What Happiness Looks Like (Promises) (5 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

JOELY

Joely sat in her Ford Escort, which might not last through another winter, and glided her fingertips across the glossy folder full of Logan Prep materials. Anna’s teacher had just given them to her. Foxworth Elementary was fine, Lydia Berner explained, but they didn’t have the resources to stretch Anna on a daily basis. Sometimes Anna would have to sit and wait while the other kids caught on because they required more repetitions than she did. Logan Prep was the school Lydia recommended based on Anna’s amazing test scores.

Shaking her head, Joely marveled at the difference between Anna and her. Joely had struggled with the core subjects in school. The ones that mattered to most people. The ones that provided a steady paycheck. Fortunately, Kate had looked over Joely’s homework each night, erasing her mistakes and teaching her mnemonic devices to help her remember things like the major Civil War battles. Because of Kate’s help and her own determination, Joely managed strong enough grades to get into college. Wanting to create something beautiful that would last, rather than sit in class, regurgitating memorized facts, Joely majored in art.

How had she given birth to someone whose intelligence fell in the “very superior” range? She’d asked Lydia to explain more than once about norms, stanines and standard age scores. In the end, Joely had nodded, understanding most of it, knowing that this was wonderful news. Anna would never struggle like she had. Anna would grasp math, science and English as easily as Joely had once grasped a paintbrush.

On the Logan Prep Academy folder, a smiling, freckle-faced girl held a violin under her chin. Joely opened the cover and read about the curriculum that included Latin, art, drama and music. Due to budget restraints, the local public school had been cutting back on electives and field trips—everything they deemed “non-essential”, everything Joely considered meaningful. But that was not the case at Logan Prep. The elementary students would visit art museums and travel to Chicago to watch “The Nutcracker Suite”. She read every sentence in the brochure, adrenaline tingling up and down her spine.

She dug in her purse for a pen and quickly filled out the application. It couldn’t hurt to apply. Her heart stopped when she reached the last sentence on the form. “Be sure to enclose a $100 check made out to Logan Preparatory Academy to cover processing fees. Upon acceptance, you will be required to send in 20% of the $15,000 tuition to reserve your child’s place.”

She closed the folder with a sigh. This was definitely out of her reach. If she had $15,000 to spare, she’d tuck it away for Anna’s college tuition, not elementary school.

Spying the Artist’s Café across from Anna’s school, she decided she needed caffeine. She walked over and opened the glass door. The sweet smell of cinnamon greeted her as she stood in front of the counter. No need to look at the menu or at the tempting bakery treats in the glass case below. Neither her wallet nor her waistline could afford the splurge. She ordered her usual.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” a deep voice asked from behind her.

She paid the cashier then turned around to see Dalton. “Too late.” She raised her frothy cup of cappuccino in the air. It was one of the few indulgences she allowed herself.

“Well, may I join you then?” He stepped closer to the counter and placed his order.

Joely dropped a dollar into the tip jar and waited. A moment later they found a table near the wall that displayed a local artist’s portraits of children playing on the beach. She studied them for a moment. “I love these.”

“I do, too.” He pulled out the chair for her. “Were they done around here?”

She nodded and took a seat. “Not too far from here. At Lake Michigan.”

With his dark hair and eyes, Dalton reminded her of the leading man in a black-and-white movie. He sat across from her at the round table and took a sip of his coffee. No sugar or cream. “I admire anyone who can paint so well it looks like a photograph.”

She didn’t want to think about painting. She missed it the way an alcoholic misses a drink. “How was Dads’ Night?”

A smile spread across his face, bringing a sparkle to his eyes. “Great. My son was the lead singer for ‘Hound Dog’.”

“Did you know that was originally a blues song written for a female to sing about a man?”

“No, I didn’t.” He cocked his head as if he couldn’t wait to hear more.

“I read that somewhere. Or saw it on TV maybe.” Come to think of it, Jake was her hound dog. She pushed away the thought. “Anyway, Mitch told me your son did well.”

He nodded. “Anna had a big role, too. She has a great memory. I don’t know if I could remember that many lines now, let alone when I was five.”

She swelled with pride, but quickly deflated. She twisted her earring. Anna had so much potential, yet Joely didn’t have the money to pay for Logan Prep. And Jake was currently unemployed. Even if he had enough in savings, she didn’t want to depend on him. It would give him too much power.

Dalton cleared his throat. “Something wrong?”

“No.” A woman brushed by her, knocking Joely’s purse on the floor. She reached down and slipped the strap over the back of her chair. “My mind wandered. Sorry.”

“I’m so glad I ran into you today.” He paused and sipped his coffee, as if he were hesitant to speak. He strummed his fingers against the tabletop. “I was wondering. . . if you would like to have dinner sometime.”

For a moment, she felt young, giddy. She forgot who she was. Then she remembered. “I’m too old to play the dating game.”

His fingers stopped tapping. “I don’t want to play games either. I just want to get to know you better.”

“You don’t want to date me.” She crossed her legs. “I have too much baggage.”

His warm eyes studied her, daring her to disengage. “Everyone has baggage, Joely. If we didn’t, that would mean we hadn’t lived.”

She ran her index finger around the rim of her cup. No one had as much baggage as she did.

He glanced at her moving finger, then again at her face. “It’s just dinner. Come on, it’ll be fun. You look like someone who embraces life.”

She used to be. She used to get together with friends to play euchre or go dancing every weekend. At one point, she’d even dashed off to Europe solo.

That free-spirited woman was a distant memory. A sigh escaped her lips. “Remember that guy who showed up at school the other day? Well, that was my ex. He’s Anna’s father and he suddenly wants to be a part of her life. Now, do you still want to go out with me?”

He scratched his dimpled chin. “It matters. Does he want to be a part of Anna’s life or yours?”

She realized that Jake hadn’t mentioned wanting to rekindle their romance. He hadn’t missed her at all. Disappointment gnawed her gut. “Only Anna’s.”

“Are you still in love with him?”

Was she? Not really. Not anymore. It was just that his rejection had hurt so much. Secretly she’d been hoping he’d beg her to take him back and then she could stomp on his heart like he’d done to hers. “I’m over him.”

“OK then. Unlike the airlines, I don’t penalize for extra baggage.”

# # #

Saturday morning Joely laid three different outfits on her bed. Unlike most people, she didn’t have the energy to actually try on each one. Dalton had said to dress casually, but wouldn’t tell her where they were going. As an added bonus, the kids were coming along, which meant it wasn’t really a date. So why was she so nervous? Considering her choices, she finally settled on a skirt with a peasant blouse and a belt made out of wooden beads. Anna helped her with the belt’s latch.

Dalton had one of those pick-up trucks with an extra-long cab and little fold-down seats for the kids in back. When he arrived, Anna jumped in eagerly, sitting across from Ryan.

Joely tried to guess where they were headed as they drove out of town. After about twenty minutes, she saw where they were going and she started to choke on her own saliva.

Edging his truck between two brick pillars, Dalton pulled into Logan Prep Academy. “Are you OK?”

Joely nodded, coughing into her hand. She had never seen the inside of this prestigious school. “What are we doing here?”

“They offer classes on the weekends to the community. I thought it would be fun if we took a parent and child painting class.”

Joely looked at her swollen fingers. Would they be able to finesse a brush today? She hadn’t even tried since Anna had been born. She’d lost her will to work, to create. Anxiety gurgled inside her as she climbed out of the truck.

Inside the school, the hallway floor shone with a fresh coat of wax. She could see the rumor was true—the lockers didn’t have locks because of the school’s honor code. Logan Prep kids didn’t steal. They were all here to lift each other up to be the best that they could be. She saw the school motto hanging on a banner: “Excellence, achievement, integrity.” She wanted those things for Anna. But would her daughter fit in here with all of these rich kids? How could she deny her daughter an opportunity which could lead to a better life?

Joely followed Dalton into the art classroom and her jaw dropped. Windows lined two walls. All of that natural light stimulated her senses. The air tasted chalky. Potter’s wheels filled one corner, easels and tables spread throughout the rest of the space. This art room was twice the size of the one at her old high school. And this was for elementary students!

She watched as Anna raced across the room toward the watercolor paints piled on a long bench. She and Ryan selected theirs before choosing a table with four pieces of white paper resting on top.

The teacher, a thin man with a gray ponytail, raised his hands in the air. “Welcome, welcome. The way I do things is I give you a prompt and let you do your own thing. I will then walk around and offer tips and suggestions.” He spoke quickly as if he were very excited. “I want you to draw night. It can be what you see outside your window or what you see in your dreams. There are no right or wrong answers in art. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Joely took a deep breath, staring at her blank paper. Rather than pick up a brush, she looked at the other students around the room, mostly mothers and their children. Dalton was one of only two dads present. Dalton’s son, Ryan, sat catty-corner to her, painting a dump truck. Was that what little boys dreamed of at night? She didn’t know. Something pressed against her chest. She’d always thought it would be perfect to have both a daughter and a son.

She watched Anna as she painted the solar system. Anna remembered the names and colors of each planet better than most adults. Last year she’d become fascinated with outer space while watching an episode of Nova with Mitch. Afterwards, Anna had checked out every astronomy book at the Foxworth library, then compiled a list of which ones she wanted for her birthday.

Across from Joely, Dalton painted the ocean during a midnight storm. In the moonlight, you could see that the waves tossed one lone boat. Was that how he felt—alone in a storm? Or was she over-analyzing things like Kate always did? She silently laughed at herself.

Dalton twisted his mouth to the side. “I wish I knew how to make the mist.”

Joely leaned closer to him. “Dip your brush in the blue and then hold one hand like this.” She curled her hand into a ball and he followed her lead. “Now tap the brush against it.”

“What?”

She stood behind him and wrapped her fingers around his hand that held the paintbrush. A warm sensation shot up her arm and into her heart. Together she and Dalton tapped the handle against his knuckles and splattered tiny little dots on the paper.

Dalton turned around to look at her. “Wow. How’d you know how to do that?”

She shrugged. He had his secrets and she had hers.

After class, Ryan and Anna begged to play on the playground equipment they had spotted from the classroom windows.

Once outside, Anna held her hands in the air as she slid down a corkscrew slide. “This is the best day ever. I wish I went to school here.”

CHAPTER NINE

KATE

Kate dashed across the living room to mute the long, rambling message Evan was leaving on the answering machine:
“
Why haven’t you called me? I contacted information because the number you gave me was wrong. You’re not dodging my calls, are you? No, seriously, I need to talk. My number is—” She pushed the button and turned toward her guests, an engineer Mitch knew from work and his wife. Embarrassed, she shook her head. “Sorry about that.”

Mitch offered to top off Kate’s wine glass, which sat on his invitation to a National Association of Watch and Clock Collectors event. She held up her hand—he’d obviously forgotten she was only drinking grape juice. Resentment coursed through her. Why was she the only one who made sacrifices?

He carried the bottle across the room. “Who was that?”

Sighing, she realized she didn’t want to get into Evan now. She didn’t ever want to get into it. “Somebody I used to work with. Joely and I saw him at meditation class.” She glanced at Joely stretched out on her belly across the carpet, playing Chutes and Ladders with Anna and another little girl.

Mitch poured wine into the Thomkins’ glasses then emptied the last few ounces into his own. “He sounded desperate.”

Kate shrugged, happy Joely didn’t react to the conversation about Evan. “He’s a single parent. I think he’s having trouble adjusting, that’s all.”

The wife of Mitch’s co-worker wore tweed pants and a cardigan with a loose button. Her name was Teresa. She swirled the wine in her glass, studying it as if it held the answer to her woes. “Parenthood is so much harder than you think it will be. The other day our little Sierra called me a stupid head and when I told her to go to time out, she said ‘You can’t make me’.” Teresa looked a bit frazzled. In desperate need of an eyebrow wax, and maybe a visit from Super Nanny, she laughed nervously. “I swear I didn’t know what to do. I turned to my wonderful husband here and asked him to take over.” She gulped some wine.

Kate saw a smirk on Sierra’s face, obviously overhearing the story.

Still standing and holding the empty wine bottle, Mitch widened his eyes at Kate. He didn’t believe in the way parenting had become a competitive sport and kids treated adults like servants in return. He’d been raised by successful parents who insisted he do chores and earn his spending money. It was the one thing he felt his dad had done right.

The smoky scent of their steak dinner lingered in the air, reminding Kate how earlier in the evening, Sierra had told her mom to shut up after she’d instructed Sierra to chew with her mouth closed. Blushing, Teresa had simply ignored the rude comment.

Better get that kid under control soon, Kate thought. Anna was such an angel in comparison. She’d never called Joely names or treated her with such disrespect. Although Joely was a bit too soft on Anna. She’d taken to hiding mashed up vegetables in her daughter’s food rather than insist she eat them simply because they were good for her.

Kate felt confident that she and Mitch would be better parents than most everyone else. If she could only get the chance. She smiled in order to compensate for her judgmental attitude. “Well, Sierra is adorable. Looks just like you.”

Teresa beamed. “That’s what everyone says.”

Anna moved her cardboard piece that looked like a little blond girl, ahead four spaces. It was the piece she always chose since it looked the most like her. The adults paused as if to compare Sierra and her mother. Both had brown eyes and brown hair.

Teresa gazed at her daughter for a moment longer before returning her attention to Kate. “I hear you’re going through fertility treatments. Frustrating, I know. Let me tell you what finally worked for us.”

As Mitch headed to the adjoining kitchen, Kate leaned a little closer. As the years went by, she’d found herself disillusioned with Western medicine and more willing to consider old wives’ tales and alternative treatments. She’d already tried yoga, massage, Chinese herbs and she’d even let Joely convince her that carrying certain crystals in her purse could help.

Teresa didn’t hesitate or whisper so the kids wouldn’t hear. “We used an egg donor.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You mean—” Her attention returned to Sierra’s features, wondering how she had made such a mistake, thinking they looked alike.

“Genetically she’s mine,” Mitch’s co-worker said. He had brown hair, too, graying a bit above his ears. His eye color was unremarkable, hazel maybe.

The woman made a circular motion around her abdomen. “And I carried her in my belly, so I’m her mother.”

Kate swallowed. “But, she has some other woman’s DNA?”

“Kate!” Mitch dropped the bottle on the kitchen counter with a thud. Carrying his drink, he came and sat next to her on the couch as if he needed to keep her in line.

Teresa fiddled with her cardigan’s loose button. “It’s all right.”

Her husband nodded in agreement. “We’re comfortable talking about it. And we’re very open with Sierra about it, too. We have a picture of the egg donor up on our refrigerator and we send her letters updating her on Sierra every year.”

Kate tried to catch Mitch’s eye. She wanted to exchange a look of shock, but he didn’t turn her way.

Instead, Mitch gripped the stem of his wineglass, just as this topic seemed to grip his attention. “How did you decide to go this route?”

Teresa started detailing their fertility woes and Kate stopped listening. An egg donor was not an option. Had Mitch invited this couple over to dinner in order to convince her to give up on having her own baby? She wanted to try IVF again—maybe see if they could get in to see that doctor in Chicago; he was supposed to be the best.

Torn between being polite and wanting to escape, Kate bided her time. After an adequate period passed, she stood and walked into the kitchen. She removed the glass dome covering the cake that Joely had baked and frosted earlier that day. Her sister hadn’t, however, bothered to wash the bowl and beaters afterwards, leaving the tidying up to Kate. Kate fumed at the memory.

She clanked together the clear glass saucers from the Martha Stewart collection, as she pulled them from the cabinet. “I think it’s time for dessert. Who wants cake?”

The two girls ran into the kitchen and screamed, “I do! I do!”

Sierra’s dad eyed the candles on top. “Is it somebody’s birthday?”

Joely had spent most of the evening playing with the children, rather than joining the adult discussion. Now she cleaned up the board game the girls had abandoned. “Actually it’s Anna’s half birthday.”

“Half birthday?” the man asked.

Mitch nodded. “You know how it is with only children. They tend to get a little spoiled.”

Joely glared at Mitch. “She’s not spoiled. She has a friend who was born near Christmas who celebrates her half birthday in June. Anna wanted to celebrate her half birthday, too, and I figured why not? A year feels like an eternity when you’re that age.” She slid the rectangular lid back on the game box and headed toward the table.

Kate rolled her eyes and started to light the candles—all five and half of one. She agreed with Mitch that sometimes Joely went overboard trying to compensate for being a single mom. Kate would go all-out for her kid’s birthday—clowns twisting balloons into animals, renting a bouncy castle, whatever her little one wanted—but she drew the line at celebrating half birthdays.

She blew out the match and watched the smoke waft away. She dropped the tiny stick in the sink then placed the cake on the table in front of Anna.

They sang “Happy Birthday” mostly off-key. Sierra ended each line with a
cha-cha-cha
, to which Anna giggled.

Joely stroked Anna’s hair the way mothers often did—nervously, possessively. “Make a wish, sweetie.”

Kate envied Joely that simple act.

Anna closed her eyes tight as if concentrating. She opened them and blew out the candles. “I wished my daddy loved me.”

Sierra stuck her finger in the pink frosting then licked it. “You told!” Her voice was sing-songy. “Now your wish won’t come true!”

# # #

Kate picked up several books strewn across the living room floor and shoved them back onto their shelves. She paused from cleaning up Sierra’s mess and turned toward Mitch. “Why did you invite those freaks over?”

He gathered the empty wineglasses, holding two in each hand. He chose efficiency at the risk of peril every time. “I thought it might help if you met someone who had a child with an egg donor. Didn’t they seem happy?”

She eyed the crystal glasses in his hands, hoping they wouldn’t chip or break. She couldn’t handle the loss of another precious memento tonight. Sighing, she slammed another hardcover back into place. “Sierra is a brat. Her parents let her do anything she wants.”

At the close of the evening, the adults had lingered in the foyer, pulling their coats from the closet. Apparently, Sierra knew this was her chance. Holding Anna by the wrist, she snuck back into the living room. She climbed the built-in bookshelves as if they were rungs of a ladder—showing off for Anna. When Sierra started to lose her balance, Anna screamed. Everyone had rushed to the living room just in time to see Sierra grab desperately at a loose shelf, knocking books and a fragile bookend to the floor.

Sierra’s dad had lifted his daughter to the ground unharmed. “Even as a baby she was always trying to climb out of her crib,” he’d said, chuckling. There had been no apology, no offer to help clean up or pay for the damages.

Kate clenched her jaw, just thinking about it.

The initial charms swung from the glass stems like tiny i.d. bracelets as Mitch walked into the attached kitchen. He placed the glasses in the sink and rinsed them. “Our child would be different.”

“But who’s to say how much of Sierra is simply bad genes?”

He returned to the living room. “The way I see it, with an egg donor, fifty percent of the DNA would be mine. And we know that’s good stuff.” He grinned, his dimple making its usual appearance in one cheek. “And then you and I will be devoted parents whose goal is to raise a healthy, happy, yet tolerable human being. That has to account for the other fifty percent of how the kid turns out, right?”

She squinted at him and scratched her head. “I know you’re the one good at math here, but I get the feeling you’re trying to trick me.”

Looking impish, he smiled. “Everyone knows statistics never lie.”

She threw one of Joely’s silly Harlequin romances at him. The corner hit him in the chest and he acted as if he were injured. She shook her head, feeling serious again. “It must be confusing for Sierra to know that she has two moms. I can’t believe they write the egg donor letters.”

Mitch bent over and picked up the book near his foot. “OK. So the Thomkins are a little over-the-top.” He handed the paperback to her. “But we can do whatever makes us comfortable. There’s no need to tell our kid about the egg donor. Except maybe when he or she is old enough to understand.”

Couldn’t he see how he was stressing her out? She crossed her arms.

He raised his palms, gesturing that he gave up. “Or never, if that’s how you want it.”

“What I want is to use my egg. I’m your wife after all.” She heard her voice crack. “Aren’t I the one you want to be the mother of your children?” His answer scared her a little, even though she figured she knew it already. She was throwing guilt his way purely out of desperation.

He sighed. “That isn’t fair, Kate. Of course I want you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just think about it.”

She picked up one of the bookends that looked like a miniature glass globe off the floor. She’d purchased it at a quaint little bookstore in Paris on her last vacation with Mitch. At the time she hadn’t known the fertility treatments would drag on as they had, forever eliminating vacations from their budget.

Sierra may have survived the mishap, but the beautiful globe had hit the fireplace brick and cracked. It looked as though a giant fault line ran through North America all the way to South America.

Kate rubbed her thumb across the tragic flaw. She might not ever make it to Paris again. And she might not have a baby either. It was a lose-lose situation. “I can’t believe she broke this.”

Mitch stroked her bobbed hair. “I know it meant a lot to you.”

His touch no longer comforted her. Nothing did. She stepped away and busied herself trying in vain to right all of the wrongs in her living room.

Rebuffed, he walked back into the adjoining kitchen, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet. He seemed to shuffle around for a few minutes, opening cabinets, tidying up. Then she heard a heavy door open. He cleared his throat. “I’m going out for a bit.”

Her head whipped around. “What? Where?” It was nearly midnight. This wasn’t like him. “If you’re hungry, there’s still some cake.”

His shoulders slumped. Not bothering to grab a coat, he headed out the door. “I need some time to think.”

She rushed to the door he’d just exited. She jerked it open and saw him climb into the bronze minivan, the one he’d bought the first time she’d gotten pregnant. Before miscarriages became expected. “Are you mad?”