Spirit Level (17 page)

“Was there ever anyone…?”

“Yes,” she says. “There was. Not too long ago. Remember Ray, the boatbuilder? The one I went out with last year? He had one of those things.” She points to the spirit level. “We started to get pretty serious. I broke up with him, even though I really cared for him.”

I remember Ray. I liked him. He played the banjo in a bluegrass band with his brother and his cousin. “Oh, Mom,” I say. “You’re never going to be like your mom and dad. Never. It’s just not possible.”

“I can’t take the chance.” She takes a swig of her drink. “Nature versus nurture, right? No one really knows how it works. That’s why I studied sociology. To try and figure it out.”

“And?”

She laughs. “And I still don’t know. Probably never will. And here I sit, drinking my mom’s favorite drink, telling my lovely daughter horror stories.”

“You don’t need to do that anymore,” I say.

“Do what? Drink?”

“Give up things for me. I don’t want you to. I’m not a little kid anymore. You’re not going to turn into a monster and hurt me. For one thing, Verna wouldn’t allow it. Can you imagine?”

Mom shrugs. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I am.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says.

“Okay.”

“I won’t shy away from whatever life throws at me if you won’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think you know.” She points at the spirit level. “You’re too young not to take a chance, and I’m too old.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

I reach across the table and take her hand and shake it.

“Deal,” I say.

“Deal,” she replies.

LUCY CALLS ME
the morning after my heart-to-heart with Mom. I’ve already taken the dogs for a walk and am getting ready to go to the salon. I need to keep busy.

“Meredith’s freaking out,” she says. “I mean
freaking out
.”

“About what?” I ask.

“About Dr. Ramos. Apparently he hasn’t responded to her latest email, and she’s convinced he hates her.”

I roll my eyes. “Have you heard from him?”

“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “But then, I’m not looking for a daddy. Meredith is. She says her dad—the one who raised her—abandoned her when she needed him most, and she thinks her bio-dad is doing the same.”

“Isn’t it a bit soon to assume that?” I want to tell her about calling Mark and Barbara, but I’m afraid she’ll go
straight to Meredith and all hell will break loose. Instead I say, “I wrote to him too. Last night.”

“You did?” she says. “That’s awesome. Now we can all go together to meet him when he gets back from Mexico.”

“Assuming he wants to meet us,” I reply. “He might not. Three teenage daughters coming out of nowhere? How terrifying is that!”

Lucy laughs. “We’re not that bad, are we?”

Not you and me, I want to say. But Meredith? She’s another story.

“I gotta run to class,” Lucy says before I can answer. “Text me if you hear anything, okay?”

When I get there, the salon is hopping, and I stay for the whole day, answering the phone, shampooing clients, sweeping up hair, making coffee, taking care of some toddlers while their moms get their hair cut, running to the bank for change, getting sandwiches at the deli across the street. Verna drives me home at the end of the day and comes in to have tea with Mom, who is on the phone in her office.

“I’m going to jump in the shower,” I tell Verna.

There are dishes in the sink, and she starts to rinse them and put them in the dishwasher. “I’ll do that,” I say. “Mom will flip if she finds you doing my chores.”

She waves me off and fills the kettle. “I can handle Della,” she says. “You run along.”

In my room, I check my phone for messages. Nothing. I turn on my computer to check my email. Nothing. I have to admit it—I’m disappointed and a bit upset. I can’t seem to differentiate the strands of confusion and hurt. It’s one giant ugly mass of emotional junk, like that island of garbage that floats in the Pacific Ocean.

Over the next three days, I don’t hear from anyone but Lucy. She doesn’t seem concerned that our donor has gone awol, but I’m starting to get seriously pissed off.

Finally, on Friday evening, an email arrives from Dr. Ramos while I am watching a movie on my laptop.

Dear Lucy, Meredith and Harriet,

Thank you for your emails. It has been quite overwhelming to connect with you. I hope you can forgive me for taking so long to reply. I needed to think about what I was going to say. And I hope you don’t mind that I am emailing you as a group.

You have many questions, some of which I will happily answer here, some of which might be better answered in person. Obviously, there is no rulebook for this situation; the best I can do is proceed with caution and respect. As my siblings would tell you, I am not the
most gregarious person in the world, so please do not read anything into my reticence.

I am 61 years old and I have been an
ER
physician for many years. I retired last year after my wife, Alissa, died of breast cancer. I live on Whidbey Island, where I read, dig in my garden and listen to music. I am quite a good cook and a very bad guitarist. Not very exciting, but there it is. I got enough excitement working in the
ER
to last three lifetimes.

I donated sperm often when I was a medical student. As you may know, sperm can be frozen for a very long time and still remain viable. Alissa and I never had children—she was unable to conceive. And yes, I do see the irony of that. The very sad irony. I have three brothers (one is my identical twin) and two sisters, all in or near Seattle, and too many nieces and nephews to count (not really—I have three nieces and six nephews ranging in age from 4 to 30). I see them as often as I can but not as often as I’d like.

I heard about your Facebook page, Meredith, through one of my nephews. He showed it to his father, my twin brother Bernard. There was some confusion at first, since my nephew thought it was a picture of his father. After reassuring his son, Bernard showed it to the rest of my siblings. Pretty soon I had the whole family after me to contact you, including my mother, who is 90 now, but still very much a force of nature. My father died many years ago. Everyone wanted me to contact “my” children, although I kept telling them I had no claim to call you mine except biologically.

So here we are. I hope I have answered enough of your questions. I would like very much to meet you, but it will have to wait. I am helping set up a clinic in my father’s home town in Mexico. I will probably be here at least three more months. In the meantime, I am happy to continue to exchange emails with you all. I hope this is not too disappointing.

Yours truly,

Daniel Ramos

PS
. Harriet, my favorite food varies with the season, but I always love a good piece of pie.

PPS
. My Internet connection is intermittent. Please don’t be alarmed if you don’t hear back from me right away.

My first thought is, Well, he must be okay if he likes pie! Strange what the mind latches on to. But I do love pie. Then my phone rings, and Lucy is squealing and shrieking and saying “Omigod” over and over. When she calms down a bit, she tells me that she and Meredith were together when they read the email. They’re at a coffee shop now, celebrating with carrot cake. No mention of Alex.

“Meredith must be thrilled,” I say, imagining her sitting next to Lucy, listening to our conversation.

“She’s on the phone with Alex. She can’t stop crying. I think she’s kind of bummed that he’s still in Mexico. Aren’t you excited?”

“Sure,” I say. “He sounds really nice.”

Lucy laughs. “He sounds like you. Calm, rational. Not like that’s a bad thing. Somebody has to be calm. Right, Meredith? Meredith says hi, by the way. Wait, I’m gonna put you on speaker. She’s off the phone now.”

“Hi, Meredith,” I say. “Great news, hey?”

Meredith sniffles and says, “It’s wonderful.” She sounds as if she has a terrible cold.

“Too bad we can’t meet him right away,” I say. “But maybe it’s better this way. Gives us a chance to get to know him a bit first.”

Meredith blows her nose and says, “I suppose,” but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“We could go over to Whidbey anyway,” Lucy says.

“Yeah, we could go and check out his house,” I add.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Meredith sounds as if she’s frowning.

“I was just kidding,” I say. What is her problem? She seems to have absolutely no sense of humor.

“Maybe we should do a family thing,” Lucy suggests. “All the moms, Verna, Alex, the three of us. Take a picnic, go to the beach.”

“And Churchill,” I add.

“Who’s Churchill?” Lucy asks.

“A dog at the shelter where Alex works,” Meredith says. “How do you get to the island?”

“The ferry goes from Mukilteo,” I say. “Only takes about twenty minutes. We used to rent a cabin on Whidbey
when I was little. I love it there. I’ll check the schedule and talk to Mom and Verna.”

“Road trip,” Lucy shrieks. “It’s gonna be awesome. The three amigos, right, guys?”

“More like
tres hermanas
. Three sisters,” I say.

Lucy cackles. “Call me later, Harriet. I’ll talk to my moms. Then I’m gonna call Adam. And Ben. I don’t even care what time it is in Australia!”

Once we say our goodbyes, I sit and stare at the phone.

I want to call Alex and talk to him about the email, but he already knows what’s happening. If he wants to call me, he can. Maybe Meredith is plotting how to endear herself to Dr. Ramos. I’m sure Alex will support her whatever she does. I hate how bitter that suddenly makes me feel. It’s an unpleasant sensation, like biting down on tinfoil when you’re eating something delicious.

I check the ferry schedule, shoot both sisters a text about times and go to bed. I read Dr. Ramos’s email once more before I turn out the light. Maybe Lucy is right—he does sound like me: level-headed and a bit dull. We should get along just fine.

The next morning when I get up, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading something on her iPad.

“So, big news last night, I gather,” she says between sips of coffee.

“You heard already?” I pour myself some coffee and add a lot of sugar and cream. I don’t usually drink coffee, but it smells really good, and maybe it will help clear my head. I’ve woken up feeling dazed and cranky. Not a great combo. And now I’m pissed at whoever called Mom and let the cat out of the bag, as Verna would say.

“Angela called. She assumed I knew.”

“You were out last night. I fell asleep waiting for you.” This is not exactly true, and I’m not sure why I’m trying to make her feel bad. It only makes me feel worse.

“I’m sorry, Harry. But we can’t unring that bell, so let’s move on.”

I shrug and gulp down some coffee.

“How are you feeling about it? About him?”

I shrug again. “He sounds okay, I guess. Kinda boring, but okay.”

She looks up and cocks an eyebrow at me. “What’s going on?”

“I wanted to tell you myself. Angela shouldn’t have told you. Have you read the email?”

She holds up her iPad. “Angela sent it to me, but I haven’t opened it yet. I was waiting for you. If you don’t want me to read it, I won’t. It’s not addressed to me, after all. I think Angela and Nori have been up all night talking about it.”