that? Chloe can just hear her father: A waitress, now? This is why I paid for college, so you can follow your surf bum around?
“Yeah.” In her mind’s eye, she can see the seconds ticking by, the pennies adding up so fast you can barely see them, like a Manhattan cab meter.
“Well, you know, I’m just a plane ticket away,” he says lightly, and Chloe takes her foot off the brake, and puts her car in gear.
OREGON OPEN ADOPTION—A place for all mothers
FRANCESCA97201
Joined: 26 Jun 1998
Posts: 17823
Posted: Mon, Feb 12 2001 7:37 pm
Many thanks for all your prayers for the safe return of EvaSuperNova’s baby.
I was at their home today; they are doing as well as can be expected.
She’d come at Paul’s urging. When she had called to ask if there was anything she could do to help, she had envisioned bringing them takeout from Strohecker’s hot case, watering a few plants, maybe taking a stack of posters to put up around town. Maybe he would ask her to feed the cat or run to the post office, as though the Novas were simply on vacation. So Francie was taken aback by the urgency in Paul’s voice when he simply croaked, “Yes. Please. Come.”
When she had arrived, the vestibule reeked of vinegar, as though grief was marinating in the kitchen, but perhaps it was just the brother’s size 12 tennis shoes. Francie tried to breathe inconspicuously through her mouth. Eva’s brother and Paul had shot stricken looks to each other when she lowered Angus’s car seat to the floor of the front hall so she could unbutton her quilted car coat.
I took Angus along—what else would I do with him?
“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest. They, of all people, should understand you don’t leave your baby with just anyone these days, and it’s hard enough to find a cleaning lady, let alone a reputable sitter.
“She has a baby?” the brother hissed to Paul as Eva, looking haggard but enviably thinner, appeared at the top of the stairs and exclaimed, “You brought the baby!”
The first few moments had been undeniably awkward. Eva was in constant motion, moving stacks of flyers and papers from the couch to the coffee table to the window seat, putting the kettle on, twisting fistfuls of her uncombed hair into a messy knot on top of her head, her eyes darting to the car seat where Angus slept.
Then they were settled, two mugs of tea sending up steam on the coffee table, Paul in the kitchen clattering through the dishes. The brother (Magnum, was it?) was at the computer in the dining room, out of Francie’s line of sight but within eavesdropping distance; she could hear him hunting and pecking away.
It was oddly cozy—all these family members within earshot of one another.
Fortunately, Eva is surrounded by men who love and care for her in the face of this tragedy.
It was enough to make Francie in her dark, dusty, spacious mansion jealous. To make herself feel better, she added a mental note to look into cottages, carriage houses, for her and Angus.
But then there was nothing to say. Francie had of course done an earnest “How are you holding up?” hyper aware of the pause at the keyboard and sink as the men waited for Eva’s reply. It had been disappointingly vague, something about “layers” and “waves,” as though they were discussing hairstyles and not the deepest form of grief. There was nothing Francie could get her teeth into, and there were Eva’s eyes settling, like a butterfly, on Angus’s face, before flitting away again.
Perhaps this seems strange to some of you, but I offered Eva a chance to hold Angus.
“Would you like to hold him?” Francie had asked, and again the household clatter ceased and the silence blew up like a balloon on a helium tank.
“No!” Eva blurted as Francie unbuckled the car-seat straps, lifting Angus’s slack sleeping form out. “I mean, no, I don’t mean for you to wake him.”
“Not at all. He sleeps through everything,” Francie replied with some pride before she remembered this was one fellow mother she did not need to be competitive with. “I mean, it’s odd, considering how quiet the McAdoo house is these days, that Angus sleeps so well. Always has.” That sounded wrong too; she had only been trying to allude to John leaving her, hoping to spark a conversation in more comfortable territory: Let me tell you how my husband left me for a teenage whore