Her Soldier's Baby. Tara Taylor Quinn
lobby, due to start in less than two hours, skirted across her mind. She watched the other contestants flit about like in some kind of weird movie. A flash of the lobby. A group of strangers.
“Can he give his permission for me to know about him?”
“His parents were willing to give that information at the time of the adoption,” Mrs. Carpenter said. “This is a strange situation. Clearly you feared that at some point in your life you’d want to revisit this situation, but from what you knew at the time of the adoption, with everything still clear in your mind, you wanted to protect your future self from the eventuality.”
“I was sixteen.”
“You’d been counseled for months. And asked your father to sign the papers, as well.”
She kind of remembered that.
“You re-signed them when you turned eighteen,” Mrs. Carpenter said softly, as though not sure what she was dealing with, a rational human being or a crazy lady. Eliza didn’t blame her. She wasn’t sure herself.
“I did?” she said.
“Yes.”
She might have. She’d been so messed up back then. Hardened. Hurting beyond what she could bear. Her parents—and her grandmother—just kept telling her to look forward. To effect that which she could effect. To use the past as a lesson. To take every opportunity to make a good life for herself.
She’d signed a few things. To be executor of her grandmother’s estate in the event that anything happened to her, even though, in Eliza’s mother’s eyes, she was still just a kid. Her mother had thought she should be the one with power of attorney over her own mother’s estate. It hadn’t happened that way.
Eliza’s grandmother had made a will of her own.
Taken out a life insurance policy.
A readmission of her adoption papers could very well have been one more piece of business to be dealt with and filed away.
Standing, Mrs. Carpenter came toward her. Eliza expected to be shown out. There really was nothing more for them to say. Instead, the woman sat down in the chair next to her and took Eliza’s hand. “Were you raped?”
What? “No!” Was that what her parents had told people? Was that how they’d saved face?
She’d thought leaving town before anyone had known she was pregnant had done that.
Mrs. Carpenter looked at her in a way that made Eliza feel like she was being professionally assessed.
“I had one very, very wonderful, if completely inappropriate, night with a boy I loved very much,” she said softly.
The words wouldn’t stay back. Wouldn’t remain unsaid. She and Pierce...that night...deserved better than that.
More words flew to her throat as though they’d all been waiting for release.
But with so many years of silence, she managed to contain them. They were making her nauseated, all bottled up in there. But in there they stayed.
Because what would she say? How crazy would this counselor think her if she knew that Eliza was now married to that same boy? But that he knew nothing about the son he’d fathered?
To know would do neither of them any good. It would be more of the hurt from the past that could prevent happiness in their future. More angst, acrimony. More whys without answers.
They couldn’t have their son. And Pierce couldn’t father another one. It seemed too cruel to let him know what he’d missed. And to what end? So that he could hate himself for not contacting her after he left?
So they could both die of what-ifs?
“I have to ask you again,” Mrs. Carpenter broke into her thoughts. Oddly, having come full circle, Eliza felt no more certain of anything, no less vulnerable. And yet she’d found her strength.
“Ask what?”
“At this point, all your son has done is make one query into your information. Do you want to update what we have so that, if he comes back, he can contact you?”
Her heart started to pound again. “Can you contact him and let him know it’s here? That I’ve been here and left updated information?”
She supposed she wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. She was disappointed. Hugely so. But back in control, she nodded. Took a breath.
Did she want this young man to be able to call her out of the blue? Any time of the day or night or year? Just to show up, unannounced at their door?
Yes! Of course! Absolutely!
And what about Pierce? What if he was having one of his bad spells? Or even if he wasn’t? Was it fair to him to open the door to this possibility? To the fact that at any moment, he could come face to face with his son without even knowing he had one?
If she did this...gave Mrs. Carpenter her information, gave her son the ability to contact her...she had to tell Pierce that the young man existed.
First.
“Can I call you and do that?” she asked now.
“Of course.” Mrs. Carpenter sat back.
Was Eliza no longer sounding like she was about to lose her marbles, then? She still felt like she was.
“You do realize there’s a possibility, given the internet, that he could find you anyway, right?”
Fear shot through her.
Mixed with excitement.
“That’s why I came,” she said. “To find out what the future might hold.”
Maybe she’d hoped to be able to see her son on her own. To know if finding out about him would cause Pierce more pain than good. To know if, regardless of the pain, their son needed them.
That had been the closer. If the boy needed them, she and Pierce had to put their own regrets, their own pain, aside and be there for him.
“I want him to have my information,” she said. “I want him to be able to contact me. But I need to take care of something first. I will be contacting you just as soon as I’ve gotten that done. I don’t know exactly when that will be...how soon...but it will be as soon as I can get it done.” She was babbling. Pedaling forward and back. Afraid for Pierce. Afraid for their son.
Mrs. Carpenter took her hand again. “That’s fine, hon. You don’t have to do this. That’s why you gave him up for adoption in the first place. So that he would be the son—the responsibility—of someone else. Whatever prompted you to do so...you clearly did what you thought best. What your parents thought best, too, based on what I read. You have no reason to feel guilty. Or obligated...”
“Oh, no. I want this!” She needed this. And hadn’t realized, until just that second, how much.
“It’s just...not just me...and I have to tend to others who love and need me...”
The woman nodded. Looking wise and understanding. And for the first time, Eliza felt like she was doing the right thing.
She stood. Walked to the door. And couldn’t quite step out. Not yet. Looking at the woman who’d somehow become a friend to her heart, she said, “Is there some way you can make a note in my file...to let him know...in case he comes back before I call...that I will be calling?”
“I can make a note that you said you would be calling.”
Eliza got the distinction. Mrs. Carpenter still thought she might change her mind. Or that she didn’t know her own mind.
She didn’t blame her. History wasn’t looking too good for her on that one. Recent history included.
But as Eliza left, as she drove back to Palm Desert and met all but one of her opponents