized before she got back in the car and headed for Topanga Canyon.

The tan, two-story house with a Spanish red-tile roof stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, desert mountains looming behind. Carolyn parked, opened the trunk, took out her duffel bag, and hefted it onto her shoulder. The landscaping looked professional, trimmed juniper trees between boulders with river-rock ground cover. Two large terra-cotta pots with topiary privets and two Talavera pottery frogs sat on either side of the large mission-style door.

Carolyn had barely rung the bell when the door opened. “Jasia Boutacoff?”

“Call me Boots, honey.” The tall, slender woman with gray-streaked black hair smiled warmly. She wore white slacks and a flowing purple tunic with a gold chain belt. “And you’re Carolyn.” She waved her in. “Come on in. It’s hotter than Hades out here.”

The air-conditioning hit Carolyn like a cold front, but she welcomed it after hours in hundred-degree heat. She smelled something wonderful cooking. The foyer had dark hardwood flooring, painted cabinets, Talavera sconces on the walls, and a large, frosted-glass Mexican star hanging from the ceiling. An archway opened into a dining room furnished with a painted country-style wood sunflower sideboard, a wrought-iron chandelier hanging over the painted table, and eight blue chairs.

“You must be exhausted after that long drive.” She took Carolyn’s bag. “I’ll show you the way to your room. You can freshen up a bit, if you like, and join me in the living room.” She led the way down a corridor without pausing for breath. “You were six months old the last time I saw you. Your dad was changing your diapers.” She laughed. “He gagged. Men are so helpless sometimes.”

Carolyn caught a glimpse of the huge Southwest-style living room with a curved white fireplace and sliding-glass doors to the backyard. Boots kept talking about Carolyn’s dad and mom as she walked down the hallway and opened a door into a large bedroom, crossing the plush, tan carpeted floor. She put Carolyn’s duffel bag on the end of a four-poster queen-size bed with a crazy quilt. Carolyn took in a Tuscan dresser on one side of the room, marble-topped side tables, a comfortable chair with a stool near the windows, a small table beside it with several books, one a Bible. A watercolor of a field of sunflowers hung on one wall, an Italian coastal town on the opposite.

Boots opened the big armoire. “You can put things in here, or use the closet.” She opened one of the sliding-mirror doors. A dozen white silk hangers hung on the rod. “You have a private bathroom.” Boots leaned in and flicked on a light, revealing a luxurious white marble bathroom with a big tub, separate shower, and cubby room for the toilet. A thick terry-cloth robe lay over the vanity chair. Mirrors lined the marble counter. Two sinks. Carolyn had never seen anything so gorgeous.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Carolyn. I’m looking forward to spending time with you. I want you to be comfortable. If you need anything, you tell me. I want you to feel at home.”

Overwhelmed, Carolyn burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetie.” Boots held her close and rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. Things have a way of working out the way God intends. I know this isn’t your home, but I’m going to do my best to make you feel as though it is. You’re not the first girl who’s faced having a baby. You’re not alone. Believe me.” She drew back and cupped Carolyn’s face, leaning down slightly to look into her eyes. “You’re the daughter of one of my oldest and dearest friends, and I promised Hildie I’d take good care of you. Now I’m promising you.”

She let go of Carolyn. “Why don’t you freshen up and unpack? Come on in the living room when you’re ready. We’ll have a few minutes to talk before dinner is ready.”

* * *

Carolyn expected to hide out until the baby was born, but Boots dispelled that notion over a gourmet breakfast the next morning. “I’ve invited some friends over this afternoon. They’ve been a great comfort to me through some rough times. Kept me accountable. You’re going to like them, and they’re going to love you.”

“I’ve never had many friends.”

“Hildie said you had one that meant a lot to you.” Boots looked at her.

What else had her mother told Boots?

“I can see what you’re thinking. Your mother called me because she didn’t want you among strangers. She knows my life hasn’t been pristine. I was a party girl when we knew one another. She always walked the straight and narrow, but I dated every new intern who came to the hospital. No one was ever good enough for me, or so I thought. It took me a long time to realize I loved myself more than I’d ever loved anyone. And along the way, I found plenty of opportunities—and excuses—for getting drunk.”

Boots lifted her glass of orange juice. “It never occurred to me I might become an alcoholic.” She set the glass on the table. “No one sets out to bring that kind of misery into their life, and it takes more than willpower to stop.” Completely relaxed, Boots smiled at Carolyn. “By the grace of God, someone dragged me to my first AA meeting. I heard about a higher power. I call Him Jesus. He’s become the love of my life. And I made friends. You’ll meet a few. I’ve been going to meetings ever since.”

“The ladies who are coming today?”

“Only one, but none would claim to be perfect.” She reached over and patted Carolyn’s hand. “The thing is, we all struggle, some harder than others. Some of us make trouble for ourselves.”

Carolyn hadn’t just brought trouble on herself; she’d carried it home to her parents. She wondered how she’d support herself and her baby. She hadn’t finished college, had no real job skills. Could she earn enough as a waitress or mall shopgirl to pay for a small apartment? What about doctor and hospital bills? If she kept her baby, she’d have to find work. She’d have to arrange day care. Would she end up raising her child in a ghetto neighborhood? There was always adoption, but Carolyn wanted to weep at the mere thought of handing her baby over to strangers, never to see her child again. Just thinking about all the decisions made her want to get drunk or high.

“I understand.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the last aloud. Mortified, she closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to figure everything out today, honey.”

“I don’t know if I can figure anything out.”

“Take it one day at a time.”

Carolyn wasn’t used to trusting people, especially someone she’d known for so short a time, but she felt at ease with Boots. She felt safe. She’d been fighting temptation since she left the Clement Street house. If she’d had any money, she would’ve spent it on booze and drugs while living in the park. She had nothing then; she had nothing now, but the temptation hadn’t lessened. Only the baby kept her straight.

“Can I go to an AA meeting with you sometime?”

“We’ll go tonight.”

* * *

Mom called once a week. She’d ask Carolyn how she was feeling. “Fine.” She’d ask how things were going with Boots. “Great.” She’d ask if Carolyn needed anything. “No.” Then she’d ask to speak with Boots.

Sometimes Dad got on the phone, but not often and never for long. Oma never called. She wrote letters, filling them with newsy tidbits, what she had seen, what grew in her garden. She didn’t ask Carolyn if she’d made any decisions about the baby.

Dr. O’Connor, the husband of one of Boots’s many friends, told Carolyn the baby had a strong heartbeat. She’d gained ten pounds in two months, largely due to Boots’s great cooking. They went on morning walks together before the heat trapped them inside the house. Sometimes they went out again in the evening. Boots insisted on “playing tourist” with her. They went to the Los Angeles Zoo, Santa Monica Pier, La Brea Tar Pits, Malibu. When Boots asked her if she’d like to go to Disneyland, Carolyn told her about the trip with Oma. She no longer had to worry about hurting Charlie’s feelings.

They attended AA meetings twice a week. Carolyn listened, but never talked. No one pressed her.

Boots tapped on her door early one morning. “We’re going to the beach before the crowds get there.” She drove Topanga Canyon Road like a NASCAR driver. They arrived at dawn. Joggers ran along the water’s edge.

“Come on.” Boots got out and headed across the sand with a basket and blanket. Dumping them, she kicked off her shoes and continued on toward the waves lapping the beach. Carolyn followed. Boots stopped at the edge of the wet sand. Hands on her hips, she lifted her face and closed her eyes. “Listen to that. There’s something about the sound of the sea, isn’t there? Soothing.”

They walked along the beach together, not saying anything. Boots didn’t seem worried about the blanket. When they turned back, she bent and scooped up a stick, twirling it in her hand like a baton. “You’re eating yourself up with guilt and worry, Carolyn, and it’s got to stop.” She stopped and jabbed the stick into the moist sand. “Write down every sin you’ve committed right here in the sand. Let it all out.” She walked up the beach onto dry sand, spread the blanket, and sat. “Take your time!” she called out. She lay back, arms beneath her head, and crossed her ankles.

Carolyn barely managed to write a few words before a wave came and washed them away. She wrote more, and the waves came in again, erasing her words. She wrote and wrote, and each time the sea came and swept away her confession. She didn’t know how long she bent to the task before she finished. Her feet were numb from the cold water. She tossed the stick into the surf and watched it carried out. For the first time in weeks, her chest didn’t feel like someone was sitting on it.

“Finished?” Boots called.

“For now.”

Boots came down and stood next to her. “You can always come back.” She smiled at her and then looked out at the sea. Surfers rode the small waves. “I listen to the sea and hear the Lord, Carolyn. Jesus said He came to save us, not condemn us. He took our sins upon Himself. He paid the price to set you free. God is like those waves, honey. He washes away your sins. He offers you the free gift of grace, the added bonus of the Holy Spirit dwelling in you, and eternal life as well. You have decisions to make, but the biggest one is what you’re going to believe about Him. Ask Him in, and He’ll take care of the rest.”

They stood side by side looking out at the ocean. Carolyn felt a fluttering sensation—angel wings. She put her hands over her abdomen. Boots saw the movement and turned to her. “The quickening?” Carolyn laughed for the first time in months. It sounded odd to her ears. Boots laughed with her.

* * *

Carolyn’s heart pounded during AA meetings. She could feel the tension grow inside her. Sitting on her hands, she kept her head down, listening, soaking in the words.

One evening the silence lasted so long, she broke out in a sweat. She knew it was her turn to open up, but didn’t know if she could speak a coherent sentence.

She took a breath and confessed she started drinking to deal with the stress of attending UCB. She drank more when her brother was sent to Vietnam, then started smoking pot with friends while protesting the war.

Everyone listened. No one judged her. Several came over to talk with her after the meeting, sharing similar stories.

“First time is usually hardest,” Boots told her on the way home.

It took another month before she could talk about Charlie. She’d stayed drunk or stoned the year after he died. “I can only remember bits and pieces; most I’d rather forget. . . .” She cried when she told them about Chel.

Mom called again. Carolyn might not be able to talk with her mother, but Boots never had a problem. “She’s filling out, has a nice basketball growing.” Boots took pictures of Carolyn. When December rolled around, Mom and Dad sent money. So did Oma. Carolyn wrote and thanked them. Boots took her to the mall. As they wandered through the stores, Boots picked up a sweater. “Good godfrey! What a price!” She folded the sweater back onto the table. When she wasn’t looking, Carolyn bought it for her.

Boots cried when she opened the box Christmas morning and found the red cashmere sweater. “You must have spent all your Christmas money on this.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

Boots put the sweater back in the box. “I love it, of course. But now you listen. Your mom and dad have been sending me money every month. I never asked for a penny, but they insisted. And then you go and buy this. I should take it back to the store.”