... and Baby Makes Two (13 page)

“I already picked out a dress. That black gown that Mom wore to the anniversary party. The one you missed,” Kevin replied.

Betty had worn black maybe three times in her whole life. She used to reprimand Jane about her urban propensity for black clothing.

“Janie, black clothes attract everything but men and money,” Betty used to say. Used to.

Jane had to take Howard aside and let him know that Sheila might be coming. He was true to all the men of his generation, strong and firm-jawed.

“That would be fine,” he said. Thank God.

…

The funeral started with a viewing, which is a terrible event that has a wonderful effect on the people who attend it. Everyone gathers in the room with the body, looks at it a lot, then moves on to the funeral and reception. It sounds awful because it is. Still, the viewing is a big help because it puts everyone face-to-face with a dead body. And there is no denying, no pretending, no kidding yourself. She's dead. That's not her. She remembered Ray's description of a Buddhist custom: Mourners stay with a dead body until it is so decomposed as to be unrecognizable. Embalming speeds up that process for the mourners. One look inside the casket and you know: Betty did not reside in that waxy husk. She was gone.

If Betty could have pulled a Tom Sawyer and seen it all, she would have loved her funeral. At least, she would have loved the viewing. She had a big turnout. A nice mention in the local paper.

She would have loved the flowers. She would have preferred to wear one of her colorful cardigans. It was a lovely viewing.

And then Sheila walked in. It took Jane three beats to recognize her. Her sister was tanner, blonder, fuller in every way. Was she wearing contacts? She looked like the old Sheila, but different. This was Sheila happy. It seemed inappropriate for a funeral.

Howard embraced her, as if she were a titled cousin. Familiar, but formal. Close, but distant. Still, he had done the Big Acknowledging. The boys would have to follow suit, and so would their wives.

No, they wouldn't. Kevin shook his head and sneered. Neil stood protectively by the casket. No one spoke. The viewing resumed, and Jane hooked her arm around Sheila's. The crowd may have resumed speaking, but not to Jane and Sheila. The sisters walked cautiously to the coffin, and Neil stepped aside. The daughters said silent good-byes to the mannequin in the satin-lined box. They did it again, later, when there was really nothing else to do since no one would speak to them. When the funeral director instructed the mourners that it was time to pay final respects, Jane and Sheila faced it together one more time. They had already had two practice runs, so you would think it would have been easy, but it was not. This time, Jane could not see, could not speak through her tears. She felt Sheila against her left arm, shaking with grief. They stepped aside. Howard and his sons paid final respects as a team, and then they closed the coffin together. Jane turned away before it was finished. There are images no one wants.

The funeral mass was surprisingly tear-free. Jane expected to lose control when she heard a familiar hymn, but it didn't happen. The graveside service was only a brief farewell. The sisters never even made it to the front of the crowd. They saw nothing and heard only every fourth word. Then came a reception at a local restaurant that Betty had frequented. Jane and Sheila retreated to the ladies' room.

“Almost done, Sheila. Thank you for coming. I couldn't have gotten through this without you.”

“Thanks for making me. How are you holding up?”

They recharged each other, then returned to their table. Some distant cousins had sat at their table while they were gone, but when they realized their mistake, they immediately relocated. Radioactive table. Jane and Sheila smiled and kept the large table to themselves.

Howard entered the restaurant, and Kevin and Neil called to him.

“Dad! Over here! We saved you a seat!”

Howard waved to his sons, and then he sat with his daughters. Just like that, Jesus sat with the lepers and the prostitutes. Neil looked furious. Kevin looked shocked. But not as shocked as the leper and the prostitute who basked in their father's glow.

Neil rose and used a big voice.

“Folks, I'd like to make a toast. This has been a tough, tough day for us all. And we wouldn't have gotten through it without the help of the man of the hour.”

Jane and Sheila smiled at their father and prepared to make room for him to rise and bow. Neil continued.

“Ladies and gentleman, let's hear it for my brother, Kevin.”

Everyone was surprised by this, but everyone applauded politely. Kevin rose and bowed.

Howard didn't eat the gray food that was put before him. He made very very small talk with his daughters. Sheila knew better than to mention Raoul's name. For these few hours, he didn't exist.

“Your mother is a wonderful woman. She had a hard life, you know.” Howard was still mixing past and present tenses when he talked about Betty. Jane and Sheila saw his skin turn a bit red. Even if he didn't allow himself to cry, his Irish skin would give him away.

“Your mother loved”—he swallowed hard before he could continue—“being a mother. It was the greatest joy of her life. And, oh,
was she good with babies. You wouldn't believe it. Other mothers in the neighborhood would bring their babies to her when they needed a rest or some help. And she always said yes. No matter what else happened, what problems she had, she knew she did a good job raising you kids.”

“Yes. She did.” Jane was a little surprised at how calmly Sheila said this. Howard was on a roll.

“Motherhood was the siren call of her life, you know? She didn't need a lot of money or a fancy house. She never cared about clothes—except for those sweaters of hers. No. She found real satisfaction this way. As a mom. Oh, the joy she took at watching you kids grow. She taught you all how to read, and it was a national event when you mastered the silent
e.
She'd jump in the air. She was happy. Really happy”

Her father's words made something open in Jane's heart. Why was she thinking about Little Red Bathing Suit? Why was she dreaming about adoption? She shook her head and came back to the funeral.

Sheila took Howard's hand. He patted hers and changed the subject. He wondered if Betty would have liked the flower arrangements.

Jane wished she smoked. She wished she could stay at that table for a week. But it ended. She and Sheila had to leave. Howard walked them to the door. She looked back over the chatting crowd in the restaurant. Kevin was staring daggers at his sisters. Neil was actively ignoring them.

And that's when Jane spotted Peter, near the back of the restaurant. He was sitting with his parents and with Jane's weird cousin Kyle, making what appeared to be polite small talk. Jane froze. Peter saw her and came over to her.

“You must be Sheila,” he said. He introduced himself and offered condolences to the sisters. Then Peter spoke to Howard.

“Mr. Howe, I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I didn't know Mrs. Howe very well, but she seemed like a spectacular mother.”

Howard's eyes betrayed him. He must have wanted so badly to cry.

“That she was,” he managed to say. He hugged both of his daughters. Both of them. And Jane felt sadly, darkly hopeful about Howard and Sheila.

“I'd best see about your brothers now,” said Howard. “You girls take care. I love you.”

Howard joined his sons, while the girls stepped outside to the brutal sunlight. Peter followed them.

“Would you like a ride back to the city?” he offered.

Jane nodded and smiled. He put his arms forward, and Jane collapsed into them. She hadn't meant to, but he offered a shoulder, and she cried on it.

Meanwhile, Sheila had a car waiting to take her to the airport. She hugged her sister one last time and whispered, “I take back everything I said before. I like him.”

You have
three
new messages.

“It's me, Ray. Are you okay? Hey! Someone put a rhyming curse on me. Shit. Anyway, I just wanted you to come home to a not-awful message. And I hope there's one on this machine. Love you. Think you're swell.”

Beep.

“Jane. This is Richard. What are you doing tonight? I'm in a scene night at the Actors' Collective. I sent you a flier, but I must have gotten your address wrong. It came back to me. But you need to know, I'm doing this scene from
Bette and Boo,
and it is
so
hysterical. You'd love it.”

Beep.

“Hi, Jane. It's Karen, from the Choosing Single Motherhood meeting. Listen. I don't know if you got the number for the INS. In fact, I don't know for sure that you're really going through with this adoption. By the end of the night, you sort of looked like motherhood was maybe not the path for you. And that's fine. But if you want it, you should call them soon. This part of the process can take a while.”

As Karen read the number, Jane's whole body lunged for paper and pen. There was no hesitation, only paper and ink. She wrote the number as neatly and prettily as she could. Jane smiled and thought, In the beginning was the number, and the number was toll-free … She needed that number. She was beyond thinking, planning, and making lists. She was going to make that call. Soon. She was going to adopt a baby. Soon.

…

The city seemed too bright and noisy after the funeral. It felt disloyal to Betty (and to Howard) to get back into the swing of things. But it was so compelling. There was no resisting the pull of daily life. Jane was back in the swing inside of two days.

Argenti's London acquisition was complete. Her staff walked around saying, “Pip, pip, cheerio,” and suggested that they all go out for bad food. There was a kind of comfort in the return to daily life. Today always included tomorrow. And tomorrow included a trip to the gym.

…

“Ray. Please. I know you're the next Dalai Lama and all, but don't you care about muscle tone? I'm going to be lugging a baby and a baby's stuff up all those stairs. On a spiritual level, I'm going to need lots of upper body strength.”

“Please. I'll never look like one of those Chelsea boys, so why bother? I'll be deep instead.”

“Can't you be deep with biceps? And keep me company?” “I'm so tired of sweating. But for you … Okay” Jane got Ray to join her at the gym early. Really early. Oh, so early. He had been up late the night before, writing a scathing review of a new musical about a pair of homicidal twins. Jane was already keeping a good pace on the treadmill when he stumbled in.

“Come on, Ray. Your body is a temple.”

“My body is a temporary vessel. And this is a pointless activity. Hilarious, from an existential point of view.”

“Oh.”

“I can't outrun you, babe, but I can out-Buddha you.”

And that's when Jane saw Peter, across the gym, climbing the Stairs to Nowhere. She missed Ray's speech about his karma manifesting itself as love handles. She fixed her hair. She stood up straighter. Peter waved. Ray was still talking about his previous life when Peter came by and said, “Hi. Right. So. I guess you live in the neighborhood, so you go to the neighborhood gym. Right. I guess.”

Why was he being all shy and awkward? In the gym mirrors, she could just barely see Ray smirk.

“Yes. Right here in the neighborhood. Yup,” Jane replied. Clearly, no one could salvage this conversation. Ray's smirk turned into a giggle. Peter was holding in his stomach, and Jane was distracted by how handsome Peter was, in a tousled, early-morning way.

“I'm Ray” he said, waving to Peter and shaming Jane for forgetting to make introductions.

“I'm Peter. Do you live in the neighborhood too?”

“Sort of. Jane and I are old friends. So. How's your wife?”

Jane flinched and increased the speed on her treadmill.

“She's fine. She's great. She's wonderful. Writing in Australia at the moment. Well. I'm off to work,” said Peter. “Gotta go. I'm going to shower first. Then go.”

“Right,” said Jane.

Jane and Ray were silent until Peter was completely gone. They spoke at once:

They ran another mile. Jane burned off her temper, and then Ray said the obvious.

“It's not my fault he's married, sweetie.”

…

Oh, sure, it looked like an ordinary phone call. Just another
800
number. No one in any of the offices around her would know that this was actually a first step. All this thinking, talking, reading, all amounted to nothing. Jane's unique set of fingerprints would start the process that would lead her to motherhood. She gulped and dialed. As she listened to the automated menu, she reminded herself that she could pull the plug on the adoption any time she wanted to. She wouldn't have to go through with it. Jane could hang up at any time. So she did, and then retreated to a list. She needed to know why she was doing this. She typed:

Why Am I Doing This?

1. I
   DON'T KNOW.
   

2. I
   F
   I
   DON'T DO THIS,
   I
   THINK
   I
   'LL GET SICK OR GO CRAZY.
   

3. I
   THINK
   I
   HAVE TO.
   

4. I
   DON'T KNOW.
   

5. I
   WANT TO.
   

6. I
   ACTUALLY BELIEVE THAT
   I
   CAN DO IT.
   

As lists go, this one was a bit thin. What was it in her father's words that had lifted her off her feet and pointed her down this road? She tried to remember. It was lost. Jane looked at her thumb while she dialed the INS. She made her request. This request resulted in an appointment day. Just a day, not a time. She could arrive and be fingerprinted at any hour of the day. How convenient. This
anytime appointment would launch her legal, out loud request to adopt a baby. Those prints would travel to Albany, Washington, and Beijing. Jane examined her thumb more closely. And then she got her first e-mail from Karen: