A New Leash on Life Read online

  I couldn’t call her. She despised me. I couldn’t explain the real reason I had disappeared. I’d have to lie more. I wouldn’t pile on more lies. I would wait.

  I figured, after I placed my baby in the loving arms of adoring adoptive parents I could ease back into her life with love as my tool. I’d sweep the guilt away and eventually get past the lies I dealt her. Of course, at holidays I could just picture circumventing the truth, hiding my secret under cinnamon, Christmas carols, and Yuletide gifts, smiling for the sake of covering up the biggest lie I’d ever tell.

  About the close of my second trimester, I decided to focus on having this baby and finding the perfect parents. We met with some beautiful people with tragic stories of how they couldn’t have children because of a childhood disease or injury, and we met some who already had children and wanted to adopt a baby in need.

  My baby was a baby in need. This phrase ran through my head night after night. My choice would change a couple’s life and place them on a trajectory far different than the one they traveled at that point. My baby harnessed that power and she hadn’t even been born, yet. Imagine the possibilities when she actually learned to breathe the air, focus her eyes, wriggle her toes? Pride shot through me, hitching a ride on my nerves and splashing me with all sorts of mommy jubilee. Whenever this happened, I’d further punish myself with countless hours in a baby boutique, perusing over baby bottles, pastel diaper bags, soft blankets decorated with sheep and ducks, and baby carriages that looked comfortable enough to sleep in myself. I’d leave gooey and confused.

  Aunt Marie came to every counseling meeting with me and after each session, she’d talk me through my fears and apprehensions of the whole adoption process, helping me to decide if I wanted an open or closed adoption. She eventually helped me select a nice couple of Hispanic descent to be the adoptive parents. We talked endlessly over milkshakes about what life would be like for my baby growing up in a house with two capable parents, one a lawyer, one a doctor. They planned to hire a nanny and teach the baby Spanish and Mandarin before the age of five when the ability to learn new languages started to fall off, as they explained to me in hushed, soothing voices. The child would go to the same private school they both attended, where they both met. He or she—the sex didn’t matter, they said—would attend summer enrichment camps and participate in school music and sports, whichever the child preferred. I imagined my baby growing into a beautiful, bright, well-respected young adult, surrounded by grand pianos, recitals, and fine people who could carry on conversations with others around the globe, accentuating dialects with an expert tongue. Who knew, maybe my baby would grow up to be president of the United States, or a world class tennis star, or the creator of the next big technological device capable of changing the world as we all knew it. Maybe, just maybe, my baby would invent a transportation device that would allow us to beam ourselves from China to The Keys faster than we could blink.

  Aside from all of these wonderful benefits my baby would acquire, I couldn’t help but worry if the child would be loved enough. Would she sit and worry about how others viewed her? Would she stumble over insecurities of not being loved enough because her mommy shipped her off to strangers? Would she recognize me one day, twenty years or so into the future, when we reunited with the help of a good lawyer? Would she hate me for sending her off into the arms of people who wanted a prize baby they could show off to their rich friends?

  When that sunny Monday morning of my baby’s birthday arrived and I stood in a puddle of my fluids, my aunt shuffled me to the car. She drove like a mad woman, weaving around buses, cars, pedestrians to get me to the hospital. She stood by my side, covering my hand with hers, blanketing my forehead in wet towels, urging me to push and breathe. Five hours later, when I pushed my baby out into the world into the arms of a waiting doctor, I cried. I already missed her.

  I feared for her life without me.

  I wailed when the doctor handed her to me all slick and innocent. I kissed her slippery face and smoothed her dark hair, loving her before the nagging moment when the joy of this precious baby would be sucked from my life forever. My aunt wept along with me, stroking my hair and cradling me as I stared into those unfocused eyes and fell in love with my baby girl. Aunt Marie and I cradled her tiny fingers. She wriggled. Our souls connected.

  I prayed that God would help ease the blow for the couple waiting on their new baby because no way in hell was I handing her over to anyone.

  My life corkscrewed out in front of me, going off in a tangent far removed from the life I envisioned I’d be living with Olivia one day. I kept telling myself as the weeks turned into months and then finally into a year when my daughter, Ayla, blew out her first birthday candle, that one day I’d get back to her and confess the whole messed up story. I’d tell her everything because time healed all wounds, even ones created out of dark secrets.

  I’d introduce my baby to her father and he’d rescind on his idea that aborting her would’ve been the best choice for us. He would take one look at his beautiful girl and hug her and cry for time wasted. He’d blame me and forget he ever told me to abort her. He’d fault me for keeping such a gift from him that whole time.

  I’d take the blow for Ayla.

  As the years passed, I could only assume that Olivia probably hated me for not attempting to contact her. I prayed that she didn’t view me as a spoiled brat starring in off-Broadway plays and allowing money and fame to consume my every waking moment. I hoped that she didn’t envision my life to be one filled with caviar, fine champagne, a dazzling beauty nestled into the crook of my arm, attending one lavish party after another, ending the day spread eagle in a pile of my money, laughing, giddy with selfish pride over my artistic luck.

  How surprised she’d be to see me changing shitty diapers and playing with My Little Pony.

  My sacrifice.

  When Facebook arrived, I signed up and waited patiently for Olivia to catch on and sign up, too. When she did, I pored over her profile day after day, studying pictures of her working with a variety of dogs, cats, horses, even turtles. Her bio stated she attended college and was studying to become a vet. One day, she’d like to open a shelter, “one that didn’t kill animals.” I could picture her pounding the keys on that note.

  Ayla loved animals, too. She and I rescued several cats from our local shelter, giving Oony Gato even more of an air of authority. Ayla would giggle at them, pointing, screaming, and blowing bubbles as they walked past her.

  When Ayla turned five, she managed to somehow get all the cats to sleep together in her bed. They purred to her, the cat whisperer. One night, when I tucked her into bed, she grabbed Marmalade, an orange Tabby cat, and placed her on her back, paws up in the air as if dangling. Over her loud purring, Ayla asked me the question I’d dreaded since she first said “Da Da.” “How come I don’t have a daddy?”

  How do you tell a five-year-old that she doesn’t have a daddy because her mommy failed to face the truth? “Some kids just don’t. You have a favorite Auntie Marie instead.”

  She rolled over with Marmalade and giggled. That answer fit just fine with her.

  “Ayla asked about her daddy last night,” I said to my aunt the next afternoon while we sat in the backyard watching Ayla take Oony Gato on a walk around the fence. “I’m not sure how much longer she’ll accept my pathetic answers.”

  “The questions will only get harder.”

  I pictured a wiser, older Ayla confronting me, her terrible mother, for not blessing her with the freedom to meet her father and to decide for herself whether she wanted this man in her life or not.

  Ayla galloped alongside Oony, giggling at the grass that tickled her calves.

  ~ ~

  I looked up Ayla’s father on Facebook. His arm caressed the shoulder of a pretty brunette with a cropped, smart hairstyle. She smiled wide at the camera and swaddled a baby in her arms. I scanned his albums, and in most every picture, he carried his baby, smiling, the super dad of the yea
r.

  I flared.

  Rage tore through me like a mad storm, kicking up all sorts of dusty anger. That could’ve been Ayla if he had owned up. He could’ve shielded the finger pointing, the upsets, by stepping up to the table and explaining that the sex meant nothing more than a release. Ayla could’ve grown up with a father who adored her as much as he adored his new baby.

  My maternal instinct kicked into high gear. So much time had passed since I’d trudged away from Olivia with my dark secrets. My collection of time supported me, comforted me, and rivaled my inhibitions. Perhaps if she could accept the truth of what really happened, all of our lives would reshape to something more joyful.

  I asked my aunt to watch Ayla and within minutes, I drove down the interstate en route to Elkwood in my beat-up Corolla with its muffler hanging on by a rope.

  I braved my fear, running towards it and drove straight to Olivia’s parents’ house.

  I pulled up in front of their white colonial with the pretty green shutters. A red pickup truck sat in the driveway. A Ford. Olivia’s favorite color and model. I hopped out of my car and charged up the front walk before I could lose my nerve.

  The time had arrived to face the facts. My daughter’s future rested on my shedding the secrets and jumping into the frigid waters of truth. Perhaps Olivia would listen with an open heart, cushioned by the years, and convince me to introduce Ayla to her father. She’d wrap her protective arms around me and tell me she understood that I was young, impressionable, and vulnerable. She’d ask me all about the past five years and sink into every detail with focus, wanting to hear everything from her birth to her first steps, to her first word, to her love of animals. We’d enjoy tea parties and lazy days out in the park flinging Frisbees and barbequing burgers. She and I would drink wine under the umbrella of a cherry blossom tree while Ayla walked Oony Gato in circles.

  I’d start with a visit and work up to the truth.

  I braved a knock on her front door. A lady wearing curlers and a flannel nightgown answered. Cinnamon wafted from the foyer. A small Dachshund stood beside her barking and wagging his tail. He sported a leather collar with spikes. “I’m not interested in what you’re selling, sweetie.”

  I scanned the foyer that used to house a bookshelf filled with classic, leather-bound novels. Nothing but an empty hall faced me now. “Does Olivia still live here?”

  She lowered her shoulders and placed her hand on my wrist. “I’m afraid not. I bought the place a month ago.”

  “They sold the house?”

  She cocked her head. “You don’t know what happened, do you?”

  My heart pounded, afraid to hear bad news. I shook my head.

  “Olivia’s parents died a few months ago. They were traveling up to New Hampshire for a family reunion, and they hit a moose head on. Olivia survived the crash with a broken finger. But, her parents didn’t have a chance.”

  Shock vacuumed the air from my lungs. This woman who answered Olivia’s door, the same door I had snuck in and out of for years, now owned the front door, the wooden staircase with the green paisley runner that I’d climbed, the bathroom I’d brushed my teeth in, and the bedroom that commemorated my early days as a liberated teenager in the arms of the one girl I loved.

  The despair whipped through me, suffocating me, strangling me. I cried, and this stranger gathered me into her arms and let me sob.

  After several gut wrenching minutes, the lady said to me, “She works part time at the Pet World right outside of town on route one if you want to see her. I’m sure she could use a friend.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled away from her arms. “Maybe I’ll stop by and see her one of these days.”

  “I know she’s working now because Tuesday is always the day I bring Pepper in to get his nails trimmed. I only trust Olivia. Everyone else is too quick and stone-faced.”

  “I’ll drop by one of these days.”

  “Give me your number in case you don’t see her there. I’ll give her the message that you stopped by.”

  “Sure. Why not?” I jotted down my number, then thanked the lady and drove off, heading back to where I belonged, back to my aunt’s and out of the way of the Clarks’ wrecked lives. If Olivia wanted to talk, I’d leave it up to her.

  I no longer trusted my gut instinct. Consequences littered my life. And so much for perfect moments.

  I drove south and before long saw the sign for the route one Pet World dancing ahead of me, beckoning me towards it. I could just pop in, say hi, and pay her my condolences.

  Pulled towards the exit ramp like a magnet, I sped ahead towards the Pet World, figuring if I didn’t stop in then, I never would.

  I parked far off to the side of the building so my getaway, if it needed to be quick, would be less humiliating. A few people with dogs walked towards the building, some stopping to let their dogs soak up the attention from others, empty-handed of their own pets.

  I applied some lip gloss, smoothed my hair and tightened up the string tie on my capris before stepping in front of the building. Then, I committed to my decision and braved the front door, waltzing in like I really belonged on Olivia’s turf.

  Shelves displaying dog biscuits in every brand imaginable lined the main aisle. Birds chirped to the left. Bright blue signs highlighting specials hung from the ceiling. Puppies, roped off in the center of the store, wagged their happy tails at their puppy class teacher. Puppies of all different sizes and breeds chased balls and ignored their masters’ commands. The store buzzed with life and happy times.

  I rounded the aquariums, and then I spotted her, looking every bit as confident, as lean, as pristine as she did years ago. An older man stole her attention, talking to her over by the dog food aisle.

  I fell numb.

  She laughed at something the man said. Her blonde ponytail still hung to the middle of her back, smooth and shiny and sun-kissed. She wore a white t-shirt with a bright blue vest and a pair of well-fitted blue jeans that hugged her slender athletic frame just as I remembered. Her face lit up as the man shook her hand and walked off with a bag of kibble.

  She smiled as she watched him walk away, and then she saw me. Her smile vanished. I huddled up by the fish tanks, clinging to my pocketbook when she locked her baby blue eyes on me, cocking her head slightly as if dazed from a hook punch.

  I gathered up my nerve and approached her with a reserved wave powered by an out-of-control nervous system. My knees turned to noodles and my throat dried up. “Hi,” I said, trying out a small smile.

  She stared at me, pursed her lips together and blinked for an eternity. She opened her mouth to speak, and sealed her lips up tight again, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just barged in here like this.”

  She sighed. Her chest rose and fell. She stared at a stuffed gorilla toy instead of me, digging her fingers into her biceps.

  “Hey,” I tugged at her sleeve.

  She glanced down at my clutched fingers, then finally scrolled up to face me, guarded. “This is a surprise.”

  I caught my breath and exhaled in a shaky stream. “I stopped by your house a few minutes ago.”

  She swallowed and blinked away.

  I moved in closer and caressed her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded, leaning in to the arm I embraced. “Thanks.”

  I rubbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Her chin quivered. She pulled in her bottom lip, squaring off against the pleasantries. “Yeah,” she whispered, closing in on herself. Her body trembled and tears sputtered down her cheeks. She scoffed at them, wiping them away with the back of her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to—”

  I pulled her into my arms and hugged her close. Her heart pounded through her t-shirt, her breathing chopped. I led her down the aisle, away from the shoppers and the chaos of the puppies in training, massaging her back, caressing her ponytail. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

  She buried her face in my shoulder and wept. “It was the hardes
t thing I’ve ever had to deal with,” she mumbled.

  “I’m sure it was,” I whispered into her ear.

  We wept together for several minutes alongside bones and rawhides.

  She pulled out of my embrace, hugging herself again, blinking away her tears. “I needed that.” Her lips formed a tiny smile. My eyes landed on the corner of her upper lip, in the same spot I used to love kissing.

  “It’s good to see you, Olivia.” I traced my finger down her bent arm. “It really is.”

  She considered my comment with a squint to her eye. “I thought if I ever saw you again I would hate you.”

  I circled her elbow with a lazy touch, hopeful that she didn’t. “And?”

  “I guess we were just really young.” She bobbed her head, taking me in. “I did hate you for a long time. You actually fueled me to do something in life I wouldn’t have done.”

  “Like?”

  She inhaled, and her chest rose again. “Skydive, snorkel, run a marathon, oh and enroll in vet school.”

  “Puts my life to shame.” I brushed away some hair from her cheek, lingering along her hairline.

  “Good.” She laughed.

  “Good?”

  She punched my side and tickled it. “Yes, good.”

  I wrestled out of the tickle, grabbing a hold of her hands. She gazed at me long and hard, a tease played in her eyes.

  I latched onto this and reeled in. “Grab some coffee with me.”

  She stretched her gaze up to the clock, then back at me. “This is seriously the last thing I ever thought I’d be doing.” She paused, pulled in her lower lip. “But, sure, I’d love to.”

  I leaned in and kissed her soft cheek. I couldn’t help myself. “Great.”

  “I’ll meet you out front in five minutes.” She headed away from me towards the back of the store, looking back once and smiling.

  I steadied my racing heart long enough to agree. “Perfect.”

  Several long minutes later, she walked out of the front door and towards me, carrying herself tall and strong. “I live right around the corner if you just want to grab a cup there? I have your favorite, chocolate hazelnut.”