Empty Arms: A Novel (26 page)

“I didn’t know if birth mothers were welcome.”

She puts her hand on my arm. “Everyone is welcome here.”

W
ITH THE ARRIVAL OF
J
ULY
comes my fortieth birthday. From what I’ve seen, turning forty has a strange effect on people; Paul got a will and put a down payment on a cemetery plot, one of his friends took up smoking, and Daddy bought an electric guitar, which he fiddled with once and then moved to the attic. Mom is the only person I know of who was unfazed by the whole experience, though one of her lady friends from church bought a moped.

For me, forty arrives with an air of finality, like the nail in my fertility coffin. I splash cold water on my face and stare at the hollowed out reflection in my bathroom mirror. I’d pictured my life a lot of different ways, but childless was never one of them.

I dig out my light blue scrubs that are adorned with fireworks and patriotic streamers and pull them on. I used to love that my birthday was on the Fourth of July. When I was a little girl, I thought everyone was getting together to celebrate me. But now that I’m a 40-year-old childless mother who’s separated from her husband and spends her life caring for other people’s babies, I understand that the world doesn’t even know I exist.

The phone rings as I sit down to a bowl of cereal. There’s only one person who’d be calling this early on my birthday. I ignore the ringing and pour milk over the golden flakes. The machine picks up.

“Catharine, it’s your mother. Are you there?” Her voice blasts through the speaker. “Just calling to wish you a happy birthday. It’s a big one. I was hoping to catch you before work, but I guess I missed you. Call me.”

The sound of her voice makes my jaw tighten and causes me to bite my cheek as I chew my cereal. “Ow,” I cry as blood fills my mouth. I spit in the sink and swish with warm water until the taste disappears. I spin around and punch the delete button on the answering machine, wishing it was as easy to remove her from my mind.

T
HE NURSERY IS
like a ghost town. While Delaney and the others head off to barbeques, pool parties, and parades with their families and friends, I sit in the dim tranquility, rocking babies I don’t know, each one reminding me of what I’ll never have.

Sometime after visiting hours end and all the babies are returned to the nursery for the night, I hear a familiar rumble in the distance. Angela and I used to hike to the top of Angel Falls with all of our friends and watch all the fireworks in neighboring towns. After the finales left the sky dark and smoky, we’d dive off the cliffs, splash around beneath the moonlight, and build a bonfire on the riverbank. Back then, we had our whole lives ahead of us. Happiness and success seemed inevitable, so we never worried about it much. It was the kind of weightless existence that I never even knew I had until it was gone.

An upset scream pierces the silence and I rush over to William Oliver Harding’s bassinet and scoop him up before he wakes the others. His diaper is dry and he just ate, so I hug him close to my chest while we rock. He calms down immediately, and I smile to myself; I would’ve been a good mother.

It’s nearing eleven when Judy, the night nurse, relieves me. I slip out of the hospital and cross the parking lot to my car. The air is warm and muggy, and bottle rockets explode in the distance. As I drive through town, the streets are empty, and the sidewalks are littered with rainbow streamers, burned-out sparklers, and exploded shells and wrappers. The storefronts are dark except for the tavern, which stands out like a neon oasis. The front door is open, and as I pass by I can hear the band inside covering the Rolling Stones and a chorus of jovial voices singing along. I pull off the road and listen with my windows down. The sounds that spill out of the tavern are carefree and happy, just like I used to be. But now I can’t even remember how that feels.

Without thinking, I throw open the car door, grab my purse, and follow the noise. Inside, I step around bottles of beer and cocktails in cheap plastic cups swaying to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” A young brunette bumps into me. She’s the right age, the right coloring. I stare at her and wonder if she’s adopted. She stumbles past me and raises her cup. “You get what you
neeeeed
.” Beer sloshes over the edge of her cup, splats on my shoulder and runs down my arm as she vanishes into the crowd.

When I reach the bar, I grab a napkin and wipe off my arm. A stocky bartender with a balding head and a swollen face sets a cardboard coaster in front of me. “What are you drinking?”

“Tequila.”

I glance around as the bartender reaches for a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a shot glass. I’m the oldest person here by at least a decade. He tops off the tiny glass and slides it toward me. I raise it in a silent toast to myself and throw it back, eager to ease my pain. The opening chords of “Wild Horses” cut through the air, and I belt out the lyrics, my voice drowning in the lead singer’s. I turn to the stage, and my mouth falls open when I see Harper strumming his guitar and singing with his eyes closed. The voice that pours out of him is rugged with a soft underbelly; it breaks and cracks, perfect in its imperfection. He sings from some vulnerable place deep inside him, gripping the microphone with fervor. I can’t take my eyes off him.

When the song ends, I clap along with the rest of the bar. Harper bows and lifts the shoulder strap over his head, setting the guitar on a nearby stand. “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back.” He jumps off the stage, and people pat his back as he and his band mates make their way to the bar. I duck behind a nearby shoulder as the bartender slides four Amstels toward them. Harper and his band mates raise their bottles and throw back the beer like rock stars. A gaggle of women surround them with bright smiles and high-pitched giggles. Harper’s cheeks flush at the attention and out of nowhere a splinter of jealousy digs at me. I signal for my check, but the motion catches Harper’s attention and his head jerks in surprise. I wave and shoot him an awkward smile. Part of me expects him to flip me off, but he pushes his way through the crowd toward me.

“So this is Stone Magic?” I shout over the crowd when he reaches me.

He nods. “We’re a Stones cover band.”

“You were great up there.”

“Thanks.” His eyebrows crinkle. “What are you doing here?”

“Mourning.”

“Mourning what?”

“My fortieth birthday.”

“Today’s your birthday?”

I nod with a frown.

“You shouldn’t be mourning, you should be celebrating.”

“Yeah? Talk to me in ten years.”

“Eight years,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “What are you drinking?” he asks, eyeing the empty shot glass.

“Tequila.”

A grin breaks across his face. “I didn’t peg you for a tequila drinker.” He signals to the bartender to bring us two more. “But then again, I didn’t peg you for married either.” The bartender pours two shots and Harper raises his. “Happy birthday, Cate.”

Our glasses empty with a quick sip. We both cringe and shake off the after bite.

“So where’s the husband tonight?” The word is sharp on his tongue.

“I don’t know,” I admit, and for the first time I say the words out loud. “We separated.”

The anger retreats from his eyes and his scowl loosens. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug, wishing I had another shot to kill the pain.

“Will you stay for the second half?” he asks, leaning into me.

Part of me knows I shouldn’t, but there’s no one waiting for me at home; there’s no one waiting for me anywhere. I nod, glad to be wanted somewhere.

“Excellent.” He darts through the crowd and jumps back up on stage. His band mates follow suit. “Ladies and gentlemen, before we get started, I want you all to wish a very happy birthday to my friend, Cate.” His pick races across the guitar strings as he plays a wildly up-tempo version of Happy Birthday. I laugh and clap along as I watch him across a sea of bobbing heads. The bartender slides a shot glass of clear liquid in front me.

“What’s this?”

“A birthday cake shot. On the house. Happy birthday.”

By the second verse, the entire bar has joined in the chorus, and at the very end everyone raises their cocktails and beers and drinks in my honor. I raise the birthday cake shot, and Harper beams at me from the stage.

I
T’S JUST PAST
2
A.M.
when Harper’s car pulls to a stop in front of my house.

“Thank you for driving me home.” The words are sloppy on my tongue.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure this birthday wasn’t your last.” He tries to sound casual, but in his eyes I can see how much I hurt him. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, my birthday, or my loneliness, but whatever it is, I lean into Harper and kiss him. It’s one part apology and one part gratitude, but when I feel his hand on my cheek and his lips kiss me back, I realize it’s rooted in longing. Longing to set down the heavy load I’ve been carrying and let go of my misfortunes; an enormous desire to feel happy and carefree again.

His eyes are gentle, and the way he strokes my hair makes me feel beautiful. I long to be the woman he’s seeing. An invitation to come inside sits on the tip of my tongue, but when I glance out the window and see the house where I was once pregnant with Emily, the home I shared with my husband, reality returns. No matter how much I want to be that woman, I’m not. “Thank you for everything,” I whisper. “Good night.” I kiss him on the cheek, stagger out into the darkness, and watch him pull away. As his taillights disappear in the distance, so does the warm glow I’d been feeling all night.

I stumble up the walk and drop the keys twice trying to open the front door. I stub my toe on the hall table, and its sharp corner gouges my leg as I follow the light I’d left on in the kitchen. I head straight to the sink and gulp down a glass of water without taking a breath.

“Happy Birthday.”

My heart jumps and water spews from mouth. I spin around to find Paul sitting at the kitchen table before a birthday cake with candles that have melted into hard puddles of blue and red.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

I try to steady my words, but the scare results in a raucous hiccup. “I worked a double and then stopped at the tavern on the way home.”

He stands and comes closer, so close I wonder if he can smell Harper’s breath on me. “Are you drunk?” he asks, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

My body sways. “The bartender found out it was my birthday and he gave me a shot.” Hiccup. “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

His eyes mellow and his tone thaws. “You didn’t think I was going to miss your birthday, did you?”

I shrug. “I didn’t think you still cared.”

He takes my hands. “Of course I still care.” The sorrow in his eyes is bottomless, like mine. “Despite everything, I still love you, Cate.” There’s a silent offer in his words to forget the legal separation, move home, and patch the holes between us, but I know it’s still hitched with the same ultimatum.

“I still love you,” he says again, waiting for my response, but those are not the words I need to hear. Love doesn’t give you impossible choices. Love doesn’t leave separation agreements on your kitchen counter. Maybe it’s the tequila or maybe it’s forty’s strange effect on me, but for the first time in my life I finally choose what I want.

“I can’t,” I say, pulling my hands away and leaving him standing in front of the kitchen sink, in the very spot where we once began.

“Y
OU MADE THE RIGHT DECISION,”
Melody confirms when I call her the next morning before work. In the background, Barney’s theme song is blaring from the television. “You’re never going to be happy unless you follow your heart.”

I wonder what she’d say about my drunken kiss with Harper. But before I can tell her about it, something crashes on her end, and a chorus of howls erupts in the background. “Timmy, are you okay?” There’s no answer, just an ear-splitting wail. “Shit, Cate, I gotta go.”

“Go, go!”

She slams down the phone. She wasn’t lying when she said she’s got her hands full. It’s not even 8
A.M.
and her house sounds like a Bosnian war zone.