To See the Moon Again (30 page)

“Now it was time for my proposal,” she said. “I knew if they didn't accept it, I was digging a pit for myself, too. They could bring me down with them. We could be in jail together. I wish I didn't have to tell you this part.”

There was one way out, she told them. She could tell she had their attention, so she let the pause extend a little longer than necessary. The first step was to call the couple from Michigan and tell them the adoption had fallen through. The birth mother had refused to sign the papers.

The second part was to facilitate a different adoption with another couple whose names she would supply. They were good people, but they weren't wealthy, so there would be no big payoff. She would personally guarantee payment of modest legal fees, but that was all. She didn't know all the required procedural steps to make it happen, and she didn't want to. But the Shelburns did, and the Thorntons, too, and they could expedite things—the home study, any necessary paperwork. This other couple lived in Massachusetts, so she assumed it would be simpler in some ways. She knew it couldn't happen tomorrow, but they could get it started tomorrow. It had to be finalized legally, every jot and tittle. There couldn't be one single snag. The couple was never to have the slightest inkling that anything was out of order.

And the Shelburns' reward for doing this? Well, they would be spared having their good name dragged through the mud. She would tell no one what she knew about them or Babies First. Provided, of course, that Babies First quietly closed its doors.

“I know—it was blackmail,” she said. “I looked that up in the dictionary to make sure.
The extortion of money or something of value by threatening to expose something dishonorable.
I told myself it wasn't as bad as what they had done, but I know it was still wrong. It was full of lies and deceit, and I knew the adoption would involve forgeries and false documents. And I knew you had been deprived of your baby.” She studied her hands a moment. “They were doing what they did for money. I was doing it for love. But it was a crime either way.”

•   •   •

S
HE
looked up at Carmen. “So that's it.” She lifted her hands as if to say,
Here I am, judge me as you see fit, I deserve it
. “I could have done so much in the beginning to help you,” she said, “but I held back. And then I ended up taking the very thing I had wanted to save for you. I cut off any possibility of trying to find you, to give you back what was yours. At times I've almost been able to forget what I did, but then I would always remember again—we had your baby, and you didn't. And I would know this day was coming sooner or later.”

She had been so remarkably composed for so long that it came as a surprise when she suddenly covered her face with both hands and bent forward, her head on her knees.

Carmen said nothing at first, but after an interval of silence she spoke. “So that couple from Michigan—all their hopes and dreams came crashing down that night.”

Luna raised her head and nodded. “I don't know how Milo handled that, I really don't. I tried to tell myself they were rich, everything would work out for them, they would get another baby, but I didn't even know for sure that they
were
rich. I was only guessing. If they were so rich, why weren't they flying instead of driving? Anyway, the truth is that rich people hurt, too.”

Carmen said, “And your son and daughter-in-law. They . . . were happy?”

Luna looked at her for a long moment. “I'll never forget the looks on their faces when they held her for the first time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They don't know a thing about any of this. All they know is that I found out about a baby that was available for adoption and they were blessed to get her. They call her . . . their miracle.”

“You didn't have to tell me all that, you know,” Carmen said at length.

At first Julia thought she was referring to all the particulars. It was true, it could have been a much shorter story. But Carmen wasn't talking about the length of the story. “You could have told me the other adoption went through,” she said to Luna, “and you didn't have any idea who the people were or where they were from. You could've said you never talked to the Shelburns again after that night, so you didn't know what happened. You could've said the baby really did die. I never would've known the difference.”

Luna shook her head. “I'd already lied enough.” She looked away. “I've never told any of this to a living soul. It feels like I've laid a burden down.”

A brief silence, and then Carmen said, “Just think. If it hadn't been raining.”

Luna looked quizzical.

“I mean, if you hadn't needed your umbrella that night,” Carmen said, “you wouldn't have gone back in the house and heard them talking. I might not have ever found out what happened. And Babies First might still be in business.” She nodded. “‘He laid the foundation of the earth. He sends the wind and the rain. His ways are unsearchable.'”

All was quiet except for the ticking of the clock.

“What's . . . her name?” Carmen said.

Luna looked at her and said, “Elizabeth. We call her Lizzy.”

Julia knew that in the days to come she would often wish for a transcript of every word spoken in the sunroom that day, first to keep all the details straight, but in the end to remind herself that even in the darkest human trials there could be brief gleams of triumph.

A F
ASTER
W
AY
TO
K
ILL

“There they are,” Luna said. “Finally.” It was a little past three thirty. Luna and Julia stood at the upstairs window and watched as a fair-haired woman walked hand in hand with a pink-capped toddler down the front sidewalk of the green house to the street. In addition to the pink cap, the child was wearing brown overalls and a yellow shirt. At the street the woman picked the child up and carried her across, then set her down on the other side and took her hand again.

Carmen was already in the park, sitting in one of the larger swings situated perpendicular to the smaller bucket swings and facing the row of town houses. She had been there for close to an hour now, swinging gently from side to side, bumping into the empty swings on either side as she watched the green house.

Though Julia longed to see the child up close, she knew the girl wanted, and deserved, this time to herself. At least the lookout from the upstairs window was excellent, and with the binoculars Luna had provided, the view was even better. Luna was clutching the edge of the curtain, clearly nervous, no doubt fearful that Carmen would forget what they had discussed and approach the child directly.

“It's going to be okay,” Julia said to her. “You can trust her.”

“But look what I've done to her,” Luna cried. “Just
look
! She has to sit there and pretend she doesn't know her own daughter. Everything about that is wrong!”

There was nothing to say to that. It was true.

Julia looked back at the woman below. She refused to think of her as Lizzy's mother, not with Carmen sitting in the swing, forced to feign disinterest. The woman was stooping in front of the child now to pull the pink cap down over her ears, a precaution that seemed unnecessary on such a mild day.

Vanessa Fiorelli
—it could have been the name of a cocktail waitress, a dance instructor, a B-movie actress. But Julia scolded herself. Here she was again, making appraisals based on something a person had no control over. Regardless of her flamboyant name, Vanessa Fiorelli looked sensible, conscientious, responsible. The kind of woman who took care of business. Somewhere in her thirties, attractive enough, but pale, her light hair pinned back on the sides. The type who didn't try very hard to make the best of her assets.

“The pink cap will come off,” Luna said. “It won't last five minutes.”

Vanessa took the child by the hand again and held her in check as they walked toward the tunnel slide. Lizzy strained forward, reaching out with one hand. Finally Vanessa let her go, and away she went in a toddling gait. She mounted the steps, then plopped down, pushed herself off, and spilled out the other end of the tunnel before Vanessa could get there.

“She's absolutely fearless,” Luna said. “Wants to do everything by herself. And she's not a whiner. If she falls, she gets right back up and tries again.”

Lizzy stood up, brushed her overalls off, knees and bottom both, and then scrambled back to the ladder for another turn. Julia smiled—how would a two-year-old know to brush off her clothes like that?

“She's quite the little imitator,” Luna said. “You should hear her talk. One day last week she said the word
inappropriate
, or her version of it. Left out only one syllable. She saw a boy hit his little sister over the head, and she turned to her mother and said, ‘That's in-propriate.'” Luna laughed. “It's something she hears her parents say.”

Another trip down the tunnel slide, and then she was off toward the sandbox, where a boy was busy scooping shovelfuls of sand on top of a toy truck while another was twirling around in a circle kicking sand everywhere.

“She's full of energy,” Luna said. “She wants to do everything at once. And very observant. Doesn't miss much. And curious about everything—her mental gears are constantly turning.” Lizzy picked up a toy shovel and struck it against a large plastic pail several times. She put the shovel inside the pail, then added a funnel, then a scoop, then a sifter, then dumped them all out and put them back in again one at a time. She shook the pail up and down, then tossed it aside and squatted down to dig out a ball half-buried in the sand, which she threw toward the swings. Julia didn't know a two-year-old could throw a ball that far. A wail rose from the boy playing with the truck, and he pointed to the ball.

Vanessa, who had followed her to the sandbox, said something to her, and Lizzy took off at once in the direction of the ball. Vanessa trailed behind. The ball rolled to a stop a few feet from the swing where Carmen sat. It must have taken every ounce of willpower she had not to get it and hand it to the child. But she stayed put.

Lizzy picked the ball up and held it out to Vanessa, who said something and pointed back to the boy in the sandbox. Lizzy set off with it and returned it to the boy, who snatched it from her so hard she almost lost her balance.

“As cheerful as the day is long,” Luna said. “And very obedient. I keep watching for signs of the terrible twos, but I haven't seen them. Yet.”

•   •   •

F
ROM
there Lizzy headed to a miniature house of bright molded plastic. She stuck her head out the window and waved to Vanessa, then closed the shutters, then opened them again and waved. Next it was on to a row of large tractor tires, which she proceeded to climb over, and then to a gray plastic whale mounted on a big coiled spring. As soon as Vanessa lifted her onto it, she grabbed the handles and began rocking with all her might. After that she toddled off toward the bucket swings.

As they came closer, Carmen stretched herself out full-length in her swing and leaned back to look up at the sky. Though Lizzy and Vanessa were now near enough that she could have talked to them, she gave no sign that she even noticed them. After Lizzy was installed in her swing, Carmen gave herself a push in her own swing and began pumping to gain height.

Vanessa stood behind Lizzy in the bucket swing and pushed, gently at first and gradually higher. And then Lizzy must have noticed Carmen, for her head began to move back and forth in time with the long arc of Carmen's swing. She held out a hand longingly as if to say she knew a superior swing when she saw it. She must have said something, for Vanessa laughed and pushed her a little higher.

Suddenly Lizzy put a hand to her head, and the pink cap went flying, revealing a fine, staticky cloud of blond hair.

“That was closer to ten minutes,” Luna said. “A record.”

The cap landed well in front of the bucket swings and off to the side, close to the bigger swings. Though Vanessa couldn't have missed the flinging of the cap, she kept pushing Lizzy—a fact that impressed Julia. So Vanessa Fiorelli could take things in stride. Carmen was still swinging high, and Lizzy was still watching her, still leaning forward. An airplane passed overhead, diverting her attention momentarily. She pointed to the sky and said something.

“She's smart,” Luna said. “Has an amazing vocabulary.”

Julia laughed. “She's probably saying, ‘Look at the contrail, Mommy.'”

Luna said, “Or maybe, ‘What exceptional aerodynamic lift.'”

For the first time in her life, Julia had a glimmer of understanding about the unqualified admiration of grandparents for their grandchildren. Though she had avoided children for most of her life, she was already favorably disposed toward this child—charmed by her would be closer to the truth.

It made no sense. She couldn't even see the child's face clearly, for heaven's sake. Luna's glowing commentary must have accounted for part of her fascination, though she had heard other grandmothers' glowing commentaries, plenty of them, without being smitten by their grandchildren, all of whom had seemed quite ordinary in her estimation. Luna's praise was understandable, for she had a history with Lizzy. She had been the first person to hold her, had seen her almost daily for over two years now, loved her as a grandmother. Julia had seen her for what—maybe ten minutes? She lowered the binoculars and scanned the park from one end to the other. More than a dozen children playing on this crisp October afternoon, but not one to equal Lizzy.

The thought came to her that if she had known a child like Lizzy all those years ago when Matthew brought up the subject of having a baby, might she have answered him differently? Might she have been willing to take a chance on the redemptive power of a child, and might she be a different person today? She lifted the binoculars again and looked back at Lizzy in her bucket swing, her face upturned, her head still moving back and forth as she watched Carmen sail through the air.

It was a mystery why the simplest truths often came so slowly. Julia should have realized this one immediately—that her feelings for Lizzy had their origin in her feelings for Carmen. So that was the way it worked with grandparents. They didn't have to wait to get to know a grandchild before loving it; they loved it instantly because it was the child of their child. If she had harbored any doubts about her feelings toward Carmen, this would have dispelled them, that from a distance, within mere seconds, she had taken Carmen's child into her heart. From now on she would have to omit something she had always told her Creative Writing students before they wrote their first stories:
There is no such thing as love at first sight.

Carmen stopped pumping and gradually began to slow. She was still quite high, however, when she launched herself out of the swing and landed in a gymnast's crouch within feet of the pink cap. She retrieved it, then stood and twirled it around on her index finger.

Luna breathed in sharply. “Oh, no. She wouldn't . . .”

But evidently she would, for she started walking toward the bucket swing, still twirling the cap. She appeared to be saying something to Vanessa or Lizzy, or both. She couldn't have forgotten the guidelines they had talked about, so obviously she was choosing to ignore them.

Luna braced her hands on the windowsill.

Vanessa stopped pushing the swing and came forward, her hand extended. She looked pleasant enough. She took the cap and said something to Carmen, who said something back. Vanessa looked back at Lizzy, and Carmen laughed and said something else. Lizzy held out both hands and wiggled her fingers. Vanessa handed her the cap, which she laid against her cheek and petted like a kitten. Vanessa said something to Carmen, gesturing and smiling as she spoke, not in the manner of an anxious, overprotective mother but like someone completely at ease.

Carmen said a few words in response, then waved to Lizzy, turned around, and walked away. Luna relaxed at once and stepped back to sit on the edge of the bed. Carmen stopped at the water fountain by the seesaw and took a long drink, after which she lifted her head, looked directly at the upstairs window across the street, and nodded slowly. Then she walked to the picnic shelter near the tennis court. Though farther away from Vanessa and Lizzy now, she could still see them, and she sat there until they left the park.

•   •   •

J
ULIA
and Luna were in the kitchen putting together a quick meal of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches when Carmen came back. She walked to the window and looked out into the backyard. “Sorry for what I did over there,” she said at last, “but I had to. I had to hear their voices.”

She sat down at the table. “I don't know if you could tell, but the cap had little ears and eyes. And a little snout-looking thing. It's supposed to be a pig. When her mother handed it to her, you know what she said? She said, ‘Thank you. My Piggy Wig is soft. I like it. Nice Piggy Wig.' She
cuddled
it. Did you see her?” She laughed. “Her mother said she has a love-hate relationship with it. When it's on her head, it's pretty much hate. When it's not, she treats it like her favorite teddy bear. She even sleeps with it sometimes.” She put her head down on the table, buried it in the crook of one arm. “Did you
see
her? Isn't she incredible?” It wasn't clear whether she was laughing or crying.

Luna walked to the table and put a hand on Carmen's head. “I don't know what I was thinking to ask you not to talk to them. Now that you've seen her, you must hate me more than ever. And you have every right to. I don't blame you one bit.”
One bee-yit.

Carmen looked up at her. “Hate you? No, I don't hate you. I know there's a deep mercy at work here, and I don't want to miss it.”

Luna sat down beside her. “Please, it would be easier if you hated me. You could . . . get her back, you know.” She spoke with conviction, a tremor in her voice. “The courts would be on your side. Any judge in the country. And I'll take whatever punishment I have to. She's your child. You could take her away and have a life with her.”

They looked at each other a long time, and then Carmen said, “You're right, I could.” She paused. “I could take her away and rip out her parents' hearts.” She looked toward the window. “Or I could just get a gun and shoot them both. That would be a faster way to kill them.”