The Life Intended (18 page)

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then he takes my hand in his and traces the lifeline on my palm. “Do you know what today is?” he whispers, and I’m aware that the edges of my vision are growing ragged, and the dreamy film is once again descending over the room. “Patrick?” I say, but I can’t hear my own voice anymore.

“Today’s the day I proposed to you, thirteen years ago,” he says, but his voice is already wrapped in a rushing sound that reminds me of the ocean sucking the waves back out to sea. “And when you said yes,” he continues, “it made me the happiest man in the world.”

Something inside of me bursts open. “Can’t I stay this time?” I ask God, looking up toward heaven. “Please?”

“What?” Patrick replies, his voice far away and confused.

And then he’s gone, his voice merely an echo in the darkness. “I love you!” I cry out, but the sound vanishes into the abyss.

Sixteen

“W
hat’d you say, babe?”

Dan’s sleep-drenched voice cuts into the haze and pulls me to the surface. I gasp and blink into the darkness. I know I’m back in my reality. I hate that my stomach twists with disappointment when I roll over and see Dan beside me instead of Patrick.

“Nothing,” I mumble, forcing myself to take a breath and focus. “Just a dream. Or something. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiles and pulls me toward him. “Well, I love you too, babe.” I realize that my last words to Patrick must have come out of my mouth, and Dan thinks they were directed at him.

I force a smile but can’t seem to make myself say the words back. Each time I get a glimpse of a life that could have been with Patrick, I wake up seeing Dan a little more clearly.

But is that really true? Is it clarity that’s flooding in, or useless nostalgia for a past I can’t bring back? Because whatever the visits with Patrick and Hannah are, they’re not real. Patrick is gone. And Dan is right here. I feel completely disoriented, and it occurs to me that maybe I’ve been standing in place with my
eyes closed for so long that I have no idea where I’m supposed to be anymore.

“Kate?” Dan’s voice is a question, and as I refocus on his face, I see longing there. He reaches out to stroke my cheek, gently, and then his hand travels down the curve of my collarbone, tracing my clavicle to my breastbone, on to the swell of my breast. “Kate,” he whispers, and this time, it’s not a question, but an answer. I close my eyes and try to wipe my mind clean as his lips meet mine, as he gently shifts the weight of his body on top of me. “Kate,” he says once more, but his voice is low and pleading now, and it’s what finally unleashes me from reality.

I don’t respond, because I fear I’ll say Patrick’s name, but I let my body take over, doing my best to turn off my whirling mind.
Dan,
I say to myself, trying to root myself to the moment.
Dan. Dan is here. He’s a good man. He loves you. He wants you.

And, as it turns out, I want him too. My body learned how to replace the memories long ago, and so I let it do just that. I get swept away in the physical tide, and I only slip up once, when my brain comes crashing in, and I hear myself murmur, “I can’t,” just as Dan slides inside me.

“You can’t what?” he asks, pausing and looking at me with concern.

I’m so startled that I’ve said the words aloud that I don’t answer for a moment. But when I do, all that comes out is, “Nothing.”

He looks unconvinced, but after a moment, he begins moving again, and I concentrate on the motion and try to forget about everything else.

T
he day turns out to be much cooler than the Weather Channel had predicted, and as we turn the news on that morning, the
local anchor is talking about the unexpected cold front. I grab a cardigan on the way out the door and try to shake off the questions in my head.

It’s not until later that day, after Dan and I have gone to brunch with his friends Jon and Christine, and after we’ve seen a movie with Gina and Wayne, that I finally remember what happened to Joan in my dream.

I gasp aloud, startling Dan, Gina, and Wayne on the way out of the theater.

“What is it, baby?” Dan asks with concern.

“I was just—I was thinking about Joan and wondering how she is,” I say feebly.

“What made you think of Joan, Kate?” Dan asks carefully, in the kind of voice you’d use with a young child who’s just said something outrageous.

I glance at Gina, who’s looking at me oddly, then back to Dan. “The mother in the movie reminded me of her,” I lie.

Dan nods and seems to accept this, and soon, he’s involved in a long conversation with Wayne about the Mets.

“You okay?” Gina whispers, squeezing my hand.

“Sure,” I say, but she doesn’t look convinced.

“Anyone up for dinner?” Dan asks, saving me from any additional questions. Wayne says he and Gina have to get home because their nanny has dinner plans of her own tonight, so we say good-bye and Dan hails a cab to take us to Little Italy, which has always been my favorite place in the city for comfort food.

We get a spot at one of Puglia’s long tables, and after the waiter has taken our order and brought us a carafe of red wine, I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. It’s empty, so I quickly pull out my phone and dial Joan’s number. I feel a bubble of worry when her answering machine picks up. I hang up and dial her cell, but there’s no answer there, either, so I leave a message asking her to
call me back as soon as possible. Knowing I’ve probably crossed the bridge to annoying now, I call her home phone again and leave the same message, adding that I have something important I need to ask her.

After I shove my phone back into my purse, I quickly splash some water on my face to brace myself, then I touch up my lipstick. I take a deep breath, nod at myself in the mirror, and head back out to Dan.

An order of garlic bread has arrived by the time I get back, and when I sit down, Dan hands me the glass of wine he’s already poured. “To us, and to the future,” he says.

I raise my glass and murmur, “To us.”

“So,” Dan begins a moment later, after he’s eaten a piece of bread, “are you looking forward to seeing your mom this week?”

I blink a few times, embarrassed that I’d almost forgotten about her visit. “Of course,” I say. I attempt a smile and add, “Although we both know she’s just escaping the hundred-degree heat in Florida.” My father died seven years ago, and after that, my mother decided to reinvent herself, moving south to a retirement community about twenty-five miles from Disney World. She goes to yoga classes three times a week, runs 5Ks, and swears she’s in the best shape of her life. She’s also had a steady string of boyfriends, which I found sort of amusing until she sat me down three summers ago and told me that if she could get back on the horse, so to speak, so should I. That was the day I knew she had turned the corner from worrying about me to simply pitying me. “I’m going to take the morning off on Thursday to go get her from the airport,” I add.

Dan smiles. “All those years of living here, and she’s still not comfortable getting to and from JFK on her own.”

I roll my eyes. “I think she just likes the attention.”

“Well, you’re a good daughter,” Dan says, his voice softening. “And a good person, Kate. I’m one lucky guy.”

“I’m lucky too,” I murmur.

“About the fight we had last night,” he says, “I just wanted to say sorry. I don’t think I listened to you very well. I’m not saying my mind’s closed about kids, okay? I just need some time to process this.”

I feel a small surge of hope. “Okay.”

“Are we all right? You and me?”

It takes me a minute to answer. “I don’t know. But I want us to be.”

Over the next hour and a half, we stuff ourselves with gnocchi Bolognese and linguini with white clam sauce, followed by tiramisu and cannoli. We finish our carafe of red, and Dan orders a pair of chocolate martinis to go with our dessert.

“Are we celebrating something this evening?” the waiter asks when he arrives with our drinks.

Dan shrugs, his smile loosened by the alcohol. “Just a beautiful night in a beautiful city with my beautiful girl,” he says.

We’re laughing and reminiscing about the trip we took last year to Italy by the time our check comes, and as we walk up Mulberry Street toward Canal to grab a cab after dinner, Dan carries our leftovers, holds my hand, and continues to tell me an elaborate, funny story about a coworker’s European trip gone terribly wrong.

It’s not until we’re in a cab headed home and the laughter has died down that the shame moves in. There’s nothing wrong with Dan. He’s the same man he’s always been. It’s just that I can’t keep living two versions of the same life forever. And the truth is, this isn’t the version I’d choose.

O
n the night before my mother arrives, I head to St. Paula’s for my third sign language class with Andrew. I’m looking forward to it more than I expected, and I’m oddly proud of the fact that
I’ve spent my spare time in the last few days looking up signs I wanted to know. I’ve learned to say,
Good job,
Now try this, piano, keyboard, guitar, maracas, sing, notes,
and
music,
and I’ve grown eager to work with the kids again. I’m hoping to talk to Andrew after class about scheduling another visit with Molly and Riajah as well as a first visit with the other girl he mentioned.

I’m sitting in my folding chair in the church basement, waiting for Andrew to arrive, when Vivian bustles in and sits down next to me. I look up from the file I’m reviewing on a new client named Simon and smile at her.

“Do you have the time?” she asks, pointing to her wrist.

I check my watch and tell her it’s two minutes to seven, and she whoops loudly.

“I can’t believe I’ve actually made it before class started for once!” she crows, and for the first time, I realize her accent is British. “Andrew isn’t here yet, is he?”

“Not yet.”

“Double score!” she cries, pumping her fist in the air. “Usually, I’m that complete slacker student who bounds in late and interrupts the teacher at work. You know, like last time. And the time before. But huzzah! An on-time arrival! Surely the world is spinning crookedly on its axis as we speak.”

I laugh. “Have you taken many classes like this?”

“Oh, my dear, I take them all the time!” she says as she unzips the raincoat she’s inexplicably wearing and wriggles out of it. “The last class I took was on origami. Before that, it was computer programming. I’m sixty-eight years young, and you want to know my secret? If you’re continuously learning, you never get old.”

“Well, that’s a good philosophy,” I say as she folds her raincoat over the back of her chair. “What made you decide to take an ASL course?”

“I’ve already taken seventeen other language courses, including
British sign language, which is completely different,” she says with a shrug. “I like to know a little bit of everything. ASL has been on my list for a while, but I just hadn’t found a class that appealed to me. Then I heard about this one from a friend. So what about you?” she continues, barely pausing for breath. “What brings you here? Why are you taking this class? Who are you learning for?”

“My daughter,” I say, then I clap my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just admitted aloud to taking this class for the benefit of a child who doesn’t exist.

“Oh, how lovely,” Vivian says, but she looks confused. “Now, help me to understand this. Why now? Did your daughter just go deaf?”

I look at my lap. “No. I just found her recently,” I mumble.

“Found her?”

I realize I’m sounding crazier by the second, so I quickly amend that to the most logical explanation I can think of. “Adopted her, I mean. I just adopted her recently.”

“Oh my!” Vivian says, her hands flying to her cheeks as she beams at me. “Kate, that’s just lovely!”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks,” I mumble. I’ve now dug myself even deeper into the crazy hole.

“You know, I truly believe adoption is one of the greatest unheralded blessings in the world,” she continues, her expression turning earnest. “Think how beautiful it is to give a child a home and to become a family because you choose to! Maybe that’s the best way to make a family, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” I say weakly.

“So,” she says, clapping her hands. “Tell me about this daughter of yours. What’s her name?”

“Um,” I begin, but fortunately, I’m saved from answering when Andrew hurries through the door to the basement, his arms full of books and paperwork.

“Sorry I’m a little late, guys!” he says, dumping everything on the table at the front of the makeshift classroom.

There’s a mumbled chorus of forgiveness, then Andrew asks if any of us have been practicing signing on our own.

“Raise your hand if you’ve been working on ASL signs independently, outside of class,” he says. Amy’s hand shoots up as Vivian and I exchange amused glances and raise our hands too.

“Terrific,” Andrew says. “Amy, I saw your hand first. Did you learn something new that you’d like to share with the rest of us?” When she nods, Andrew says, “Do you want to show us?”

I’m sitting behind Amy today, so I can’t see exactly what she’s doing with her hands, but I’m close enough that I notice her ears turning red. I lean forward to see what she’s signing, and I can feel my eyebrows rising when I catch the words
meal—
all five fingers pinched together, moving twice toward the mouth—and
with me
.

Andrew looks confused for a minute, but then his face brightens. “Amy, that’s wonderful. You’ve learned how to say,
Do you want to have a meal with me?
”

Amy’s face flames. “Right.”

Andrew either completely misses the point or chooses to ignore the question, which is almost certainly directed his way, because he just grins and says, “You know, that’s a wonderful and extremely useful phrase to have learned. You put me to shame that I didn’t think to teach it to the class myself. You guys, let’s go ahead and learn the phrase together. Amy, can you show it to us again? Here, stand up and face everyone.”