Chapter Fifty-Two
She started her twelve-hour shift at three in the morning, just in time to serve the drunks, followed by the early-morning senior citizens who nurse fifty-cent cups of coffee and leave nickel tips, then the Sunday after-church crowd.
Most have dispersed, as have the other waitresses, leaving just Mary Beth and the cook, Edgar, who’s having a smoke and reading the paper. The remaining few hours should be slow, especially on this sunny afternoon. Unlike her, people have better places to be.
She’s getting her life together, though, at last. It’s been over six months since she landed this job and moved into a tiny place of her own. She’s done her best to distance herself from bad influences—people, places, substances.
Every day is a lonely struggle. Every day, she’s aware of her empty arms and the ache in her soul.
She leans against the counter, clutching her coffee cup in both hands, remembering the day she finally worked up her nerve to call the adoptive parents.
A man answered.
For some reason, Mary Beth was expecting the wife.
She said, “Hi, this is Mary Beth Winterfield . . . ?”
It came out like a question, and clearly he didn’t have the answer, because he said, “Who?”
“I’m the mom.”
“Who?”
“The birth mom,” she clarified. “From Golden Bridge?”
He murmured something that sounded like uh-huh or maybe aha, and nothing else.
“I was just checking to, you know, see how the baby is doing?”
“Fine. Just fine.”
“Okay, well . . . that’s good. That’s great. Do you think maybe I could . . .”
Silence.
She cleared her throat, started again. “I thought maybe I could . . .”
Not visit. There was no way she’d suggest that.
“Get a picture?” she asked.
“Oh. I, uh . . . I guess you can. I mean, that’s how this works, right? I’ll have to talk to my wife. She’s out. If you give me your number, I’ll have her call you.”
She wasn’t about to tell him she didn’t have a phone or give her the number for the pay phone at Joey Jay’s, which is how she usually tells people to get in touch with her.
“I’ll call back when she’s home,” she said, thanking him—for what, she didn’t know—and hanging up.
She never called back. She supposes she will, but not yet. Not until she can actually give them a phone number and an address in a decent part of town where they can send a picture. Or maybe not until she can actually visit.
She fantasizes about it all the time—about visiting.
With and without their knowledge.
Sometimes she imagines herself stealing into their house in the middle of the night when they’re asleep. She pictures herself standing over the crib, seeing the sleeping little angel. She sees herself scooping the baby into her arms and slipping out into the night.
They’ll go away, where they can be together forever, just the two of them, the way it should have been. The way it’s supposed to be.
The glass door flies open, and a kid bursts in. He’s nine or ten, with straggly blond hair, a cute face that always looks dirty, and way too much freedom. His stepdad bartends at Joey Jay’s.
“You M.?” he asks.
Mary Beth nods.
“You got a phone call.”
“Tell whoever it is that I’m working.”
“It’s your sister.”
She gasps, sloshing hot coffee over the cup’s rim. She puts it down and wipes her hand on her apron. “Edgar, cover for me! I have to run next door!”
She’s not sure whether he even heard her, and she doesn’t care.
Back in October, Caroline’s rich friend Kelly drove her to Syracuse to hand over the doll. For Mary Beth, seeing them was the gut punch that, along with the money, set her on the right path.
She hasn’t heard from her sister since and figured she never would.
She follows the kid to Joey Jay’s and hurries past the barflies toward the pay phone. The receiver dangles from its braided steel cord, and a beefy guy is about to reach for it.
“Don’t!” she shouts. “That’s my sister.”
“Make it quick. I need it.”
Ignoring him, she answers the call with a breathless, “Caroline?”
“Mary Beth!”
“Are you crying? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mom or Dad?”
In the split second it takes for the answer to come, Mary Beth realizes she doesn’t want that news.
As much as she loathes what they did to her, as much as she blames them for what her life has become, there’s a part of her that loves them despite everything; a part that still longs for them to love her.
“No, they’re at church. It’s me, Mary Beth. You said if I ever needed help, I should call you . . .”
Did I?
It was Kelly who demanded that Mary Beth provide Caroline with a way to get in touch with her.
“You call her, and she comes running,” she said, eyes blazing, defiant, disgusted with Mary Beth. “What happens if she needs you? Doesn’t it work both ways?”
She grudgingly gave the pay phone number, never imagining that she could do anything to help her little sister. But if there is, hell yes, she’s going to do it, whatever it is.
“What’s wrong, Caroline? What do you need?”
“I need a place to go. I can’t stay here.”
“You mean, after graduation? Aren’t Mom and Dad sending you to college?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?”
“When they find out, they’ll send me where they sent you. I can’t let them take my baby.”
“No! I’ll help you! You can come here, and have the baby, and stay . . .”
“Are you sure? You have room for me and the baby?”
She does not. But she can’t let it happen again. Never, ever again.
“We’ll figure it out, Caroline. The only thing that matters is that we’ll be together, the three of us. You, me, and the baby. We’ll be a family.”