Mother's Day (5 page)

“It’s just such a shock, for Jenny. You can see how it has upset her.”

“Well, I knew it would be a shock, but I thought she’d be happy, too. I mean, to finally find out about her…her natural mother.”

Karen was almost ashamed of her own bitter feelings. Of course Jenny would want to meet her. How many times had she heard her wonder aloud who her real mother might be. But something inside of her could not give this interloper the satisfaction of admitting it. “This is not the sort of thing you just spring on a child. You have to prepare them for something like this. Besides, you made a legal agreement years ago. It’s irresponsible to think you can just turn around whenever it suits you…”

Linda shook her head abjectly. “You’re right, you’re right. Everything you say is true. I’m just appealing to you, as a mother. Please forgive my impulsiveness. Please try to understand…”

In her mind, even in some part of her heart, Karen did understand. To have a child and never know…It was unimaginable, a lifelong heartache. And she could sense the woman’s sincerity. But she did not want to be sympathetic. She felt threatened. This intruder was laying claim to her child. She felt a primitive instinct, like some kind of bear with a cub. No matter how she tried to understand, there was an irrational side that just wanted to protect what was hers.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter whether I understand or not, does it,” Karen said, more bitterly than she had intended. “It’s done now, no matter what I think.”

Karen had not noticed Jenny returning to the room until she heard a small voice say, in a reproving tone, “Mom.” Jenny carried the vase of flowers to the mantel and placed them there. Then she went and sat down on the couch, in the opposite corner from Linda, folding her coltish legs beneath her.

“No,” said Linda, “your mom is right. Technically, I shouldn’t have done this.”

Greg finally broke his silence. “The word you want is legally,” he said darkly to their visitor.

“Yes,” said Linda. She did not look at him. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I’m glad you came,” said Jenny.

Karen felt stung. Of course it was true. Jenny was only being honest. She wished it did not hurt her to hear it.

“There are a lot of things I want to know,” said Jenny.

“And I want to know about you,” said Linda eagerly, turning to her.

“The main thing is,” Jenny continued, her voice quavering slightly, “how come you didn’t want me?”

The painful question made Karen want to reach out for her child, but Jenny was looking expectantly, almost defiantly, at Linda.

“Oh, Jenny,” said Linda sadly. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I know it seems that way to you…”

“That’s how it is. You gave me away,” said Jenny.

Linda nodded. “There’s so much about that time…if I could tell you…”

“I want to know why,” said Jenny stubbornly.

Linda paused, a pained and distant expression in her eyes. “I started to tell your parents, when you went out with the flowers. I’m a local girl. I grew up here in Bayland. I was only seventeen when I got pregnant—just a few years older than you are now. And marriage wasn’t…it wasn’t an option.”

“My father didn’t want me either,” said Jenny flatly. “I was a mistake.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Linda interrupted her. “Look at you. You’ve turned out so beautifully. Sometimes I wonder why I was ever born. But sitting here, looking at you, I see that I did one good thing in my life. Two good things. I gave birth to you, and I entrusted you to these good people…”

Karen could not help being touched by the woman’s answer. For a moment she felt that old kinship with Jenny’s unknown birth mother, this stranger sitting on her couch.

“But you could have kept me,” Jenny persisted. “There are lots of single mothers…”

Linda shook her head. “Things were a little different thirteen years ago, Jenny. People didn’t accept that quite the way they do now. Besides, I was a high school girl. And my parents would never…never have been able to live with it. They were strict Catholics. I was afraid to even face them.”

“So, what did you do?” Jenny asked curiously.

“Well,” said Linda briskly, “I made arrangements with a lawyer for you to be adopted, and then I went to a home for unwed mothers out in Chicago. The lawyer came and got you there when you were born. And I stayed in Chicago. I’ve been there ever since. I finished school at night, and got a job.”

“What did you tell your parents?”

“I didn’t tell them anything. I just left,” said Linda.

Jenny mulled this over. “Did you end up getting married and stuff?” she asked.

“Nope,” said Linda, an edge in her voice. “It’s just me and my cat.”

“I love cats,” Jenny said cautiously.

“Do you have one?” Linda asked, looking around.

“No. Mom’s allergic.”

Karen bristled at the implied rebuke but bit back a protest.

“That’s enough about me,” said Linda. “I want to hear about you.”

“I have a lot more questions,” said Jenny. “Can you stay to dinner?”

Linda looked up at the startled expression on the faces of Karen and Greg and said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Jenny turned to Karen and instantly perceived the reason for Linda’s reluctance. “Mom,” she challenged Karen, “she’s invited, isn’t she?”

“I hadn’t planned much. Just a cold supper,” said Karen, flustered, “but I guess…”

M Jenny,” said Greg, “don’t put your mother on the spot.”

“No,” said Linda. “I’ve intruded enough.”

“I want you to stay,” Jenny cried.

“Actually, I’m going to see my own mother. It is Mother’s Day.”

This mollified Jenny somewhat. “How long since you’ve seen her?”

Linda looked at her gravely. “Not since I left home, I’m afraid.”

“Wow,” said Jenny.

“So, you see, I couldn’t really stay anyway.”

Jenny looked at Karen and saw the relief in her face. Jenny’s expression hardened. “Well, I wish you could,” she said stubbornly.

“I do, too. But, I’ll tell you what. Let’s…if it’s okay with your parents, of course. Let’s you and I get together tomorrow. Maybe we could have some lunch together. And get acquainted.”

“It’s a school day,” said Karen before she could stop herself.

“This is more important,” Jenny cried.

Linda stood up hurriedly. “Maybe after school. Why don’t I call you and we’ll make a time.” She looked at Karen. “Would that be all right?”

“Well, I guess so,” said Karen uneasily.

“We’ll talk it over,” said Greg.

“Why not? Am I a prisoner or something?” Jenny demanded.

“You have a short memory,” said Greg. “You were sent to your room this afternoon.”

Linda zipped up her purse and began to edge toward the foyer. The Newhalls followed her. “I’ll call tomorrow morning,” she said. “Thank you for letting me see Jenny. You don’t know what it means to me.”

“Wait a minute,” Jenny exclaimed. “Don’t leave yet. I’ll be right back.” She bolted up the stairs, leaving the adults in an uncomfortable silence.

“This is a nice old house,” Linda said in an aimless manner.

“My husband’s done a lot of work on it over the years,” said Karen.

“Are you handy, Mr. Newhall?” Linda asked.

“I’m a contractor,” he said shortly. “That’s my business.”

Linda nodded and fiddled with her purse.

“I hope you have a good visit with your mother,” said Karen as kindly as she could.

“This will be a shock for her, too,” Linda admitted with a nervous laugh. “She doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“You didn’t let her know you were coming?” Karen asked incredulously.

Linda shrugged. “I guess I like surprises.” But there was no cheerfulness in her tone. “I think some things are better done face to face.”

Just then Jenny clattered down the stairs, a wrapped gift box in her hands. With a serious expression on her face she handed the box to Linda. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she said.

Linda took the box, a confused look in her eyes. “Why, Jenny…” she said.

“Open it,” Jenny urged.

Linda fumbled with the wrapping while Karen stared at the box, immediately realizing that there was no way Jenny could have known that Linda would be here. There was only one possible explanation for how Jenny had this gift at the ready.

Linda lifted the top off the box and looked inside. It was a dove gray leather wallet that Karen had admired one day at the mall when she and Jenny were shopping. Karen stifled a groan.

“I hope you can use it.”

“Oh, I really can,” said Linda. “Mine’s falling apart.”

Jenny beamed.

“Well, I’m overwhelmed. Thank you.” Suddenly it seemed to dawn on Linda that she was not the intended recipient of the gift. “I mean, it was very sweet of you, but…I mean, you probably, well, I feel a little guilty taking it.”

“No,” Jenny insisted. “It’s Mother’s Day. And you are my mother, after all.”

Karen turned and walked out of the foyer, back to the living room.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Linda said hurriedly, clutching the gift box. Jenny followed her to the door and leaned out, waving shyly as Linda got into her car. When she turned back, both her parents were gone. She went to the door of the living room. Karen was seated in the rocker again. Greg was pacing behind her chair.

“Mom, I was going to give you that wallet.”

“I know,” said Karen in a dead voice.

“I’ll get you another present. Something better. She brought me those presents, and I just wanted to give her something.”

Karen did not reply. She blinked back angry tears.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Jenny protested.

“Well, if you could have hurt your mother’s feelings any more than you did today, I’d like to know how,” said Greg furiously.

“I didn’t know she was coming today. I was just trying to be nice,” Jenny cried.

“And the hell with us,” Greg shouted.

“Someone had to be nice to her,” Jenny shot back. “You were both horrible to her.”

“That woman had no business coming here,” said Greg.

“No, she’s only my real mother. Well, I don’t care what you say. I’m glad she came. All my life I’ve prayed that she would come someday:” Jenny’s voice cracked on the words and she ran from the room.

“Dammit,” said Greg, slamming his fist into the door frame. Then he turned and stared helplessly at his wife, who sat immobile in the rocker. He walked over and knelt beside her, rubbing her hand which was cold and limp on the padded arm of the chair. “Honey,” he asked. “Are you all right?”

Karen turned her head to look at him, and there was a puzzled look in her eyes. “I’m her mother,” she whispered. But it came out like a question.

“Of course you are,” he said fiercely.

Karen leaned over and opened the music box on the coffee table. The melody of “Beautiful Dreamer” tinkled forth. She listened for a minute, then closed the lid on the box. She began to rock with purpose, as if she were trying to soothe a frightened child with its motion.

Alice Emery took her best pair of silver candlesticks
from the built-in corner china cabinet and placed them on the dining room table, stuffing each one with a pale pink taper. Then she stepped back to admire her table. It was set for five, and that seemed strange. It was the first family dinner since her husband, Jack, died. She had debated about it and finally decided to put Bill in his father’s chair at the head. It wasn’t meant to be disrespectful to Jack’s memory. It was just a fact. Bill was the head of the family now.

Alice leaned over and adjusted the napkin beside her daughter-in-law Glenda’s plate. She made sure the booster seat was tightly fastened to her three-year-old grandson’s chair, and that both children had their own special “silver” that Grandma and Grandpa had bought for them to use when they came over.

Tears filled Alice’s eyes at the memory of Jack, one grandchild on each knee, the ever-present frown gone briefly from his forehead as he held them close. They made him forget his sorrows like nothing else could. He had always been a quiet man, a brooding man, even when they were courting, but children had a way of easing that up in him. He was not much of a conversationalist, and Alice knew that a lot of people mistakenly thought her husband was a sullen, grumpy person, but they would have realized he was different once they saw him with kids. He seemed to feel right at home with the illogical chatter of children. He would laugh at their doings and lose track of time. It had been that way with their own kids and especially with the grandchildren.

Alice went into the living room and sat on the edge of a chair to wait. She picked up some needlework on the end table and began to do her counted cross stitch. She was making a sampler for Glenda’s kitchen. She had started it in January, hoping to have it done in time for Mother’s Day, but she hadn’t counted on losing Jack in March. Alice’s work rested in her lap as her thoughts returned to that fateful Saturday when an old friend offered him his boat to go fishing and she had urged Jack to go. She had thought it would do him good.

Alice sighed at the memory. What was the use of wishing she had done differently? A squall blew up suddenly while he was out, and all they ever found was the wreck of the boat. People kept saying to her, maybe he made it to shore, maybe he’ll turn up. Have faith, they’d say. Well, Alice did have faith. She had faith that her husband, who was a good and decent man, had gone to heaven and she would meet him there one day. But she knew better than to think that a sixty-year-old man could have survived at sea. When it was your day to go, it was your day. There was no use pretending otherwise. Living on false hope took too much out of you. She had tried that before.

No, she was a widow now. One of those women who microwaved frozen dinners and didn’t get invited to mixed gatherings anymore. At least she didn’t have to go pleading to some other woman’s husband to come put in her storm windows or help her fix things around the house. Bill was good about that sort of thing. He would call her faithfully each week to see if anything needed doing. No mother ever had a more reliable son, she reflected.

The doorbell rang, and Alice glanced, puzzled, at the clock on the mantel. Bill and his gang weren’t due for a while. Besides, they never rang the doorbell. They just came trooping in, calling out to her, the kids shouting one another down to get her attention.