Pretending to Dance

  “I didn’t think you were going to be here,” Dani said to me. The beady red snake eyes in her lip ring glowed in the overhead light.

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m going over to Nanny’s.”

  “Here you go!” My mother handed me the tape.

  “Can I take some of the fudge to Nanny’s?” I asked.

  She hesitated a moment, then gave in. “Oh sure,” she said. “There’s plenty.”

  “Here, I’ll cut you some.” Aunt Claudia headed for the big kitchen table where two pans of fudge sat cooling. She carried a plate of cookies which she set down next to the pans. “You can take a few of my peanut butter cookies with you, too.” She smiled at me with her big round pumpkin face. “Then you’ll have all the food groups covered.” My mother handed her a knife and she began cutting the fudge.

  “Hello!”

  I turned to see Amalia walk into the kitchen.

  Mom had moved to the coffeemaker and was now scooping beans into the grinder at the top, but she looked up when Amalia walked into the room. “Hi, Amalia,” she said.

  “Smells lovely and chocolaty in here, Nora,” Amalia said. Then she caught sight of me, a look of surprise on her face. “I didn’t think you were going to be here, Molly,” she said.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. “As soon as I get some fudge to take to Nanny’s.”

  “Can I help with anything?” Amalia asked.

  “You could put the kettle on for tea,” my mother said, pouring water into the coffeemaker.

  I watched the two of them, searching their faces for a hint of that tension Daddy said existed between them. They weren’t exactly embracing each other like long-lost sisters, but I didn’t pick up any glaring animosity. I didn’t think I ever had.

  Aunt Claudia put the fudge and cookies in a small white paper sack and handed it to me. “Have fun at Nanny’s,” she said.

  “Russell will pick you up at eleven,” Mom said as she pulled cups from the cabinet above the coffeemaker.

  “All right,” I said. “Bye!”

  It was still light outside, the air balmy and fragrant, and the cicadas were starting to sing. As I walked across our wooded lot, a blue car pulled into the driveway. I didn’t recognize it until it came to a stop and Daddy’s office mate Janet got out of the backseat, while Peter and his wife, Helen, got out of the front. Peter and Helen could have been mistaken for any forty-something-year-old couple. They were about the same height and they wore khaki pants and T-shirts—Peter’s blue and Helen’s gold—and they both had hair the same shade of brown. Janet, on the other hand, stood out as she always did. She waved to me.

  “Hey, Molly girl!” she called, and I walked over to the car. “Where’re you off to?” she asked. Janet wore wigs and she didn’t seem to care who knew it. Every time I saw her, she had different hair. Tonight she wore really curly reddish-blond hair that fell to her shoulders and looked amazing against her dark skin. She looked like Whitney Houston in that wig.

  “My grandmother’s,” I said.

  “Ah.” Janet glanced at Peter.

  “Bess isn’t coming to the meeting?” Peter asked me, and I shook my head.

  “I smell chocolate,” Helen said, and I opened the bag to let her see the fudge.

  “There’s lots more inside,” I said. “And Aunt Claudia brought peanut butter cookies.”

  Peter nodded toward the tape in my hand. “You and Bess going to watch a movie tonight?” he asked.

  “Probably, but this is one of Daddy’s therapy sessions.”

  “Ah, where he pretends to do therapy?” The look on Peter’s face was more of a smirk than a smile. Helen poked him in the ribs with her elbow and Janet rolled her eyes.

  “A little professional jealousy going on here,” she said to me. “Don’t pay him any mind.”

  I was fairly certain what she meant. Peter had written a book, too, but had never been able to get it published.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said. I was going to be a good twenty minutes late to Nanny’s.

  They waved good-bye to me, and I started walking toward the loop road, and it wasn’t until I’d reached the Hill from Hell that I wondered what Janet and Peter and Helen were doing at a meeting of my family.

  16

  San Diego

  There is a teeny-tiny crack in my marriage. It’s barely perceptible right now. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure Aidan knows it’s there, but I do. Two months have passed since that group meeting at Hope Springs and our discussion in the car about open adoption. In the few days following that talk, I became aware of the crack. I saw it whenever Aidan mentioned that happy family of four. If I referred to them that way, my voice the teensiest bit sarcastic, it would upset him, so I bit my own tongue, not wanting to argue with him about it. I would simply have to hope and pray we found a birth mother who didn’t want that level of involvement.

  The crack worries me. The last thing I want is our hope for a baby to pull us apart. We’re supposed to be working together right now. More than ever, we need to be on the same team.

  The call we’ve both been waiting for comes when I’m at work and I recognize Zoe’s voice right away. “Guess what, Molly?” she says. “A birth mom is interested in you and Aidan!”

  “Already?” I ask. “It’s only been a couple of months.”

  She is quiet for a moment and I know right away my response is wrong. I have the feeling my shock came across as disappointment at being matched so soon.

  “Well, she’s looking at a couple of other families, too,” Zoe says, “but she would really like to speak with you and Aidan. She said she fell in love with you through your profile.”

  She fell in love with us. Instantly, I love her back, whoever she is. “Aidan’s out of town at a conference all week.” I wince. I sound as though I’m throwing obstacles into the works. “But I can talk to her,” I add. “I’d love to talk to her. When is she due?”

  “Three months,” she says.

  “You mean she’s three months along or—”

  “No, she’s due in three months.”

  Oh my God. Okay. Deep breath.

  “What else can you tell me about her?” I ask.

  “Well, she—her name is Sienna—she’s seventeen. The birth father—his name is Dillon—is the same age and they’re no longer in a relationship and he’s willing to relinquish his rights. Sienna’s in a special program for pregnant girls at her school. She’s in her junior year and really wants to finish. She lives with her mother and younger brother.” She hesitates. “I’d like her to be the one to tell you more about herself,” she says. “Can you talk with her tonight?”

  Tonight is my night at the women’s shelter, but I’m afraid to throw out one more obstacle that might make Zoe think I’m not excited or grateful. “Yes,” I say. “Absolutely. I can’t wait!”

  * * *

  “You’re kidding!” Aidan says when I call him. “Already?” I can hear the smile in his voice. “It was that dynamite ‘dear expecting mother’ letter we wrote. We are so awesome!”

  I laugh. In my mind’s eye, I see the crack healing. We are going to be fine. Freak-out moments have to be normal in this situation.

  “Do you want me to see if she can wait until you’re back in town to talk to both of us on the phone?” I ask.

  “No, no. Let’s not give her the chance to ‘fall in love’ with another couple. You talk to her. You’re better at that sort of thing than I am, anyhow. Two women. It’s always better.”

  “You’re selling yourself short,” I say. Aidan can talk to almost anyone with ease.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sienna.”

  “Oh, great name,” he says. “I like that name.” He talks quickly. He’s so excited. “How far along is she?”

  “She’s due in three months,” I say.

  “Holy shit!”

  “I know.”

  “Just…” he says. “Don’t grill her, okay?”

  “Of course I won
’t grill her!”

  “Well, sometimes your lawyer side comes out in social situations and—”

  “It does?”

  “Occasionally,” he says. “You can be intimidating. And you don’t want to intimidate her. Be nice.”

  “Of course.” I’m getting annoyed.

  “Has she been getting prenatal care?”

  “I … well, she knows how far along she is, so I guess so.”

  “I think you should keep your opinions about things to yourself,” he says. “I mean, like politics and … just little things, like what movies you like and—”

  “Aidan,” I say, “what are you talking about?”

  “What if you say you love Mad Men and she hates Mad Men? It’s not worth risking losing her over something silly like that.”

  “Sweetheart.” I smile. He is wound up and I realize I’m not alone in being nervous about this whole thing. I like feeling like the calm one for a change. “I’ll be fine,” I say. “And I’ll call you the second I get off the phone with her, all right?”

  * * *

  I am to call her at seven-thirty. When I get home, I pour myself a bowl of cereal for dinner but I’m too anxious to eat it. Instead, I walk down the hall and open the door to the nursery. I haven’t been inside that room since showing it to Perky Patti during our home study. I turn on the light and stand in the doorway, looking at the empty crib. The longing for a baby fills me up in a way I haven’t allowed in a long time. It’s so strong it nearly knocks me over and I lean against the doorjamb to stay upright. Oh my God, I want a child! The realization is such a relief to me. I truly, truly do. Yet when I look down at the floor, I see that I have one foot inside the nursery, and the other firmly planted in the hall.

  17

  Morrison Ridge

  “Molly,” Nanny said when I walked into her living room, and she wrapped her arms around me as though she hadn’t seen me in a year rather than a few days. She seemed to have trouble letting go of me, but she finally did. “I’m so glad you’ll spend the evening with me!” She still held on to my left arm. “Come with me,” she said. “I want to show you something.” She took my hand in her cool one, her skin silky smooth beneath my fingers. “I was hoping you’d get here before they ran off,” she said.

  “Before who ran off?” I asked, setting the bag of fudge and cookies on the coffee table as I passed it.

  “You’ll see.”

  We’d reached the back door and she let go of me and raised a finger to her lips as she quietly pulled the door open. We walked across her screened porch and out into the yard. Nanny’s backyard was a sea of thick grass surrounded by fat, healthy-looking rhododendrons. In the evening light, the grass was a deep rich green, and in the distance, I could see the massive pavilion where, in a couple of weeks, we’d have the midsummer party. The fireworks would be visible from where we stood.

  She took my arm to stop my walking, then pointed toward the rhododendrons on our right. “There,” she whispered.

  Between two broad shrubs grazed a doe and three spotted fawns. I caught my breath.

  “Three of them?” I asked.

  “Triplets,” she said. “I’ve never seen triplets before. I’ve heard it’s a sign of a healthy herd.” She sounded proud, as though she was personally responsible for the health of the dozens of deer that roamed Morrison Ridge.

  “They’re so cute,” I said.

  “I put a salt lick out for them. Don’t tell your uncle Trevor. He’ll bring his bow.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I could watch the deer all day long,” she said. Then she sighed. She seemed tired to me tonight.

  I looked toward the pavilion again, picturing it crowded with happy people and tons of food and loud music, too far from any neighbors to bother them. I could imagine the scene vividly. It was crazy that Amalia would not be allowed to be part of it.

  “Nanny,” I said, “I’d really like Amalia to be able to come to the party.”

  Nanny kept her gaze on the deer, but her eyebrows lifted in what I guessed was surprise. “That’s settled, Molly,” she said quietly, and I knew she didn’t want to disturb the deer. “Amalia understands.”

  “But I don’t understand.” I struggled to keep my own voice low. “I know you think Mom would be uncomfortable or something, but I’m a hundred percent sure she wouldn’t have a problem with it. Amalia’s over at our house right this minute,” I added. “They’re fine together,” I said. “They’ve always been fine together.”

  Nanny smiled at me. “You’re so young, Molly.” She smoothed my hair away from my cheek. “I know it’s hard for you to understand what it’s really been like for your mother.”

  “Daddy said she’s been totally okay about Amalia.” That wasn’t exactly what he’d said, I knew, but I continued. “Mom wanted Amalia to live here so I’d have them both,” I said. “And I love them both.”

  Nanny looked at me without speaking and I took that opportunity to add, “I think I should get to have a say in who comes.”

  Nanny sighed again, then gnawed her lower lip. “Yes, I suppose you should,” she said finally.

  “Really?” I couldn’t mask my surprise. I felt suddenly powerful. “She can come?”

  Nanny nodded. “I’ll write her a note to tell her I’ve reconsidered,” she said. “If she wants to be there, she can come.”

  I turned to hug her. “Thank you!” I said, too loudly. The doe and her babies raised their heads, flicked their tails, and ran off toward the woods.

  * * *

  Nanny’s house was an enigma. From the outside, it looked like a rich old woman’s house, with its red brick and white pillars and manicured lawn. Inside, though, it looked more like a hunter’s cabin. The mantel was a thick slab of wood and on the wall above it hung the head of a ten-point buck my grandfather had shot. The furniture was upholstered in plaid and brown and green, and the arms of the heavy chairs were thick and masculine. Nanny fit right into her house. Tonight, she wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar and her gray hair was in its usual swingy bob. She was simply not like any other grandmother I’d ever met.

  In the kitchen, Nanny took the fudge and cookies from the paper bag and placed them neatly on a heavy stoneware plate, while I poured us glasses of Pepsi. “So,” she said as she pulled a few napkins from the basket on the table, “what movie do you want to watch tonight?”

  “You can pick,” I said, “but Daddy wants me to watch this tape of part of one of his sessions first, okay? It’s really short,” I said. “Then we can watch one of your movies.” Nanny was a movie buff. She had a bookcase filled with tapes. She loved the really old ones like The African Queen—anything with Katharine Hepburn in it, actually—but we bought her new ones for every birthday or simply because we wanted to see them.

  Nanny didn’t seem to hear my question about the movie, and as we carried the sodas and desserts out of the kitchen, she was distracted, turning right toward the living room before she caught herself and made a left toward the den and the TV. I thought there was a weight hanging over her and wondered if she knew they were talking about Uncle Trevor’s ideas for the land. Maybe that was why she didn’t want to be at the meeting tonight.

  “Nanny,” I said when we’d set our glasses and the plate down on the coffee table in the den. There was another buck head in this room. It was smaller than the one in the living room and hung on the wall above the television. “How come you’re not at the family meeting tonight?” I asked. “I think Uncle Trevor’s going to try to get everyone on his side about developing the land. Maybe you should be there.”

  Her cheeks suddenly flushed red. “I don’t know how a son of mine can be so callous about his family land,” she said as she sat down on the sofa. “He was raised better than that. Can you picture our beautiful hillsides covered with paved streets of identical ticky-tacky houses, people right on top of one another? Strangers who know nothing about the Ridge and could care less?” She picked up a
piece of fudge, then set it down again. “He’s gotten so greedy!” She shook her head. “And his children! When Samantha and Cal picked up and moved to Colorado, it was a knife in my heart, Molly.” She stared at me and I nodded, wishing I hadn’t brought the subject up. “And he just let them go. It’s their generation that’s supposed to carry on Morrison Ridge and its traditions.”

  “I know,” I said, more to soothe her than to agree with her.

  “Danielle has a foot out the door, you can see that, right?” Nanny said. “It’s going to be up to you, I’m afraid. You need to have lots of children and keep Morrison Ridge alive.”

  I laughed, unable to picture what I was going to do tomorrow, much less imagine myself getting married and having a bunch of kids. Her cheeks still had red coins of color on them and I wished I could roll back time to when we were in the kitchen. I wouldn’t say a word about the meeting. I still didn’t understand why she wasn’t there. She should be talking about her feelings to everyone at the meeting, where it could do some good, instead of to me, who couldn’t do a thing about it.

  “Put on your tape,” she said suddenly. “I don’t want to think about the ticky-tacky houses any longer.” She reached for a piece of fudge, then kicked off her sandals and rested her feet against the edge of the coffee table, getting comfortable.

  I stood up to put Daddy’s tape in the VCR. There was a tape already in the machine and I hit the eject button. “Were you watching a movie?” I asked.

  “What?” She sounded confused. “Oh, not a movie.”

  I pulled out the tape and looked at the handwritten label. Graham and Nora, wedding dance. “Oh my gosh.” I turned to her. “Is this from Mom and Daddy’s wedding?”

  “Just their first dance.” Nanny suddenly stood up and took the tape from my hand. She bent over to set it on the lower shelf of the TV stand. “Go ahead and put yours in,” she said.

  I put Daddy’s tape in the VCR and sat down at the other end of the couch from Nanny. I recognized Daddy’s Asheville office on the screen. A girl sat in one of the three leather chairs, but I didn’t get a good look at her because the camera swung around to face my father. The tape must have been from at least two years ago, because he was sitting in his desk chair like he used to and he was able to lift his right hand a bit as he spoke to the camera. He explained that he had the permission of his patient and her parents to allow others to view the tape, but that he would call the girl Dorianna, which was not her real name.