"Why?"
It was a straight question, no tinge of sadness or
anger. Just curiosity.
Isabella shrugged, holding out her hands to show
she was trying to think of an answer. It wasn’t
so simple that it could be easily explained away. It
was, after all, a life. A whole history.
"I was young," she said, knowing that
was not enough, but it was a good start.
"How young?"
"Eighteen."
Marie nodded, thinking. She was eighteen now.
Isabella wondered: Would she have done the same
thing?
"Were you in love?"
This surprised Isabella, making her think back to a
time she had, until recently, chosen to forget.
"No. I can’t say it was love." She
paused, licking her lips. "I liked your father. We
thought that was enough." She smiled weakly.
"At least I did."
Marie thought this over, looking down at the
black-and-white tile as people in the airport passed by.
She was probably tired, Isabella thought. Her flight
would take off soon, having to get up at the crack of
dawn to get here, only to arrive an hour early and have
to sit and wait. They stopped in a snack bar/coffee shop,
but neither of them seemed hungry. Half her bagel sat,
not looking to get any smaller, and Marie’s pastry
was untouched.
Their week had been okay. Polite. Tense, but polite.
They had little in common, and passed it as any two
strangers would, except without the casualness.
There was a bigger picture. Bigger than both of them,
and well outside their control.
The past.
The past of each that was unknown to the other.
She is beautiful, Isabella thought. Not just because
they were genetically related, but because she was really
beautiful. They had the same skin tone, the same eyes,
almost the same bright smile, but Marie’s was all
just a little bit better. In some intangible,
can’t-quite-put-my-finger-on-it way, Marie looked
like Isabella, but improved.
Maybe being eighteen had something to do with it.
Marie looked up and blushed.
She had been staring again. She couldn’t help it.
Isabella could stare for an hour, if not all day. She
wanted to hug her. She wanted to hold her and tell her
she loved her, and apologize. She wanted to cry.
"I’m sorry," Isabella said, as if
explaining. "I feel so bad."
"Why?"
It was barely a whisper, the color still fresh in her
cheeks.
"I’m your mother, and you don’t know
me. I don’t know you."
"It is kind of . . . weird," Marie said,
smiling. It was a shy smile. Sweet and shy.
"I think about you every day." Isabella
looked away, trying to keep the tears from coming.
"Every day."
When she looked back, her daughter’s smile was
gone, replaced by a thoughtfulness that was so profound,
it was as if she could read her mind.
"It’s not that I regret anything,"
Isabella added. "If I had it to do all over again,
under the same circumstances, I would do the same
thing."
She paused.
"Except the lie. I wouldn’t have done
that."
The look of curiosity crossed Marie’s face again,
and Isabella decided to wait for the question to come. It
would be easier that way.
It took a while to arrive.
They obviously hadn’t told her everything, which
is probably for the better. There are certain things
better left unknown.
So why did she have to mention it?
Because it was the truth, and not mentioning the truth
is as bad as lying. There would be no more lies. As
painful as the truth may be, no more lies.
In another place, Marie had a mom and a dad, a home, a
life that was completely unconnected to Isabella or
Danny. Isabella had given birth while Danny supplied the
sperm and the excuses, with no other link between them
and their daughter, except for the DNA. And Marie could
have gone through her whole life not knowing that. Maybe
not needing to know.
But Danny had decided to bring down the
carefully-constructed house of cards that he and
Danny’s mother insisted on building in the first
place. Force Isabella to promise secrecy, then yank it
out from under her -- and everyone else -- when
she wasn’t expecting it. He had run away from the
truth, forcing the lie, then after years of living with
the deceit, he decided on his own to make it right.
Without warning. Without explanation. Without apology. He
had decided to grow up and take responsibility when it
wasn’t his to take. He had left it, Isabella had
taken it, protected him, and then married the idiot. Two
more kids, five years of miserable matrimony, an amicable
divorce and years of comfortable singleness, and then
the bastard decides it’s time to grow up, stealing
the responsibility he had abandoned 18 years ago. The
cards came crashing down on Isabella, altering
Marie’s world forever, and destroying the trust all
the families had managed to uneasily share.
"What lie?"
The voice was still sweet, full of honesty but now
tinged around the edge with worry.
Isabella took a deep breath. Here comes the hard part.
"When did you find out you were adopted?"
"I was in the fifth grade."
"And what was your reaction?"
Marie thought about this, perhaps wondering if
Isabella was avoiding answering her question. "I
said, ‘Oh. Okay.’ And that was it. It
didn’t really bother me."
"Did they say why you were adopted?"
Marie shook her head. "No. I didn’t ask. I
just thought it was better than being an orphan. You
know, like in a Charles Dickens story."
Isabella nodded. That type of thing had crossed her
mind, though her fear ran more along the lines that
something would happen to Bill and Carol, the adoptive
parents, and that an evil foster couple would neglect the
child. She worried over this rather than wondering if the
daughter she had given up at birth had been thrown into
an orphanage. She wasn’t really sure there were such
things as orphanages anymore.
A long silence fell. Isabella was searching for the
words, wondering if she should try to explain, or just
tell what happened. Maybe a little of both?
She checked her watch. Still half an hour before the
flight was supposed to take off. She looked out past the
gate, out the huge windows. The plane hadn’t even
arrived yet. Either plenty of time or not nearly enough,
depending on which way she told it.
"I dated your father -- Danny -- for a
few months when I discovered I was pregnant. He . .
." She considered different ways to put it. ".
. . didn’t know how to handle it."
Marie smiled slightly. This was a little less than
sweet, more on the worldly side. "You mean he
freaked out."
Isabella’s smile was natural, full of relief as
well as humor. "Freaked out? Yes, I suppose
that’s more accurate. He freaked out." She
looked down at the table top, still smiling, picturing
macho, arrogant, know-it-all 17-year-old Danny Montero
freaking out.
A voice over the intercom warned people not to accept
strange items from strange people and to be watchful of
their luggage so strange people do not put strange items
into them. She waited until the woman shut up.
"Danny was immature. I was immature. But
pregnancy has a way of helping some girls to become
mature. Sometimes there is no other choice."
Marie considered this, her smile fading. "But you
had another choice."
Isabella’s eyebrows went up. "You think so?
I don’t think so. I mean, I could have kept you, but
your life wouldn’t have been . . . it would have
been much different."
"You didn’t consider abortion?"
Isabella watched a young man in a business suit
attempt to fit the remnants of a huge jelly donut into
his mouth without dripping any jelly. He succeeded, but
he looked like a blowfish.
"Not until Danny’s mother suggested it. But
even then, no. I couldn’t do that." She looked
back at Marie. "I don’t think anyone could be
happy with that. I think of your folks, and how badly
they wanted children, and I think of holding you right
after you were born, and how warm and fragile you were,
and I look at you now and I . . ."
Isabella shook her head and looked away.
"No. I couldn’t imagine doing that to
you."
There were several seconds of awkward silence. The man
had managed to swallow most of his donut and return his
face to normal.
"Well, I’m glad you didn’t," Marie
said.
Isabella looked up and matched her daughter’s
bright smile.
She thought of the times during their few days
together that Marie talked of Joel, her boyfriend, and
Isabella could feel the love Marie had for him. She
thought of Bill and Carol, Marie’s folks -- her parents,
Isabella had to remind herself -- and the obvious
love and respect they shared. She thought of the friends
Marie mentioned, the teachers, her co-workers at the
clothing store. Isabella was sure they were glad too.
"Anyway, we were immature, and I was asked not to
. . . say who the father was." Isabella picked up
her coffee and sipped, not tasting it, not noticing it
was almost cold.
"Asked by who?"
"Danny. And Danny’s mother."
Marie looked sad, as if she had just realized
something, and it wasn’t what she expected.
"It’s not their fault," Isabella added
quickly. "They were as scared as I was. They
didn’t know what to do. I think that they -- well, at least Fran, Danny’s mom, thought it was the
best thing for me."
Marie’s sad look turned to a frown. She was
troubled by something.
"What is it?" Isabella asked before taking
another sip of coffee.
Marie shook her head as if shaking off confusion.
"They said they talked you out of the
abortion."
Isabella closed her eyes. This is what she gets for
trying to be nice, for giving those two some credit. For
trying to not make them look bad in Marie’s eyes.
Why didn’t she just come out and say it? Why lie
again? Why protect the two people who least deserved it?
She sighed heavily. "No, they pressured me to go
to the clinic. Fran even offered to take me. When I said
no, she threatened to tell my parents."
Marie’s troubled face held fast. "Did
she?"
"No. She should have. At least the truth would
have come out. That would have been better."
The confusion returned. "What truth? You keep
talking about truth, but you won’t say what it
is."
"No, this is the truth. What I’m
trying to avoid is the lie."
"Then what was that? What was the lie?"
"That I was raped. That I didn’t know who
your father was."
Marie’s eyes grew wide, turning away, out toward
where the airplanes sat. Isabella looked too. A 737 was
just pulling up to the gate.
"You told them . . . that happened instead
of the truth? You thought rape was better?"
Isabella returned her gaze to her daughter, this
stranger, who has half her -- yet was someone else.
She wanted to tell more of the truth, that the rape story
had been Fran’s idea too, but that would make it
sound like she was looking for a scapegoat to something
that was her own fault. Fran didn’t make Isabella
say anything -- it was just the best story out of a
bunch of bad ideas.
"I was scared of my parents," Isabella
admitted. "I loved them very much, and they had me
up on this pedestal where I didn’t belong. I was an
only child. Like you. They had hopes, dreams, and so did
I." She paused, feeling the past as heavily as if it
were the present, that then was happening now.
"I would rather be humiliated than to hurt
them."
Marie blinked heavily, and Isabella saw understanding
there. She loved her parents just as much. She might not
have made the same choice, but she understood why
Isabella made it.
Isabella smiled gently. "And, actually, the
humiliation wasn’t that far removed from the
reality."
Marie frowned, now lost. "I don’t know what
you mean."
Isabella bit her lip, knowing she should say it, but
finding it more difficult than she ever would have
thought.
"I don’t want you to think badly of Danny,
or of me, but we’re beyond that. I’m really
lucky to be sitting here with you right now, and to have
spent these few days together. I’m sure Danny feels
the same way."
Marie nodded. "But . . ."
She opened her mouth to start, suddenly feeling her
throat tighten up, as if something was telling her not to
say it.
She took the last of the coffee, and it made the
tightening a little worse for a moment, and then she
relaxed.
"We’re different people now. Better. Danny
and I can actually have a conversation without any
yelling."
It was the truth, but maybe Marie noticed it
didn’t say everything. Maybe she realized whatever
Isabella was not saying was much worse than what she
wanted to know.
Marie smiled tiredly. Isabella continued on.
"Sometimes we make bad choices, and if we’re
smart, or lucky, we make better choices from those.
Sometimes the hurt helps you make a better
decision."
Marie slowly nodded.
Neither one of them said anything for a while. All the
people that had been on the plane were heading for their
cars or taxis or shuttles. The people who hadn’t
checked in their luggage downstairs for the flight to
Albuquerque were lined up for their turn to check in now.
The cleaning crew was readying the aircraft for another
trip.
Isabella decided to draw the line there, and keep the
rest of the lie, and its truth, behind it. What she had
said so far could overwhelm Marie, and the rest would
only drown her. All Isabella knew was a boy had cornered
her in the bathroom at a party, and that she was held
down on the floor as her skirt was hauled up and her
panties torn off. That she never told anyone about the
rape changed nothing. That the rape was 8 weeks into her
pregnancy with Marie changed nothing. It didn’t
change the fact that Danny was Marie’s father, and
anything beyond that was not necessary for Marie to know.
Isabella did not know if Danny had staged the rape,
and if it was at his mother’s suggestion. That the
boy looked slightly familiar to her, making her wonder if
he was one of Danny’s friends, was beside the point.
Whatever Isabella’s fears, she could never admit
them because saying such things would not be the truth,
even if the boy had apologized as he raped her, crying at
the end as people who needed to use the toilet banged on
the door, hurrying him into not finishing what he was
trying to do.
Telling the rest of the lie would only bring more
questions about the truth. Questions that didn’t
have adequate answers. Questions like why she later
married Danny anyway, like why she had two sons with him,
complicating the pain. Like why Isabella told her parents
the lie, then told Bill and Carol -- the adopting
parents -- the same lie. Like allowing everyone to
think the whole thing had been her idea, not admitting it
even after Danny had called Bill and Carol six months ago
to admit he was Marie’s genetic father, ending the
18 year deception. Like why she let Danny -- a man
she never loved -- off the hook. Again.
Bill and Carol were not as upset with Isabella as her
own mom and dad were, though they should have been.
Friends of Isabella’s parents, they had been as
close to the family as blood relatives -- which, in a
way, they were. Shortly after the adoption was finalized,
Bill was transferred to Albuquerque and Isabella was
bombarded with several conflicting emotions, often all at
the same time. There was relief for the distance from the
child -- a distance that she thought would keep Marie
out of sight, out of mind, allowing Isabella space and
time to heal. Soon, though, she felt a profound emptiness
for the love she could never give to the daughter that
she had given life to, a love she thought would go away
with time, but which never faded. A love that haunted her
day and night. A love Marie did not know existed, until
now. And now, even with Marie sitting across from her,
after three days of being together, Isabella still could
not express the depths and meaning of that love to this
stranger -- a stranger that was part of her as
intimately as her two boys, as intimately as the breaths
she took and the pain she felt.
There was guilt for being young and foolish, for doing
adult things when she had been a teenager, then not
taking the responsibility for them when they turned out
differently than expected. There was guilt for letting
her daughter go, not holding onto the life that came from
her very body, the guilt -- as misplaced and
incorrect as it may be -- of abandoning a child to
the care of others. A care she could not provide.
Then there was the pride of knowing Marie had been
given opportunities Isabella could never have offered, a
life she couldn’t have matched. Her daughter had
turned out better than she hoped for, more beautiful,
more intelligent, more secure and at ease than she had
dreamed. There was the feeling deep down that she would
have felt more guilt being selfish and keeping Marie
under circumstances that were not the best -- or
maybe not even suitable.
A woman got on the intercom and announced pre-boarding
for flight 116 to Albuquerque was about to begin.
"This is it," Marie said, not moving.
Isabella smiled, trying to put on a happy face, and
tears formed in her eyes. "Are you homesick?"
Her daughter nodded. "A little, yes. I miss
Joel." Then she smiled. "But I’ve enjoyed
this. I wish I could stay longer."
Isabella turned her head as a single tear moved slowly
down her cheek. "I wish you could too."
There was more she wanted to say, but it would not be
appropriate. She had been given this chance to be with
Marie, and she would not take it beyond what it was meant
to be -- a little get-acquainted time. A mother and
daughter, getting acquainted. There seemed like there
should be much more history than three days. But after
all this time, that was all they shared. Three days.
Marie stood, picking up her pastry and empty coffee
cup and walking them to the trash, returning to loop the
strap of the backpack over her shoulder.
"Tell me something," she said, standing as
her mother sat. "Why did Danny call? Why now after
so long?"
Isabella spirited the tear away with a finger and
blinked, clearing her vision. Marie had also spent three
days with Danny before coming over to Isabella’s -- hadn’t she asked him that question?
"I suppose it was guilt," she said with a
careful, measured tone. "Though I don’t know
why it would take eighteen years to kick in." She
looked up at Marie. "Did he say?"
"I didn’t ask. Our time together was pretty
. . . superficial. That’s why I was asking. He calls
my folks out of the blue and announces he’s my real
father, but when we finally get together, we don’t
talk. At least not about anything significant."
Isabella thought about this a moment. There had been
nothing significant discussed between them until this
morning, putting Isabella and Danny on the same level for
most of Marie’s visit. If it wasn’t for
Isabella’s off-the-cuff question ("Do you have
anything you’d like to ask me?"), Marie would
have gone home knowing nothing or little about the people
who conceived her. And if Marie had left it with her
first question ("Are you allergic to anything? I
need to know in case a doctor asks."), Isabella
would never have had the chance to offer an explanation
and not have the opportunity to shoo away the ghosts. And
her own guilt.
Then she wondered if Danny had called Bill and Carol
to hurt her one more time, to re-open the wound only to
discover it didn’t hurt anymore. The relief at
having the lie end more than made up for the humiliation
and anger from Isabella’s parents and friends. Danny
might have realized his call only hurt and confused Marie
and her folks. She didn’t know why Danny did things,
unless it was for the same reason most people screw up:
Selfishness and pride.
Isabella stood, taking her things to the trash, then
collecting her purse. They walked silently to the line
that had formed at the gate.
Having the boys made this worse. Without Justin and
Joshua in her life, she would only guess at the depths of
love motherhood offered. With them, this moment was like
having her heart ripped out.
They stepped into the line, and it moved more quickly
than Isabella preferred. She searched for words, but
there was nothing that came close to expressing what she
felt.
"This is the part I hate," she said, as if
she had done this before, and Marie turned toward her,
smiling. It was a guarded smile.
Isabella put her arms around her and hugged.
"Thank you for everything," Marie said.
"For everything."
"I hope you’d like to come back sometime.
I’d love to visit again."
"I will."
Then the words came that she never thought she would
actually say -- at least, not in person. She had said
them in her prayers, in her dreams, but never out loud.
"I love you, Marie."
"I know." A few moments passed. "I love
you too."
It was her turn to board. A woman was waiting for
Marie’s ticket.
They separated, and Marie turned, smiling brightly.
"Bye."
"Bye. I’ll write."
"Okay."
Marie fished out her boarding pass and offered it to
the woman, and then turned and waved.
Isabella watched her first child disappear into the
doors of the boarding gate, and she felt a calm sadness
set in. It was over.
She walked over to the huge windows and stared at the
airplane, waiting. Ten minutes later, it pulled away from
the gate and maneuvered out to the concourse, then slowly
taxied to the runway. The 737 stopped and waited its
turn, finally moving into position at the end of the
runway, standing by for the signal to go.
It started to move, picking up speed, racing down the
cement, the nose lifting before the rest of the plane
lunged off the ground, exhaust rushing away from the
engines. It rose above the horizon, into the sky,
surrounded by a cloudless blue, becoming smaller with
each second, and Isabella refused to allow her eyes to
move away.
In a minute, flight 116 was a speck of white in a
field of blue.
She thought -- not for the first time -- that
regardless of Danny’s motives, she would have to
thank him. Any mother knows that from the most intense
pain comes the most wonderful gift, and she would have to
always be thankful to have been given another chance, as
undeserving as it was.
She stared at the blue sky until there was nothing
left to see, and only then did she allow her gaze to
leave. Only then did she sit down alone and close her
eyes.
Only then did she cry.
Blue Sky From Pain
© 1998 by Eric Dalen. All rights reserved.
