When Heather takes the check, her eyes widen. ‘Five thousand dollars…’
Maybe it’s too much, but it will make me feel better, and hopefully it will make her feel better too. ‘For whatever you need,’ I say firmly. ‘Treat yourself.’
‘Grace…’ Heather looks at me, and for a second she almost looks angry. I feel guilty, as if I’m trying to buy her off, but that isn’t what this is about. At least, I don’t think it is. Then Heather nods and presses her lips together. ‘Thank you,’ she says, and we leave it at that.
I make my excuses a little while later. Heather has her three girls line up and say goodbye to me; Emma whispers it, Amy just scowls, and Lucy picks her nose. I tell them all how great it was to meet them, and Kevin says goodbye from his chair.
Heather walks me out to my car. ‘I’m sorry about Kev,’ she says in a low voice. ‘I know he seems grumpy, but it’s just he’s so tired in the evenings. His back really hurts him.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Completely understandable. I’m sorry about his back.’
‘I just wanted you to know us,’ she continues in a halting voice. ‘And for us to know you. Especially the girls. I… I want them to know who their sister is going to. So they have an image in their head, you know, later…’
‘Of course.’ I feel a lump forming in my throat as I picture it. Will they remember this baby, memorialize her as if she’s died? It feels so sad, and yet it’s hopeful for me. ‘That’s a good idea. It makes a lot of sense.’
‘People around here think it’s weird, that I’m giving this one away.’ Heather rests a hand lightly on top of her bump. ‘And I guess it is weird. Most people don’t do this kind of thing, do they?’ She glances at me uncertainly. ‘They make it work somehow, you know?’
I have no idea what to say. The last thing I want is for Heather to figure out a way to make it work, and yet… if I were in her position… I swallow hard. ‘Do you think you could make it work, Heather?’ I ask, each word tenuous, painful.
She jerks a little, startled, and we are both silent, waiting for her answer. ‘I doubt myself,’ she admits in a low voice, not looking at me. ‘I think I’m chickening out somehow, or that I’m not strong enough.’
‘Heather, you’re very strong. The strongest person I know, in fact.’ And I realize I mean it. ‘Look,’ I blurt, my heart racing and my palms slick, hardly able to believe what I’m about to say. ‘If you think there’s a way this could work for you guys, to… to keep it – her – then you should make that happen. I don’t want you to live with that kind of regret.’
She turns toward me, her eyes wide. ‘Do you mean that?’
No, no, a thousand times no. I struggle not to scream the words. But much better now than later, right? No matter how much it hurts. And maybe Heather needs this from me. Maybe I need to be the kind of person who would say it. Mean it. ‘Yes,’ I say as steadily as I can. ‘I do. If you think there is a way you can keep this baby, then I think you should. If you want to, I mean. If you…’ I can’t finish.
Heather is silent for another long moment. A car horn sounds in the distance, and a dog barks. Then she lets out a long, shuddery sigh.
‘Grace, I appreciate you saying that. So much. More, I think, than you could know… but I can’t. I know I can’t, deep down. Not with… everything the way it is.’ She sighs again, the sound coming from deep within her, and then she straightens, shooting me a quick, tremulous smile. ‘This baby belongs to you. I know that. I think you know that. At least, I hope you do.’
My heart leaps at her words and relief rushes through me, making me feel weak, my limbs watery. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘I will take such good care of this little girl.’ I hear the throb of emotion in my voice; feel the force of it in my chest. ‘I already love her so much.’ I’ve never meant anything more.
Tears sparkle in Heather’s eyes and she blinks them back. ‘I know you do.’ She takes a quick breath, ‘Do you want to feel her kick?’
‘You mean… now? Is she kicking now?’
Wordlessly, Heather reaches for my hand and places it on her bump, which is harder and tighter than I expected, like she’s got a basketball stuck under her shirt. We stand like that for a moment, my hand on her belly, her hand on top of mine, and then I feel it: a kick, surprisingly hard, right into my palm, like a promise. I laugh out loud, and Heather does too, although the sound is shaky.
‘Amazing,’ I say, and we stand there for another few moments, our hands on top of one another, forever connected by the tiny, persistent kick of the baby that binds us together.
Eleven
HEATHER
Five thousand dollars. After Grace leaves I sit on the toilet – the only place I can get an
y privacy – and stare at that check. Part of me wants to rip it up, which is crazy. I feel angry, which doesn’t make any sense, because Grace has been so generous. But it’s not about her generosity, which is so easy for her. It’s about me taking this money. It feels like I just sold my baby, like there’s a big, glowing dollar sign above my bump. Tears crowd my eyes and I press the heels of my hands to the sockets, willing them back.
Tonight was harder than I expected. Things have been going pretty well. Kev finally got a job, a favor from a friend, even if it’s only ten hours a week and he’s paid on commission, which ends up being hardly anything at all. Still, he’s going out, bringing something in, and that’s important for him as well as for me. We’ve turned a corner that we hadn’t even had in our sight for a long time.
Things had started to seem better with my parents and Stacy too, the whole neighborhood. People still stepped around us but it didn’t feel so hostile. A few moms at the school have asked how I’m feeling, even if they don’t always look me in the eye, or at my bump. Stacy has been a rock, bringing over meals, arranging babysitting so I can get out. One afternoon she brought over a bag of pregnancy stuff she’d held onto – disposable underwear, maternity pads, the kind of stuff I’ll still need even without a baby.
I got a little teary as I looked at it all and she didn’t say anything, just gave me a hug. I burrowed into her for a few seconds, and after that I was okay. I’ve been okay. So why do I feel so shaky now?
If you think there’s a way this could work for you guys…
But there isn’t. I know there isn’t. And I’m angry that she gave me an out, because I can’t take it and that makes me feel guiltier than ever. I should have taken it. I should have been able to.