Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
HELEN’S HEAD SPUN. HER sight was reduced to a pinpoint. She saw only the face displayed on Zoey’s phone. She swayed on her feet as her knees threatened to melt. She was seconds away from fainting.
“Honey?” Genevieve asked, concern in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
Helen couldn’t speak. She could barely think. Her mind was sluggish, every thought fighting its way through a thick fog of disbelief, devastation, and despair. Yet in her heart, a seed sprouted that was warm and hopeful and knowing.
Genevieve spoke more forcefully. “Helen! You’re scaring me. Helen! Talk to me.”
Her sister’s voice seemed to come from far away as Helen focused on the photo. Knowing. Yes, knowing. She knew it in her marrow. She recognized him. “Oh my God.”
“Helen!” She felt arms come around her as everything faded to black.
When she came to, she was lying on the grass, her legs elevated. She heard Zoey speaking in a crisp, professional tone. “… an emergency physician licensed in Texas. Her airway is clear…”
Helen tuned Zoey out. The shock had faded, and thoughts that had been sluggish before began to careen around her head like pinballs. How had this happened? Why had this happened? Who was responsible for it having happened?
She knew, of course. It could only have been one person.
Helen opened her eyes and struggled to sit up. Hands reached toward her. “Easy, now,” Zoey said.
“She’s awake. Thank God.” Genevieve’s anxious voice asked, “Honey, are you okay?”
An EMT she vaguely recognized asked, “What’s your name? Where are we?”
“I’m your mayor, and I’m done being laid out like a dead fish on the town square. Somebody help me up.”
While Genevieve assisted her sister to her feet, Zoey had a brief, quiet conversation with the EMT. Helen gave a smile and a reassuring wave to the crowd that had gathered to watch the show. “I’m fine,” she called. “Probably breathed in too much evergreen fragrance, and I got an overdose of Christmas. Y’all be sure to come to tonight’s opening of the Lake in the Clouds Christmas in July Festival.”
Softly to her sister, she said, “Get me out of here.”
“Where do you want to go?”
Helen responded without thought. “Home. Take me home.”
Luckily, Genevieve had parked her SUV close by in order to unload. Speaking to Zoey, she asked, “Will you ride with us? We can come back for the car later.”
“Sure,” Zoey replied. “Do we need to secure anything here in the booth?”
“No one will bother anything, and we haven’t brought the cash box down yet.” Genevieve gestured toward a bag in the corner and said, “Grab Helen’s purse if you would, please.”
Helen barely heard the conversation, so lost was she in the questions careening through her mind. She let herself be herded into the front passenger seat of Genevieve’s car. Her sister climbed behind the wheel, and Zoey took a seat in the back.
Helen closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the headrest. “Zoey? When is your father’s birthday?”
“June 8, 1974.”
“The eighth? Not the sixth?”
Following a moment’s pause, Zoey spoke quietly. “It was a private adoption through an attorney friend of my grandparents. He came to them on the tenth. From what Dad has told me in the past, they never saw an original birth certificate. The only information they were given was his birth date. Not a city or state.”
“Hmm.” Guess a two-day-old newborn and a four-day-old newborn didn’t look all that different.
Genevieve said, “Helen, what is going on here? What do you know about Zoey’s dad and his birthday?”
Helen didn’t open her eyes. “Wait until we get home.”
Genevieve gave a little huff of impatience, but she knew Helen well enough to let it go. They drove the rest of the way to the condo in silence. As Genevieve parked in her usual place, Helen removed her keys from her purse. She exited the car and hurried inside, where after briefly greeting Cookie, she went directly to her bedroom and into her large, walk-in closet. She pulled a stepstool from its storage space, climbed up, and reached for a shoebox tucked away on the highest shelf.
It was a sneaker box, size seven Adidas purchased her sophomore year in high school before the start of the spring tennis season. A thick layer of dust coated the lid. Helen had moved the box with her more than a dozen times over the years. She hadn’t opened it since New Year’s Eve 1973.
That had been a particularly bad night.
She exited the closet with the box and carried it into her living room, where her sister and Zoey waited. Genevieve was in her usual spot at one end of the sofa. Zoey sat cross-legged on the floor, Cookie draped over her lap, delirious to have her belly scratched. Rather than sit in her own favorite chair, Helen sat beside her sister.
“Pass me a tissue, please?” she asked Genevieve.
Genevieve pulled one from the decorative tissue dispenser on the end table and handed it to Helen. She dusted off the lid, inhaled a deep breath, and opened the box.
The black-and-white sonogram photo lay on the top of the pile. She picked it up and heard Genevieve gasp.
“I already knew that I was pregnant when I learned that Billy had died during a training accident during boot camp.”
Genevieve’s gaze locked on the photograph in Helen’s hand, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might explode. What was she seeing and hearing here? Nothing made sense.
Helen continued. “I walked around in a state of shock for weeks. Then on New Year’s Eve, I had a bit of a breakdown. I drove to the place where Billy took me parking, and I walked out onto that swinging bridge that stretched over the river.”
Oh, Helen. Genevieve knew that bridge. It was a narrow, cable-supported footbridge that Genevieve had always hated. It scared her to death to use.
“It was bitter cold that night. The wind was blowing. A little sleet in it. I stood at the center of it, staring down at the water. I wanted to die. I truly wanted to die.”
Genevieve lifted her gaze from the sonogram photo to her sister’s face, and tears filled Genevieve’s eyes. She’d never before seen Helen in such pain.
“I don’t think I would have jumped, but I was pretty crazy that night. Somebody driving by on the highway saw me and reported it to the police. A patrolman came and escorted me off the bridge and down to the station. Mom came and got me. On the way home, I told her about the baby. She sent me to bed, and by the time I woke up in the morning, a plan was in place. I went to live with Uncle Ray and Aunt Grace.”
Genevieve’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You didn’t go to live with them until the next school year. You went to Paris for study abroad.”
Helen quirked a sad smile. “Amazing how that came up at the last minute, isn’t it? They needed a reason why you and our brothers wouldn’t see me for six months. I wasn’t studying abroad in the City of Lights. I was living in small-town Texas, being homeschooled by our father’s sister-in-law. Had to keep the secret shame secret, you know.”
While Genevieve reeled from the shock of the revelation, Zoey posed a question. “But that was the seventies, not the nineteen fifties. Unplanned pregnancies weren’t so stigmatized.”
“In small-town Texas, they were,” Helen said. “And in our family…”
Grimacing, Genevieve nodded her agreement. “Dad must have gone postal.”
“Actually, he went glacial. He didn’t look me in the eyes for months.”
“I remember that time,” Genevieve said. “Your departure for Europe came out of the blue. One day, you were home, and the next, you were gone. I missed you dreadfully, and it seemed like every time I turned around, Mom was crying. When I asked why, she told me she was missing you.”
Their parents had fought a lot during that time, too, Genevieve recalled. Home life had been tense. She remembered wondering if her parents would get a divorce. “I used to write you letters. You wrote me letters, too. They had a Paris postmark. How did they manage that?”
“I wrote them in bulk, and Dad mailed them to someone he knew who lived over there.”
“You talked about all the places you visited. I was so jealous. I remember one letter about your trip to Versailles. It was filled with details. You wrote the best letters.”
Helen laughed bitterly. “They were a class assignment given to me by Aunt Grace. History and English.”
“Those letters were the reason why I asked David to take me to Paris on our honeymoon. I kept them for years.” Genevieve thought for a moment, then added, “Actually, they might have survived the purge. I might have them in my keepsake tub that’s stored in my attic.”
“Keepsakes,” Helen murmured softly. She set aside the photograph and picked up the next item from the box. Miniature cowbells jangled as a jumble of black and gold ribbons unfurled.
It was a football mum, Genevieve realized. On two of the ribbons, glittered letters spelled out names. One said Helen. The other, “Billy?”
“My homecoming mum. He left for boot camp the following Monday.”
Tears stung Genevieve’s eyes. Poor Helen. Genevieve’s heart broke at the thought of all her sister had gone through, and yet, even as she had the thought, unanswered questions loomed in her mind. Primarily, what had happened to the baby and why Helen had never once, in all these years, shared this story with Genevieve.
That one was going to hurt. Badly. Genevieve had shared everything with her sister and thought the practice was mutual. Obviously, she’d been wrong about that. However, for now, she would tuck that pain away. This moment was Helen’s.
Her sister set aside the mum. For a long moment, she sat still as a statue while staring down into the box. Genevieve sat at such an angle that she couldn’t see the contents that had Helen transfixed. When tears suddenly and silently overflowed Helen’s eyes and trailed down her cheeks, Genevieve could no longer hold her own tears back.
Helen cleared her throat and, without looking up, asked, “Zoey, do you by chance have an old photograph of your father on your phone? One taken when he was a teen or in his twenties?”
“Actually, I do.” Zoey pulled her phone from her pocket and started scrolling. “I scanned a bunch of family photographs and made a video montage for him for Christmas a few years ago. It may take me a few minutes to find it.”
“Thank you,” Helen replied as she reached into the box and pulled out a stack of photographs.
Genevieve leaned toward her sister in order to get a better view. The color photos were small, square, and faded. The first was of a couple, Helen—a young teenager—and a young man. He was tall and slim with broad shoulders and muscular arms—a basketball player’s build, Genevieve thought. His shoulder-length, sun-bleached hair was typical of guys in the seventies. She couldn’t tell his eye color from the picture. He was shirtless, barefooted, and wearing swim trunks. Helen wore a coverup that Genevieve vaguely recognized. She thought she’d worn it as a hand-me-down. She also recognized the diving boards in the background. The picture had been taken at the neighborhood pool where Genevieve had all but lived each summer.
Her gaze returned to the guy with his arm around a beaming Helen. Had she ever met him? She didn’t recall.
Helen flipped to a second photo. This one was of the guy—Billy—alone. He’d cut his hair here, and this one showed his eyes. They were a beautiful, brilliant blue.
But Zoey looked so much like Willow. Did Genevieve see any of Zoey in this boy? Maybe his height.
“Here it is,” Zoey said. “This was a photo my grandfather took when they dropped Dad off at college his freshman year.” She rolled to her feet, approached the sofa, and held out her phone toward Genevieve and Helen.
“Oh my,” breathed Genevieve. Zoey’s father was the spitting image of the man in the photo Helen held. No wonder her sister had fainted dead away.
She could no longer hold back the question that had been bubbling inside since Helen admitted to a teenage pregnancy. “Helen, what happened to your baby?”
The look Helen turned toward Genevieve was haunted. “He lied to me, Genevieve. Daddy lied.”
1974
Helen had never been so hot. She’d never been so fat. She’d never been so miserable. When she complained, her doctor, Uncle Ray, simply smiled and said, “Welcome to the last month of pregnancy.”
She wondered what he’d say if she told him that all of that paled in comparison to the anger she felt right now. He probably wouldn’t say anything. Just smile that kindly smile of his. She loved her uncle. She truly did. He and Aunt Grace had been nothing but kind to her during these five months she’d been living with them.
But Uncle Ray wouldn’t put himself in the middle of the argument she’d just had with her father. He had retreated to his office, which was a free-standing building next door to the house, and ceded the field to her dad. Aunt Grace wasn’t even around to help since this morning was her Women’s Club meeting.
Helen waddled her way around the block from her uncle’s house, this being her third walk of the day in the neighborhood where she’d lived since January. When she moved to this small, West Texas town, her walking route took her through the entire neighborhood and through downtown—such as that was—and back.
Today, at just over three weeks from her due date, she barely made it around the block.
Seriously. She didn’t feel well at all. She wouldn’t have gone on this third walk of the day had she not desperately needed to get away from her dad.
He’d paid her a visit this morning in order to argue his case against the decision she’d made a few days ago, the biggest decision of her life.
She’d changed her mind about giving her precious child up for adoption. She was going to keep her baby. Her little boy. Her William. Will. Named after his father, who’d lost his life in the service of his country.
To say Edward Bennett wasn’t pleased with her decision was an understatement of enormous magnitude. He was, in fact, furious. He’d arrived at his brother’s house this morning loaded for bear.
Helen fired right back. After all, she was a mama bear protecting her cub.
She and her dad had a loud and long argument that ended when she fled the house in a temper and started this walk around the block. She’d left in the nick of time. She’d come close to crossing the line and saying things she shouldn’t.
Helen recognized that her dad sincerely believed that giving her baby up for adoption was best both for Helen and her son. She had believed that, too, for most of her pregnancy.
But during these past few weeks, as little Will grew and kicked and hiccupped inside her, Helen had formed an attachment with the child that was fierce and ferocious. She’d fallen in love, and it was a mother’s love. Was any force on earth stronger?
Helen knew it would be hard to be a single mother raising a child on her own. Dad had made it clear that he and Mom would not help her in any way. Once she had her baby, if she failed to place him for the adoption her father had arranged, she and Will would be on their own.
Okay, then. She’d deal. She’d figure it out somehow, some way.
This baby was her baby. Her responsibility. She loved him, just like she’d loved his father. “I will take care of him, Billy. I will take care of both of us.”
She turned the corner, and her uncle’s house was in sight. Dad was outside, pacing the front yard. Inwardly, Helen groaned. I’m not ready for round two.
She didn’t feel good enough to battle him again right now. She was going to go inside and lie down for a bit. He could just cool his jets and wait on her.
Helen lifted her chin and approached the house. She really, truly didn’t feel good. She was sick to her stomach, and her head felt light. Weak. So weak.
That’s when she felt it, when she realized something was wrong. Warm and sticky. Pain. Oh, God, the pain. Helen looked down, and all she saw was red. “Daddy!”
She collapsed in the neighbor’s front yard, and after that, things became a blur. Dad was there. Lifting her. Rushing forward. “Ray! Ray! I need help. We need help!”
Vaguely, she heard voices. Her uncle, her dad. Urgent. But she was fading… fading… fading.
Pain. Such pain like she’d never known before.
Was that a baby’s cry?
Helen’s world went black.
Awareness returned on a wisp of a cloud. Helen was floating…
drifting. She wanted to open her eyes, but her lids were so heavy.
She heard sounds… voices… soft murmurings. “I’ll be right back.” Mom? Was that Mom? Helen wrenched her eyelids up. Bright light stabbed, and she quickly shut her eyes against it and drifted back to sleep.
When next she awoke, the light was dimmed. She sensed she was not alone. With effort, she turned her head. A shadowed figure sat beside her bed. Her father, with his head in his hands. Helen opened her mouth and forced a word past dry lips. “Water.”
Edward Bennett’s head jerked up. His eyes met Helen’s. He’s old. He’s gotten old.
“Hey, kiddo. It’s great to see those pretty green eyes.” Rising, he reached for a plastic mug on the bedside table and adjusted the straw. “I’m going to lift your head just a bit so you can more easily drink.”
He pushed a button, and her upper body rose. He held the mug before her and the straw to her lips. Helen sipped. Cool, sweet, wonderful water.
“There you go,” her father said. “Now, that’s probably enough for now. Want to make sure it sits all right on your stomach.”
My stomach. What was it about her stomach? She tried to move, and pain sliced through her. “What…?”
“Careful now. Let me call the nurse to let them know you’re awake.”
Helen’s mind was cold molasses. She ached everywhere. Why did she… oh! She moved her hand toward her belly. Agony washed through her. “The baby! Daddy?”
Edward took her hand, licked his lips, and then explained. “You hemorrhaged, sweetheart. Uncle Ray performed an emergency C-section. You developed an infection, and it went septic. An air ambulance brought you here to Fort Worth. You’ve been here for eight days now.” His voice broke as he added, “We almost lost you.”
“My baby! Daddy, where’s my baby? I need my baby boy!”
Edward Bennett sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled in a rush. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. The baby didn’t make it.”
As Helen told her story, she had set aside her shoebox and rose to stand before the patio door, where she stared not toward the hummingbirds visiting her feeders but into the past.
Zoey held her hand over her mouth as she listened. Helen’s voice remained relatively flat, and silent tears rolled down her face.
As an emergency room physician, Zoey had witnessed her fair share of heartbreak. And yet, this story touched her in a way that no other had.
This one was personal.
When Helen announced that the baby hadn’t made it, a stricken Genevieve rushed toward her sister and wrapped her in a hug. Both women were crying.
Zoey wanted to join the embrace, but now wasn’t the time.
After a moment, Helen stepped out of Genevieve’s arms and once again gazed outside. She did maintain a hold on her sister’s hand as she continued her story. “I wanted to see him, my little Will, but Dad told me they’d already buried him. He promised to take me to see the grave once I got out of the hospital.”
With tears in her voice, Genevieve said, “Oh, Helen.”
“At that point, I broke. I went a little crazy. They sedated me, and the next few days were… difficult. I ended up spending the rest of the summer at a psychiatric hospital. I didn’t visit Will’s grave until the anniversary of his death.”
When it appeared that Helen had finished her story, Genevieve gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “That’s the summer they sent me away to camp at the last minute.” Abruptly, she added, “I need some water. Do you want some water?”
“No, thanks.”
Genevieve walked into the kitchen, filled a glass with water from the tap, and tossed it back like whiskey. “I have so many questions. Helen, this is why you never came back home to live?”
“I couldn’t. I was so depressed and angry, primarily at Dad. Intellectually, I knew the argument hadn’t caused me to hemorrhage. Emotionally, I couldn’t get past it. Uncle Ray and Aunt Grace were fine with me continuing to stay with them. Once I started school there, I liked it. So, I stayed until I graduated.”
“I missed you.”
“I know. I missed you, too. But it was weird between Dad and me after that. We were never comfortable around one another again. Until the day he died, a part of me blamed him for losing Will.” Bitterness dripped from her tongue as she added, “For good reason.”
Genevieve braced her hands on the counter, frowning. “So, what happened?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Helen whirled around to face her sister, her eyes flashing with fury. “He took advantage of the opportunity and followed through with the adoption. Our father stole my baby.”
Now it was Genevieve’s turn to have the color leach from her face. “No. He wouldn’t. I can’t believe that.”
“It’s the only explanation. It fits. Oh, I guess there is still a slight possibility that John or Paul fathered Zoey’s dad. I don’t believe it, though. The man looks just like my Billy. Plus, I just know it. I know it in my bones.”
“I don’t see how—”
“Think about it, Genevieve. That day, I went from Uncle Ray’s office to the local, small-town hospital where Uncle Ray was a god. Then, once things went south, I arrived at the Fort Worth hospital sans baby. Staff at the local hospital probably saw Dad leave with the baby and never thought another word about it. Staff in Fort Worth saw me come in alone, and he would have told them the baby died.”
Zoey couldn’t restrain her question any longer. “Were you given a death certificate?”
“I was not. I never thought to ask for one. I was sixteen. Though, knowing Dad, he probably had one forged and waiting if I’d ever inquired about it.”
“This is unbelievable,” Genevieve said.
“Maybe that’s not how it worked, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Bottom line. I’ve spent the past fifty years believing my son died.”
“Oh my God.” Genevieve covered her mouth with her hands and repeated, “Oh my God.”
Helen focused on Zoey. “Tell me again what you know about your father’s adoption?”
Now Zoey was teary-eyed, too. “I don’t know that much. We could call him and ask.”
At that, the Bennett sisters both froze. Genevieve repeated for a third time, “Oh my God.”
Her gaze flew to Helen’s. “You have a son. Helen, you have a son!”
Helen froze, her mouth agape. When she started to wobble, she reached for a nearby chair for support. “Oh my. I’ve been so caught up in the past that it hadn’t hit me. I have a son. Oh, Genevieve. I have a son! Will is alive!”
The joy that burst upon Helen’s face like a sunrise had Zoey shifting Cookie out of her lap so she could climb to her feet. She was crying now, too. Taking a step toward Helen, she said, “You have a granddaughter, too.”
Helen audibly gasped before she covered her mouth with her hands.
Grinning, Zoey added, “What would you like me to call you? Grandmother? Gammie?”
“Nana!” Helen tore her gaze away from Zoey and looked at her sister. “Genevieve, I get to be a nana!”
Then she flew across the room toward Zoey, and grandmother and granddaughter embraced.