Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For a long while, Joan had trouble saying Lee was hers.
She was waiting around for Misty, was what she said.
Even when the adoption papers came through years later, when Nelson brought them to the house along with a set of stuffed dragons for the children, she refused to let the idea stick.
She peeked once in the folder at the original birth certificate: there was Misty’s name, with no other parent.
Joan didn’t look at the new certificate, which listed her and Bill.
She folded the papers and put them away in the butter-cookie tin, underneath her checkbook and passport.
“I don’t like the baby phase” was what Bill said at first. But he couldn’t protest too much; after all, he needn’t do much.
He had not objected to Lee as much as Joan feared; whether he’d simply been overwhelmed by the speed of events or was resigned to helping Misty, Joan never asked.
She compensated by trying to make his life as easy as possible: she did not ask Bill to change diapers or get up at night.
Lee was at an age when an abrupt change wasn’t traumatic, or at least Joan hoped; Lee didn’t cry excessively, and when not eating or sleeping, she mostly lay in the nursery with her eyes open.
Sometimes she would rotate to stare at a spot on the ceiling.
No matter which way Joan turned the crib, Lee would rotate back, her body arranged in the same position.
She must be looking for something, Joan thought.
Is she searching for Misty? Joan went and retrieved a photo from Bill’s first wedding that he kept in a drawer.
Joan used to sneak looks, studying Agatha’s tiny waist and ballerina posture, but now she didn’t care about that.
Joan used blue painters’ tape to cover the faces of the other bridesmaids and showed Misty to Lee.
But Lee only examined the photo for a second before squirming and averting her gaze.
It wasn’t that she was avoiding the photo—it just didn’t hold her interest.
Eventually Bill’s siblings heard about Misty’s disappearance. First Bridget called and then Henry.
Bridget: “Where is Misty? Doesn’t she care about the baby?”
Henry: “Maybe she’s having the implants redone. Or a tummy tuck. Heh heh.”
Bridget: “It’s incredible that she would just leave. And the father hasn’t appeared?”
Henry: “I wouldn’t come back if I were her. And you shouldn’t want her to. You think Misty is bad on her own? How about Misty as a mother ?”
Bridget: “Does the baby seem a little odd? Infants can become disoriented in a different environment.”
“I’m not doing anything different ,” Joan replied to Bridget’s last query. “I’m keeping conditions exactly the same for when Misty returns.” She did not mention she was calling the baby Lee.
“We’re not saying what you’re doing is wrong ,” Bridget said.
She’d become friendlier after Misty had disappeared and dumped Lee on Joan—Bridget now spoke to Joan as if they’d experienced something significant together, like high school or a stressful cruise.
“No one’s suggesting the baby was better off with Misty.
Whatever your and Bill’s routines are, it’s got to be an improvement. ”
“We’re just waiting for Misty to return.”
“What does the baby look like? Do we have any idea of the father? I remember the Spanish one, what’s-his-name. He was, what do they call it, swarthier.”
“Lee looks fine,” Joan said. “She’s got light brown hair and green eyes.”
“Everyone thinks their baby’s eyes are green. Do you know how rare green eyes are? They’ll change into brown. We don’t have the genes.”
“Genes,” Joan repeated. It was one of the Lauders’ favorite topics, genetics. How they evolved as families grew larger, the traits distilled, the freak outcomes possible. Anything could happen when one made irresponsible choices.
A month after Joan retrieved Lee, she received a call from Misty’s landlord. “Remember talking to me? You were Misty’s reference,” he said.
“Oh,” Joan said. “Right. Yes.” She wondered if Misty had bothered faking her accent.
The apartment needed to be emptied, the landlord said. He could do it, but did she want him to throw everything away? “Also,” he added, “from what I’ve seen, she isn’t getting any of the deposit back.”
The landlord was a miser, Joan decided once she got to Misty’s. Given the state of the unit, Misty should have been entitled to some of the deposit. Sure, she had left some furniture, but otherwise the apartment was clean (if dusty). Nothing seemed broken or in disrepair.
As she walked through the unit, Joan took an inventory of the remaining items. A coffeemaker, a beaded shawl. A small television and VCR. The fridge held a rotted apple and a lemon.
In Misty’s bedroom, there were several perfume bottles on the dresser.
The closet was empty, which Joan expected—she knew how Misty liked her clothes.
Only an oversize T-shirt remained, on a hanger attached to the top of the door.
It was white with a black skull and crossbones, and on the bottom, in red lettering, was the word PESSIMIST .
Joan sniffed the perfumes, deciding to keep one bottle which was half full (Guerlain Shalimar), and then left the room. A minute later she returned and looked again at the shirt. She knew from her reading that babies preferred black and white, as they liked stark contrasts.
Joan gathered the beaded shawl from the kitchen and the T-shirt and dropped them into her bag. When she returned home, she went to the garage and retrieved a hammer and nail. She found a hanger and hung the PESSIMIST shirt up on the wall of Lee’s nursery.
“Lee,” she called. “Lee!” Hearing her name, Lee looked up. Her eyes locked on the shirt, and she brought up her fist and shook it.
Fall came and the weather stayed hot. Temperatures reached eighty in October and there was still the odd seventy-degree day that leaked into November.
Joan felt, as she often did, very lucky to live in California.
She began to think of Lee as truly her own; she used Jamie’s stroller, and Lee received all of Jamie’s old toys.
Jamie began to spend full days at preschool, and now it was Lee whom Patty took to roll rice balls and stroll the garden.
At times Joan received strange looks from people in the neighborhood, although it wasn’t as frequent as she’d feared—she supposed word might have spread about the situation, or it was assumed she was a babysitter.
On occasion there would be someone who would ask how she, a Chinese woman, might have a young blondish child, upon which she typically deployed one of the following:
Her father is Caucasian.
Her hair is very pretty, isn’t it.
I no speak English well.
As far as Joan was concerned, these were all true; besides, she wasn’t deliberately obfuscating the situation—she didn’t know what it was either.
Jamie and Lee played together or, rather, in proximity.
Lee was too young to really participate but could at least observe—whenever Jamie was in a room, Lee watched him.
Joan was thankful Jamie had been so young when Lee arrived, as he appeared to accept Lee as his sister the same as if Joan had been pregnant herself, although that wasn’t possible anymore, at least with Bill.
He had undergone a vasectomy shortly after she brought home Lee.
He told her only after the procedure was done.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Bill said. “And I truly hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings, but I do feel quite relieved at the idea of no longer fathering children at fifty-six.”
It didn’t hurt Joan’s feelings. Some who come from big families may wish to re-create the experience, but Joan had not particularly enjoyed her own big family.
She also knew Bill was worried about his older children.
Juliet had dropped out of residency, was getting a divorce, and had started dating her marriage counselor.
And Theo still called for money. “I need it for rent,” he usually said. He only ever asked to speak to Bill.
“How were you paying before?” Bill asked.
“We were at Charlotte’s place.”
“And what’s wrong with staying there?”
“We had to leave,” Theo said shortly. It was clear that relations with Charlotte’s parents had deteriorated, though Charlotte remained steadfast, and sometimes she called as well.
“I’m thinking of birthday gifts for Theo.” Charlotte’s voice was light and wispy.
“When’s his birthday?” Joan asked. She realized this was information she should already know, but the Lauders were not sentimental about adult birthdays.
“Next week,” Charlotte said. “I want to get him something great. Theo’s been doing so well. He’s going to the gym every day. You should see him, Joan, he’s the most handsome one there.”
Handsome! Joan was boggled that Charlotte should mention this, though yes, Theo was objectively handsome; he possessed the sort of striking good looks that made people stop to take him in, reconfirming his appearance as they might with a celebrity.
Still, it was incredible to Joan that looks, even excellent looks, could bring Theo so far; that his height and facial symmetry could mean an attractive, charming girl like Charlotte, who by normal rights should be living a nice life with a nice, responsible husband, could instead be passing her days with Theo, scuttling from apartment to apartment, eating at cheap diners while he rang his parents for money and listed all the ways the world was against him.
“He wants to be a ski instructor now,” Bill said to Joan. Thankfully Joan had not answered that call, as she had been at the library, shopping the book sale.
“Why doesn’t he become one?”
Bill shook his head. “It’s not a proper career. He should be doing something in business.”
Joan didn’t agree: she thought Theo should pursue ski instruction.
He liked the outdoors, and it seemed to her a more productive endeavor than the other jobs Bill suggested (money manager, consultant).
Though she didn’t say this. Theo already had a mother and father, and who was Joan to Theo?
No one, really—it was just one of those unfortunate circumstances of marrying a man who’s already lived a whole other life before meeting you.