Monday, Monday: A Novel (14 page)

Her mother paused before answering. “That might have been part of it. I don’t know.” She seemed to think better of having said that. “But it’s not any use at this point to go blaming yourself.”

“If he lost because of me, how could I not blame myself? Do you think it was?”

Later, her parents came to Beeville and took her out for a hamburger. Over milk shakes, her father told her he had taken a desk job with the highway department. “I actually kind of like it. I get to put my feet up.”

“He’s looking on the bright side,” her mother told her.

“It’s my fault you lost, isn’t it,” Shelly finally said.

“You mean, because of gossip? Not a chance.” He waved his hand at a fly that was buzzing around their milk shakes. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was because I caught Burt Kemper’s straight-A son urinating on Coach Allen’s tires. His dad didn’t appreciate that I gave him a ride home in the patrol car.”

Shelly laughed.

“I knew the minute that man answered the door and saw me with his son that I had just lost that car. And I can’t say I have any big regrets about it.”

She wasn’t reassured, but she didn’t want to press the point in front of her mother, who would only undermine the peace of mind her father was trying to give her.

“I guess you’ve talked with Jack, or Delia, again?” She was reluctant to bring up this painful subject but wanted to know it was settled.

“I’ve had several conversations with Jack, and everything is taken care of, honey. There’s nothing you need to do. You’ll just have to sign the papers after the baby is born. Jack wants to know if you’d like to talk with Delia beforehand.”

“No.” She didn’t see any reason to. She was going to sign the papers, and Jack and Delia would be good parents, and the baby would be better off. “It’s not like I can tell them how to raise the baby. We could give each other well-wishes, I guess. But that wouldn’t change anything. So … are they just going to come and get the baby after I have it?”

“They’ll come with their attorney to the hospital.”

“You mean—right away? I’ll have the baby, and they’ll show up?”

“You’ll have a few days in the hospital to see the baby there, if you want that.”

“I do want that.”

“Honey? You’re doing the right thing. You’re giving the child a home with nice people, and a good chance in life.” He patted her hand. “I’m proud of you. And you’ll get past this, and lead a good life.”

Sometimes, at Aileen’s house, Shelly dreamed of Elaine. In the beginning she always dreamed about Wyatt, but then one day she started dreaming about Elaine instead. In the dreams, Elaine forgave her. She put her slender arms around her.

Often Shelly stood on the bed in front of the mirror that hung over the dresser, so she could see her stomach and watch the baby kick. One day Aileen found her there with her shirt pulled up. She had her hands on her belly. It was as smooth as a bowling ball.

“If you do that, you’ll get attached to that baby.”

“I love this baby. I love it so much, Aileen.”

Aileen took her to see the doctor who would deliver the baby. He had gray hair and a small wrinkled face, and he made it clear he disapproved of Shelly for being pregnant. He examined her, then pulled the sheet down over her and told her she could sit up.

“All normal,” he said without looking her in the eye. “No obvious problems.”

“How will it happen?” she asked him.

“You’re talking about the delivery?”

“When they take the baby. How will that happen?”

“You’ll be able to see the baby, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“For how long?”

“You’ll be in the hospital four or five days, and so will the child.”

“So I can hold the baby during that time?”

“If that’s what you choose to do.”

“How many babies have you delivered that were adopted?”

“Probably a half a dozen.”

“And the adoptions turned out all right?”

“As far as I know.”

“Did the mothers who had the babies ever get over it?”

He hesitated, and then consulted her file. “Is Polly Miller your real name?”

“My real name’s Shelly Maddox.”

“Some of them did, and some didn’t.”

On the way home, Shelly asked Aileen to drop her off on the courthouse square, in front of the library. She combed the shelves for a book on adoption but couldn’t find one. She looked for “Adoption” in the encyclopedia but there wasn’t an entry. The librarian asked her what she was searching for, and she said she was only browsing. She walked to Aileen’s house while the sun sank in the wintry sky, and they sat at Aileen’s kitchen table and tried to think of famous people adopted as infants. “Moses,” Aileen said.

Shelly frowned at her. “It’s not like his mom had a choice in the matter.” She thought for a minute. “Edward Albee.”

“Who’s that?” Aileen asked.

“We studied his life in English. He wrote
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
”

“I never read that.”

“It’s a play.”

“I never saw it.” Aileen sipped her Tab. “Edgar Allan Poe was adopted.”

“Thanks a lot, Aileen. He didn’t exactly turn out right.”

“Well yes he did.”

“How do you know about him, anyway?”

“You think I never went to school?”

“I didn’t think they’d teach you that in Cotulla.”

“Ninth grade,” Aileen said. “Mrs. Shirley Bergham. She was a expert on Poe.” She chewed at her bottom lip. Her short hair was held at her temples with bobby pins. “And you have to look at the bright side. People adopting kids are decent people. George Burns and Gracie Allen, for instance. And Bob Hope.”

“All comedians,” Shelly said thoughtfully.

“Those kids must have a good time,” Aileen said. “Lots to laugh at.”

Shelly rolled her eyes.

“And Helen Hayes,” Aileen added.

“I’m talking about the kids, and how they did,” Shelly said.

“Yes you are,” Aileen said. “But I think you’re thinking about the mommas who gave ’em up.”

16

GOING OVER

Shelly’s water broke in Aileen’s kitchen while she was pressing oranges onto a squeezer. She was eight and a half months pregnant and didn’t know what had happened. “That’s your water,” Aileen said while Shelly stood in the puddle. “You’re going to have the baby.” She drove her to the hospital and checked her in under the name Polly Miller. Two nurses came and gave her a gown and helped her get into bed. They told her to roll over, and gave her an enema, and she didn’t know what they were doing. They shaved her pubic hair. The doctor came in to examine her. She labored, crying with pain. “She’s going over,” the nurses said.

“Please,” Shelly kept begging, though she didn’t know what she was begging for. She screamed for Aileen until Aileen was admitted into the room. Finally the nurses gave her an ether mask and she woke up vomiting over a bowl. “Where’s my baby?”

A nurse came in with the baby wrapped in a blanket. “You take your time,” Aileen told Shelly. “This is your time. You take it.” They left her alone with the bundle.

Shelly unwrapped the baby and saw that it was a girl. She looked at every inch of her and stroked her hair. She talked to her, and smelled her, and sang “Swanee River” to her, the song that her grandmother had sung to her. The baby had red hair, like Shelly’s mother, and a round pink face. She had blue eyes. She was quiet, and stared at Shelly’s face.

Shelly’s heart was filled with so much love and so much pain that she couldn’t tell one from the other. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change her mind and keep the baby. She could get out of bed and take the baby with her and find a ride to somewhere. Maybe someone would take them in. “Oh, sweet girl,” she said. “What is your name?” She promised the child that she would protect her and take care of her. But even while she made the promise, she knew it wasn’t true.

The baby cried, and Shelly soothed her until she fell asleep, and then held her a long time, watching the little fluttering veins in her throat and stroking her delicate ears and her warm cheeks. “I wish your daddy was here,” she whispered.

She loved the moments, but hated the hours for passing so quickly. She cried often and couldn’t control her emotions. The breast that was whole began to swell and ache, and the other one strained at its scars. Shelly was given ice packs to place between her legs and on her breasts. She slept, and then woke, and asked for the baby. The baby was always brought, but then she was always taken away. Shelly often followed the nurse so she could look at the baby through the window. She saw how tiny she was, and how her little arms flailed in the air, and how her fists clenched. How silent her cries were through the glass.

She wanted the child in her arms all the time, but the nurses wouldn’t allow this. One of them let her hold the baby at feeding times and give her the bottle. Aileen said to Shelly, “That is a bad idea.”

“I love her so much already,” Shelly told her.

Once, she put the baby against her breast and let her nuzzle around. But the nurse came in and took her away and sent Shelly off down the hall for her sitz bath.

“You’ll get through this,” Aileen told her. “You’re strong, strong, strong. Look what you’ve already went through. I shake my head sometimes.”

“What will I do?’ Shelly cried.

“Be in the Peace Corps, like you planned. Go around the world.”

Shelly couldn’t think about being so far from the child. She believed the Peace Corps was the only hope for her future, the only way to make something good of her life, but her mind would no longer summon the pictures.

Finally a lawyer came. He asked her if she wanted to see Jack and Delia before she signed the papers, but she didn’t. She hoped that Delia would be a loving mother, but she didn’t want to picture her with the baby. He said they were in the lobby, and Shelly said, “I don’t care.” She signed the papers and gave them back to the lawyer. When he started to speak, she said, “If you say anything I’ll change my mind.” So he took the papers and left.

The nurse who had been the nicest brought the baby so Shelly could tell her goodbye. Shelly had planned to sing to the baby and tell her stories, and wish her a good life, but instead she cried so hard that she couldn’t talk and she couldn’t sing. She felt as if she would choke, as if she couldn’t get air. The baby began to cry too, so the nurse lifted her out of Shelly’s arms with a quick, sad look into Shelly’s eyes and carried her away. Shelly thought she was coming back, and was surprised to see her mother walk into the room.

“Did you see the baby?” Shelly cried, getting out of bed.

“No, I didn’t—”

“Are they bringing her back? Mom? Where is she?”

“I think she’s leaving, sweetie. I think they’re taking her home.”

Shelly ran from the room and down the hall to the lobby, yelling, “Where’s my baby?” People turned to look at her; patients came to their doors. Nurses stopped in the hall. Shelly could feel that her breast was leaking, her gown had come untied. Aileen was walking in her direction, but Shelly ran past her. Her father stood in the lobby, wearing a blue jacket. “Shelly, honey,” he said, his arm outstretched for her, but she avoided him and ran outside in search of Jack and Delia. The cold wind stung her painful breasts. Milk spotted her gown. The landscape all around was flat and colorless, the parking lot nearly empty. Her father had followed her. He pleaded with her to listen to him, but she ran back into the lobby and saw Jack and the lawyer coming out of an office. Behind them, a woman she knew must be Delia was holding the baby.

The lobby seemed to empty itself of everyone but Delia with the baby. The voice of Shelly’s mother had trailed off somewhere, leaving only a strange silence, and Delia, who wore a green dress and held the child. Delia’s eyes were sincere as she looked at Shelly. Her face was solemn, her skin brown and smooth.

And what was Shelly to do now? She knew she had no claim. She had leaking breasts and a pounding heart and sorrow so heavy she feared she would fall to her knees. She sobbed, her hands at her face. Her gown had fallen down over her shoulder. And Delia was holding her baby. There was an outward calm in the lobby, an eerie stillness, and unbearable inward pain.

Then Delia did something beautiful and serene and unexpected. She walked over to Shelly and put her arms around her, so that both of them together were holding the child. And Shelly leaned against Delia and cried into her hair, pressed her face into her shoulder and cried against the green dress.

Her father draped his jacket over her shoulders. Her mother was at her side and smelled of the Prell shampoo she always used. Aileen’s thin hands had taken hold of her elbow. Jack stood behind Delia. Shelly saw his acne scars, his mangled ear. His short hair in a crew cut. The baby was making fretful noises, her legs drawn up under the blanket. “Come, my dear,” Aileen said to Shelly. “And don’t you look back.”

In the room, Aileen helped Shelly to dress. Her mother had brought her a new coat, and something about it tore at Shelly. She hated the red color and the way the coat closed tightly around her body as if it owned her. Her mother told her to button it because of the wind. They walked her out to the station wagon, where her belongings from Aileen’s house were already in the back. Shelly got in, and Aileen kissed her goodbye. Shelly thought of the little bundle—the little pink bundle with its warm breath and blue eyes and tiny, tiny fingers.

Her father turned the station wagon out of the parking lot and started for the highway, and Shelly thought of slinging the door open. She wanted to say she had changed her mind. She put her hand on the latch and cupped her fingers around it. But she didn’t open her mouth, and didn’t open the door. She sat there in her red coat, and felt what she had felt that day on the South Mall, as if the blood was pouring out of her and she was back in the same place and had to lie still and play dead. But this time there was no one to rescue her, no one to hold her. Wyatt was far away and didn’t know where she was or what she had just done.

“What Delia did was very nice,” her mother said when they had reached the highway.