Carry Her Heart (17 page)

And that, Amanda, is why this journal isn’t just for me or you. It’s about and for all the people we’ve both touched.

In the trunk you’ll find a letter from your grandmother.

I meant what I said to her. Even if she’d offered to quit school, I’d have still given you up for adoption because I truly believed it was what was best for you. And maybe that’s the sign of a good parent, doing what’s best for your child no matter how it hurts.

Maybe that’s part of what I’ve done since you left . . . tried to grow up to be the parent I wanted to be then, the parent you deserved, so that if you ever find me, you’ll find a woman you can be proud of.

And I hope that if you find me you realize that I loved you enough to let you go.

As I finish this entry, I realize that this story is Ned’s story, too, though he doesn’t know it yet. It’s his because . . . I love him. And we’re connected. So he’s part of my story, and thus part of your story.

Tomorrow, I’m going to tell him about you.

I’ve told him so many things—shared so much of myself with him. Why haven’t I told him about you? Why don’t I tell the world about you, about how much I love you?

I don’t tell the world because that’s not my right. I gave that right away when I handed you over to your real parents.

Part of the reason I haven’t told Ned is that I don’t want him to see me differently or feel sorry for me.

I know that you used to stand alone at the core of my heart, and so many others orbited around you. But you’re no longer alone there . . . Ned’s there, too. And I trust him enough to share you with him.

Love,

Piper

As I wrote those words, I realized that right there at the center of my being with Amanda was Ned.

He was at the center of my heart, standing next to Amanda, and everyone and everything else I loved circled them—orbited around them.

Maybe it’s all about perspective. For the longest time he was simply Ned.

My neighbor.

My dog co-parent.

My sci-fi buddy.

My friend.

Finally, part of my family.

And now?

I felt as if I’d climbed on a
Dead Poets Society
desk and was looking at Ned from a new perspective and there was only one conclusion I could reach.

I loved him and had loved him for a very long time.

I’d said the words for months, but as I weighed and measured what he was to me, the word
love
carried more weight.

I let it play on my lips—love—discovering the taste and texture of it. I told him at Christmas that I loved him and I meant it, but I realized how much deeper my feelings had grown.

Ned was integral to my life . . . to my happiness.

He was as much a part of me as breathing or eating.

He hadn’t been back to his house to spend a night since Christmas. I loved going to bed with him at my side. I loved waking up next to him.

I loved making coffee for us in the morning, then sharing it with him.

I loved walking the dogs with him at night.

He was a part of me in a way that no one other than Amanda had ever been.

I’ve loved many things with varying degree of feeling.

For instance, I love ice cream, but it is a very different feeling than my love for say, Bruce and Princess. Or the love I feel for my work. The love for the kids I work with. My love for my parents.

My love for Amanda.

Amanda had lived in the center of my heart for seventeen years. Now, Ned was there, too.

Chapter Fifteen

Ned finally came home. His exhaustion was evident in the way he placed his feet with care, as if he might fall over if he didn’t.

He smiled when he saw me and said, “Hey, you.”

In a fluid motion he took off his coat, hung it on a hook, then pulled me into his arms and kissed me good morning, which was not really good morning, but by now was good afternoon.

He didn’t release, but held me close. I rested my head on his chest and asked, “Did you find your guy?”

He nodded. “Finally.”

Now that I’d made up my mind to tell Ned, I wanted to simply do it. But he was exhausted—too tired for me to spring this on him.

But Ned, being Ned, sensed my need. “What?” he asked.

“I have something to tell you, but it can wait until after you’ve slept.” I’d waited well past the time I should have told him, and a few more hours wouldn’t make any difference.

He stared at me a minute, as if I were an open book and he was reading every line. “No, I don’t think it can.”

He took my hand and led me to the couch.

As we sat down, I remembered that first day. Couch Couch was a perceptive man. He smiled, encouraging me to share whatever I needed to share with him.

“Ned, I . . .”

How to tell him? I’d had plenty of time to think about the best way, but I hadn’t.

I could ease into it. I could fill in the backstory first. There were so many ways of getting to the truth of it, but I didn’t take any of those longer routes. Instead, I jumped right into it. “I have a daughter.”

I watched as that smile melted into something else. It was an expression I couldn’t quite define. Curiosity? Shock? Concern?

He didn’t say anything for a time as he digested my statement. I waited, giving him a moment to adjust his reality to include the fact that I had a daughter.

“Amanda?” he half stated and half asked.

I nodded.

“She lives with her father?” he asked slowly.

I twisted the string of my sweatshirt around my finger and I shook my head. “With her
mother
and father. At least, I hope with her mother and father.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. I apologized. “I’m making a mess of this,” I said.

Ned shook his head and looked confused. “I still don’t understand.”

“I know. Let me start at the beginning. I was fifteen when I got pregnant and barely sixteen when I had Amanda. I couldn’t be the mother she deserved so I gave her up for adoption.” I offered him a small smile.

“Do you know her?”

I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t an open adoption.”

“But you know her name?” he pressed.

“No, not the name her parents gave her, but to me, she’s always been Amanda. It really does mean ‘worthy of love.’ I looked it up in a baby book while I was pregnant. And she’s that.” I thought of the baby I’d cradled in my arms for that one short hour. She’d been all peach fuzz and sweetness, and oh so worthy of being loved. “Of all the things I’ve hoped for her, that’s the biggest one. That she found a loving home.”

“And her father?” He paused and corrected himself. “Amanda’s father?”

For one passing moment, I hoped that Mick had indeed grown up into a better person than he’d seemed to be when I’d told him. “He denied that the baby could be his, even though we both knew it couldn’t be anyone else’s.” I sighed. “He was only a kid. I’d like to think he’d handle things differently now.”

“
You
were only a kid.” Ned willingly left the subject of Amanda’s father behind and said, “I asked you about your dedications, and you brushed off my question. Did you think it would change how I felt about you? Even before we were a couple and were just friends? Did you think I’d judge you? All these years, you’ve never said anything.”

“Ned, I need you to understand, I’ve known that when I told you—and honestly, it seems like I’ve always known I would tell you—that you’d accept her. That you’d accept me. That you’d support me.” I took a deep breath and admitted what I’d only just come to realize myself. “I didn’t want you to pity me. Or see me as broken or haunted by Amanda’s loss. My mother always has and I hated it. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“Pip, I will always see you as simply you. Unique and wonderful,” he said and opened his arms. For a long while he held me . . . simply held me.

“Only my parents and my Aunt Bonnie ever knew about her. No one else. Not Coop, not my editor, not anyone who’s ever asked who the Amanda from the pantry or from my books was.”

“Never any of the other men you’ve dated?” he asked.

I knew he was asking about Anthony. “There haven’t been many men, but no, not even Anthony. If I’d loved him, I’d have told him.” That was a truth I’d come to accept. “I never did love him, so no matter what, things would still have ended with us.”

“But you knew you’d tell me?” Ned asked carefully.

“Because I love you. Ned, I think I’ve always loved you. I’m not sure how I thought what I felt was less than it is. I know, that doesn’t make sense. But here’s the thing, Amanda’s always been at the center of my heart and I realize she’s not there alone. She hasn’t been for a long time. I love you.”

He held me for the longest time. I didn’t cry, though I might have. There was no passionate kiss, just Ned holding me and saying with that contact that he accepted what I’d given him. He’d accepted my trust along with my heart.

“You have a daughter,” he murmured quite a while later.

As he said the words, I realized they weren’t true. “I know that’s what I said, but truly I’m just the woman who gave birth to her.”

“And you are the woman who loves her, if your dedications in all those books are accurate.”

“They are, and I do love her, sight unseen. Well, not exactly unseen. I insisted that I get one hour with her after I gave birth. They cleaned her up and handed her to me. She was swaddled, but I unwrapped her. She had ten perfect toes on two very long and skinny feet. I’m afraid I gave her my feet, which was not the best gift I could have given her.”

“What’s wrong with your feet?” Ned asked. He sounded as if he was insulted on my feet’s behalf.

I held them up for him. “They’re big. When I was young, having big feet was the bane of my existence.”

“
The Hunt for Bigfoot and Other Wonders of the Eighth Grade
?” he asked, naming the slightly autobiographical book.

“Yes. I based it on me. Well, at least I based her feet on my feet.” His question had given me a moment to pull myself together.

I went back to those precious sixty minutes. “I counted Amanda’s fingers. I looked at her umbilical cord, which was clamped. It was impossible to tell if it was going to be an innie or an outie. I was hoping for an innie for her.

“I studied her hair. It was very fine and there was a reddish hue to it.” I fingered a strand of my own hair. “I hope that the color settled in more of a brown or blond zone and her hair is tamer than mine.”

He picked up a strand of my crazy hair and said, “I like your hair.”

“You like me, so you’re biased.” I kissed his cheek and then continued, “I tried to memorize her. When I was done, I rewrapped her, and then I sang her every lullaby I knew. ‘
Rock-a-bye Baby
,’ only I changed up the line about the cradle falling and the baby coming down to
and Mama will catch you, cradle and all
. And then I cried with the realization that I wouldn’t be the mother catching her. Some other woman would. But as I cried, I continued singing. ‘
Close Your Eyes.’ ‘Sweet Baby James.’
And as the minutes ticked by, and there were only a few more spins around the dial left, I told her how much I loved her. I told her that no matter where she went or what she did, my love was a constant. My love. I’d written her a letter for when she was older. I didn’t seal it. I wanted her parents to be able to read it. I’m sure they’d want to check it and me out. But I tucked my great-grandmother’s locket into it. My great-grandmother Rose was so strong, and I wanted Amanda to know she came from a family of very strong women.”

“You gave her a piece of her history.”

I nodded. “There, in the locket, was a picture of Rose and her husband. The photos were small, but I always thought you could see the love between them. I wanted to give her a slice of her family history and let her see that when we love, we love completely. That’s how I loved her—completely. And I wrote a note to her parents, asking them to give her the letter when they thought she was old enough.”

“And that was it?” he asked.

I nodded. “When the hour was up, I kissed her one last time. The nurse carried her away. The door was still open and as I saw the nurse put Amanda in the other woman’s arms, I called,
Good-bye, Amanda
.”

“You loved her and you
named
her.”

“I knew that no one but me would ever use that name, but I had to be able to call her something when I thought about her. And I knew I would think about her. I believed that the raging ache would eventually subside.”

“Did it?” he asked.

“Yes. The ache subsided. I still miss her, which sounds odd.” I paused and added, “My mother was here earlier today. She’d read the new book in one sitting and was blaming herself. She thought she should have quit her doctorate program and helped me so I could have kept Amanda. I tried to make her see that I showed my daughter how much I loved her by giving her the best chance at the type of childhood I’d had. The kind of parents I’d had. I wasn’t ready to be the kind of parent mine were. I tried to make Mom understand, and I want you to understand that I miss Amanda, but I’m at peace with the decision. Sometimes, I worry about her. But that’s what people do—they worry about the people they love.”

Ned nodded as if he truly understood. And I didn’t doubt that he did.

“When you said you wanted to sell your house and move in, I was thrilled. Then you started to talk about marriage and kids.” I shook my head. “I was going to tell you about Amanda no matter what, but you need to know now why I can say,
yes, move in with me.
I can even say,
yes, I’ll marry you.
But Ned, I can’t have other children. While I’m at peace with that decision I made so many years ago, I hope with all my heart that someday Amanda comes to find me. And when she does, I won’t have her wondering why I had and kept other children, but not her. I can’t have her think that somehow I loved them more.”

I’d set Amanda’s journal out on the table earlier. I picked it up and handed it to him.

“Your bear trap,” he said as he took it.

I nodded. “I wrote it for her. I’ve never shown it to anyone else, but I’d like you to read it. I’ve filled almost all the pages. The timing seems apt. She’ll be graduating soon. So, I’ll finish the book and tuck it away with everything else I have for her, and I’ll wait. I’d like to have you waiting with me.”

Ned sat up, putting a bit of distance between us. Seconds passed. He held the journal and simply looked at me. It felt as if I was an open book and he could peruse me at will.

Finally he gave a slight nod, as if he had found whatever he’d been looking for.

“Pip, I’ve always known you were strong and that you had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met, but I didn’t imagine the depths of that strength or the size of your heart.”

“I don’t think I’m strong, but I guess I was strong enough,” I said. Yes. I’d been strong enough to do what was right.

“At sixteen you had the strength to do what was right for Amanda, not for yourself. It’s another reason why I love you. As for marriage—”

“I want to marry you,” I told him again. I did. More than anything I’d ever wanted. “But I have to be clear on the issue of children. I need you to understand that I won’t have any more.”

“Given the circumstances, I think Amanda would realize that you gave her to parents who could raise her because you loved her.”

“But what if she doesn’t? What if she comes to find me and finds I have a houseful of children to love? What if I can’t make her understand? I can’t take that chance.”

“Pip—” he said.

Just my name. I could hear the pain in his voice and knew that the idea of not having children hurt him. He’d be a great father. He’d be the kind of dad who’d be there for his kids. He’d go to their school activities, read them bedtime stories. He’d make them a priority.

He deserved to have a big family.

A family I couldn’t—maybe wouldn’t—give him. “Ned, I—”

He held the journal in his hand.

“I’ll understand if you want to back out,” I said. “You want kids and I see—”

He snorted and shook his head. “No, you don’t see anything if you can’t see that I’d rather have you than any yet-to-be-conceived children.” He leaned down and kissed me. “I love you, Pip. And you love me. I know that. And I know you in a way most men will never know the women they love.”

I shook my head.

“I have read every book you’ve ever written. I’ll read Amanda’s journal. But now that I know about her, I realize every book you’ve written has been for her. I can see her—and I can see your love for her—in every page. I know you, Pip. And I love you enough to wait for you to figure things out.”

“Don’t go into this thinking I’ll change my mind on the having children issue,” I warned him. “I’m being honest when I say I won’t. I live in hope that someday Amanda will come find me. I’ve put my name on the adoption registries, so it shouldn’t be too hard for her to find me. I need to know I made the right decision. That she was happy. And I need her to understand why I made that decision. I won’t have her hurt by because I’ve had other children and kept them.”

“I can’t imagine that’s how she’d feel,” he said.

“I make my living imagining. And I’ve played that scene over and over again in my mind. Maybe you’re right and she would be thrilled to have siblings. I know that’s a possibility.”

“But maybe I’m wrong?” he asked gently.

I nodded. “I can’t take that chance. I want to say yes to your proposal, but I need to be sure that you understand.”

“Like I said, I understand you better than you understand yourself. I get it. Right now, though, I need some sleep.”