I'll See You Again Part 39

Luck, in the form of our extended circle of family and friends, bailed him out. Warren stayed home from work, not feeling well after the long night, and by coincidence, my brother Mark came over that day just to hang out. Our neighbor Jonathan was working from home, and he came over, too.

"Good news, Warren, come here," I called out as soon as they arrived. "You're getting that bed off the roof now!"

The three men got a rope around the heavy wooden form and s.h.i.+mmied it down the side of the house. By two in the afternoon, twelve hours after Warren had started the project, Emma's oversize captain's bed was on the ground.

But even that wasn't the end.

After all the huffing and puffing going down, the guys realized that the bed wouldn't fit up the staircase at Gina and Sal's house. n.o.body was in the mood to suggest additional adventures that involved more roofs, ropes, and windows.

"What should we do?" Warren asked.

Everyone who had been involved in the bed-moving escapade was now standing on the sidewalk, staring at Emma's bed. I made it clear that I didn't want it back. I looked at Jonathan and had an immediate idea. When something is right, I know it.

"Could you use it?" I asked him. "It matches the other bed. And you have two children."

He looked at me anxiously, remembering the hysteria that resulted the last time he agreed to take a bed. But I was smiling, so he nodded.

"Well, sure," Jonathan said. Then mentioning his son, he added, "Colton is getting old enough for a bed. He'd love it."

Was it a twist of fate? Coincidence? Destiny? A sweet joke from my angels in heaven? One way or another, Emma's bed and Katie's bed ended up in the same house again, in children's rooms right next door to each other.

As with so much else, it wasn't easy, but we had gotten there.

Twenty-three

Everybody I knew seemed thrilled about my having a new baby, and why shouldn't they be? I'd gone through a lot to make it happen. I kept reminding myself that I'd made a decision. But had I made the right decision? With Emma, Alyson, and Katie, I had been so proud to have a happy house and happy family. Children deserved no less. But if happiness wasn't in my repertoire anymore, maybe I couldn't give this baby the good life she deserved.

I kept flas.h.i.+ng back to a day shortly before the accident, when Warren and I had a disagreement, and since we had a pact never to argue in front of the girls, we sent Katie and Alyson outside to play. Our quarrel didn't amount to much, but when it ended, I raced down to the bas.e.m.e.nt with hurt feelings and burst into tears.

Alyson must have spotted me from where she was playing in the yard because she stopped what she was doing and came over, pressing her face against the bas.e.m.e.nt window.

"Mommy, don't cry," she had said.

She looked unbearably sad, and her sorrowful expression cut to my heart. Seeing me weepy had drained away all her normal cheer. I couldn't do that to her. I immediately wiped away my tears and gave her a big smile.

Now that I was halfway through my pregnancy, I kept remembering how I felt seeing Alyson's sad face and knowing that I had caused her sorrow.

I'd been able to change my mood very quickly for Alyson, and she easily returned to her usual good spirits. But what would life be like for the new baby, coming into a house imbued with pain? Would gloominess be her standard mode?

"I'm thinking about putting the baby up for adoption," I told Melissa one day in my second trimester.

"You're not putting the baby up for adoption," Melissa said. "We're all going to be here to help you. That baby will be as loved as anyone on earth."

Her words resonated. Even in the darkest times, I felt loved and sustained by my friends, and their generous spirits would be equally nurturing to the baby. In fact, taking care of her would be a piece of cake in comparison to putting up with me. I immediately decided that the baby would have three G.o.dmothers-Melissa, Isabelle, and Jeannine.

If my crazy thoughts now focused on adoption, at least I no longer thought about suicide. I couldn't. I had a responsibility to this pregnancy and something to worry about more important than myself.

"You were such a good mom with the girls," Isabelle said sweetly, "and you're going to be a good mom again." She looked at me with her big doe eyes, and I couldn't help smiling. Even when she was being sincere, Isabelle brought out my sillier side.

"How about the time I couldn't stand the noise in the house? Remember? I sent Katie over to you, then locked myself in the bathroom," I said.

"Which of us hasn't done that?" Isabelle asked with a laugh.

I had yearned every day since the accident to hear the girls giggling and laughing, or even squabbling and whining. How could I have ever wanted to escape happy pandemonium? I would give anything to have the sounds of normal family commotion again. To me a new baby crying wouldn't be noise, it would be a return to the music of our lives, an end to the eerie quiet.

Isabelle was right. Even in my pregnant, insecure state, I knew in my heart that I'd been a devoted mom to Emma, Alyson, and Katie. They reveled in the comfort of my affection and were growing up confident and strong. Each day before school, I gave them a hug and a kiss and n.o.body ever walked out of the house without a smile.

Except one morning, when Emma was in third grade. She had gotten the day off to a bad start by refusing to let Aly borrow her coat. After I insisted she share, she went into theatrics about how unfair I was and began to cry. I tried to get her to stop, but she began ranting because she didn't like the way her hair looked.

"You're behaving like a brat," I had told her, which made her cry even harder.

Why was my nice girl behaving this way? As she left for school, she looked back at me, but I looked straight ahead and didn't do a thing-no hug, no kiss, no "Have a nice day."

As soon as the door closed, the whole surly scene began eating me up. I felt awful. How could I let Emma go to school unhappy? Maybe she hadn't behaved well, but she was an eight-year-old girl who needed rea.s.surance, not reprimands. As the adult, I should remedy the situation and make her feel better. I pulled out a pad of paper and quickly wrote a note apologizing for the bad morning and telling Emma I loved her. I sealed it in an envelope and drove to her school.

"Could you get this note to Emma as soon as possible?" I asked the secretary in the front office.

"Sure, Mrs. Hance," she said. "Is anything wrong?"

"Not after she gets the note," I said, relieved.

Making sure children are happy and loved and secure. My job. I'd done it well once and maybe-with the love and support of my friends-I could do it again.

The cliche when you're pregnant is to say you don't care if it's a boy or girl as long as you have a healthy baby. I wanted a healthy baby. I also wanted a girl. Some fertility clinics will check the DNA of an embryo before implanting, but Dr. Rosenwaks liked to interfere as little as possible, so he didn't screen for s.e.x. Meanwhile, I told everyone I was sure it was a boy-and I meant it.

At the twenty-week sonogram, the technician said the baby would be sufficiently developed that I could find out the s.e.x.

"I don't want to know," I said firmly.

The emotional strains of this pregnancy had practically brought me to the brink, and I figured the next months would be even harder if I knew the baby wasn't the gender I secretly wanted. Or maybe not so secretly. Everyone understood that I desperately hoped this baby would restore some of the joy I had felt with my three girls.

"Really?" asked the technician, whom I hadn't met before. "Are you sure you don't want to know?"

I lay very still on the table for a moment. I had to accept sometime that I would be bringing up a boy. "Okay, let's find out," I said.

She took another minute to verify, not wanting to make a mistake. "You're having a girl," she said finally.

I started crying. Bawling. Tears rolled down my cheeks and my whole body shook. The technician had no idea what she had said wrong and nervously left the room. Outside, someone filled her in on who I was, and she came back smiling.

"Are you sure it's a girl? Are you sure?" I asked her.

"I'm sure," she said.