Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Misty didn’t return any of Joan’s calls.
Joan waited until a month after what she calculated was the due date and sent a check inside a congratulations card.
Misty had recently sparred with the rest of the Lauders, after she’d given their phone numbers to Johnny, who’d called each to solicit investments for an import/export business out of Vietnam.
He could get his hands on some excellent chairs out of Hai Phong, Johnny said, if only he had the funds.
“We have chairs,” Bridget said that Christmas at their home in Ross. “Who needs to keep buying them? Why would someone think they could make an entire business out of chairs?”
“There are furniture stores,” Joan said. She thought Bridget was being a little ridiculous. “There are couch stores. There are kitchen appliance stores.”
“Surely Misty doesn’t think she should open a store ,” Martin said. “Being good at spending money in shops doesn’t mean you’d actually be skilled at operating one. I like steak. Does that mean I should become a chef?”
Joan didn’t know why she defended Misty.
Misty still hadn’t answered any of her calls; Joan’s check had been cashed but otherwise no contact made.
Joan didn’t even know the child’s name. Boy or girl?
Good sleeper or bad? Surely the baby wasn’t abandoned.
Surely Misty wasn’t capable of the gut-clenching neglect one occasionally spotted in tabloids: an empty crib, dirty clothes on the ground, a pacifier on the street—if only someone had raised the alarm!
“Is she neglectful to the point of being a baby murderer? I don’t think so,” Bill said when Joan pressed. “Although you never know.”
“It’s a child! They can’t speak. They can’t call for help.”
“You sure are worried about this,” Bill said.
Weeks later, Joan was outside with Jamie, this time admiring the camellia bushes, when a car slowed out front. A woman with blond hair was driving. Misty was on the passenger side, a baby in her lap.
“This is Ashley,” Misty said, climbing out. “She’s my nanny.”
Nanny! Joan stood and took off her sun hat.
It did not escape her that Misty had already managed to procure a nanny when her own search had been so difficult.
Ashley was young, with brown eyes and small hands and feet; in many ways, she resembled a miniature Misty.
Another surprise: Joan had not thought Misty would hire an attractive nanny.
“This is Joan,” Misty said to Ashley. “She’s married to my brother. She’s also one of my best friends. And here’s the little one,” she added, thrusting her arms toward Joan.
The baby was crying. “Wait, wait,” Joan said.
She ran and retrieved from the house a dangling plastic rainbow that used to entertain Jamie.
On her way out, she stopped in Bill’s office and wrote Misty another check, which she stuck in a manila envelope.
Bill wasn’t home, and Joan figured that even if Misty spent the money irresponsibly, still she deserved it for having kept the child alive thus far.
“Thanks,” Misty said when Joan returned. She took the envelope and handed Joan the baby, who was dressed in pink. Ashley stood to the side and observed Jamie with a professional air. Jamie was three now and engaged in one of his favorite activities, pulling weeds and dropping them into his truck.
“What’s her name?” Joan asked. The baby was a nice weight in her arms. She dangled the rainbow, making it glitter in the sun.
“Leonie. Like a lion.”
“It’s beautiful,” Joan said, although she had not heard the name before.
“We moved to the area,” Misty said. “It’s not too near, I can’t afford your city. We’re in Pleasant Hill.” This was a town an hour away. “A rental until we decide if we like things.”
Joan rocked Leonie. “Are you enjoying motherhood?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Having created life. It’s pretty cool.”
“Are you tired?”
“No?” Misty looked puzzled. “That’s what I have Ashley for.”
I guess she’s doing fine, Joan thought. I shouldn’t have worried.
Joan loved to read. She’d discovered libraries her first month in Palo Alto, when a friendly librarian in the College Terrace branch helped her open a card.
She’d marveled at the endless aisles of hardcovers, the plush chairs, the tables out front with signs touting an astonishing opportunity: USED BOOKS , 10 FOR $1.
After she had Jamie, Joan brought him to the library too; he liked the story hour.
It was upon returning home after one of these visits and setting down her canvas totes in the kitchen that Joan saw the light of the answering machine. She didn’t recognize the name of the caller, and it was only after Ashley identified herself as Misty’s nanny that Joan understood.
It was rush hour, and it took Joan ninety minutes to drive to Misty’s apartment.
The complex was larger than she’d expected.
There were long cracks along the walls, and the balconies were crammed with furniture and toys, with handwritten signs promising violent consequences were any contents to be disturbed.
As Misty’s apartment was on the second level, Joan took the stairs, which were comprised of concrete slabs that came through the center of the courtyard.
As Joan climbed, she estimated the gaps between the slabs as around the length of her forearm.
A child could easily fall in those gaps, she thought.
Inside Misty’s apartment, Joan found Ashley seated at the kitchen table. Leonie appeared clean and calm, and she lay in a crib which Joan recognized as the one she’d had delivered from Babies “R” Us.
“I came to work yesterday morning,” Ashley said. She looked at Joan but kept a finger on her page in Vogue . “Leonie was in her crib, but Misty wasn’t around. I assumed she had just left.”
“Why did you think that?” Joan felt like she was conducting an investigation.
“The windows were open. Misty always does that—she likes to air out. And there was a bottle warmed. So I just did my thing. But then Misty didn’t come back. I’ve slept over before, but Misty usually asks in advance.” Ashley shrugged. “Ezra never came either. I’m flying to Cancún tomorrow, so.”
Ezra, Joan thought. What happened to Johnny?
“Anyway,” Ashley said, closing her magazine. “She said you’re best friends, right?”
“I’m taking a break,” Misty said when she finally called a week later. A break, Joan mouthed to herself as she turned on the bathroom faucet. The baby had just stained another set of clothing, and Joan scrubbed frantically at the cotton. A break. A break !
“I was looking at her in her crib, right?” Misty’s voice was tinny, as if she were far away—across the globe on a desert island, maybe, or someplace else Joan could never reach her.
“And all of a sudden I had this thought: she’s not really anything to me, she’s just a problem I have to deal with, the same as a clogged drain or a car that won’t start.
And I don’t like to deal with problems—after a while, I’d rather not drive at all than keep fiddling with a difficult car. ”
“When are you coming back? You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’ll visit . But I don’t have that motherly instinct. I haven’t thought about her at all since I left. That can’t be normal, can it? Don’t mothers always think about their babies? Though what am I supposed to think? She doesn’t have a personality!”
Joan didn’t disagree—she didn’t think babies had too much of a personality either. For the last ten minutes, Leonie (Joan called her Lee) had been staring at the same spot in the ceiling. Joan had just been happy she wasn’t crying, until she suddenly pooped.
“I may sound all nice and light now,” Misty went on. “But just so you know, it hasn’t been that way, not for a while. For a long time it’s only been dark . When I was pregnant, there was no one interested in my baby. Do you know how awful that feels?”
“I was interested.”
“Oh? The same way Bill was interested when you were pregnant? I’m telling you, no woman should have to feel that kind of alone. Like you’re the only person who cares about the baby inside of you. Because what does it mean when the baby comes out and you still don’t care either?”
“A break implies you are going to return,” Joan said.
“I think you know what I mean,” Misty said softly.
Joan turned off the water. She wanted to argue; she wanted to say she didn’t understand.
But the truth was Joan did. Certain events passed, things happened, and people wanted you to be upset, or stew, or be sad.
But sometimes you just went on with your life.
Misty had said from the start she didn’t want a child; she was only following through.
“I call her Lee,” Joan blurted. She didn’t know why she said it, as she hadn’t really considered changing the baby’s name.
But Joan wanted Misty to understand that there would be differences between Lee’s world in that apartment, however brief, and whatever life Lee had with Joan.
The name Leonie rolled awkwardly in her mouth; whenever Joan called it, Lee never looked up.
“Lee.” Misty paused. “That’s nice.”
This is crazy, Joan thought. This can’t be real. But she didn’t say anything.