She would cry tonight for my father the way she had cried for her own. And in the morning, she would look for the same restorative hope in the sunshine pushing away the darkness.
I shared no DNA with their child, but they were now a part of me, and I was now a part of them, no matter what was written in the science books doctors quoted.
FOURTEEN
Dr. Bliskin was with me for most of the early evening after Dr. Davenport had left for the airport. He sat at my bedside, mainly trying to keep me calm. He empathized and talked about the loss of his father. He was only in his teens when his father had passed.
Before he left, Mrs. Marlene brought up some dinner for me herself. She and I had grown quite fond of each other, but the only reason I ate anything was to please Samantha. Like someone entranced by a movie, she sat there watching me eat and listening to Franklin and me talk. He wanted to stay longer, but I insisted he go home to his family. I assured him, and he assured Samantha, that I was all right. Samantha remained until I finally closed my eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep, waking often.
Before I could even think of rising, Samantha appeared and insisted on my breakfast being brought to me. I wanted to get up, but I let her have her way, and then, after I had eaten under her watchful eye, I rose, dressed, and started down. What I wanted more than anything was to be alone. She started after me when I headed for the doorway. I turned on her sharply.
“I need some private time, Samantha. You’ll have to trust that I won’t do anything to jeopardize the baby.”
She could see the determination in my face and swallowed back her fears. I left her in the outside entryway and walked slowly toward the lake. I knew she was going to remain there, watching my every move.
The day I left home seemed ages ago now. When you do things that are so intense and demanding, the time it takes to accomplish them flows in every direction in your memory. Pinning down when you had this feeling or that, this dream and ambition or another and all the voices and visuals associated with the efforts to achieve them, is as evasive as water you’re trying to hold in your closed hand. Right now, I felt lost in a fog, desperately hoping not to cry. I feared I had made a terrible mess of everything.
In my earliest New York days, I had seen my father everywhere. I’d look out at the crowds of people walking up the sidewalk toward me and swear I saw him moving among them, until the man who resembled him had drawn closer. Sometimes, I imagined my father looking out at me from a high floor in an office building and then backing away to disappear inside. Occasionally, I heard someone shout what sounded like my name and spun around expecting him, but saw only strangers. He was constantly on my mind during those early hours, early days.
Gradually, he drifted back as my pursuit and my work to support it took all my attention and energy. I grew stronger and more independent. My father, who actually hated to see anyone give up on a personal goal, loved to quote Nietzsche: That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. It was his favorite way of dealing with disappointment. I clung to it until one thing had piled on another and I had felt the desperation that had brought me to Wyndemere.
I never intended to hurt my family. I really believed that I would find success and make them proud, including my stubborn father. Guilt kept my head down this morning as I walked. Until now, I didn’t feel anywhere as awkward or as heavy with the pregnancy. The true weight of what I had sold myself to do was pressing on my shoulders. I took deep breaths and paused. Foamy clouds were being torn by the high winds and shredded into wisps of themselves. I thought I could hear them screaming. Eventually, I made it to the dock and stood there watching the water lap against the wood and the rocks on the shoreline. People were already out in their boats, enjoying the sense of freedom it gave them. I could hear engines and even voices in the distance. I was