Somewhere Out There: A Novel
Somewhere Out There: Chapter 6

The Hillcrest Home for Girls was located on the outskirts of Georgetown, an industrial area in South Seattle. The four-story, blue square box of a building was set against a steep hillside; its locked windows, worn linoleum floors, and buzzing fluorescent lights screamed the word “institution” the instant someone walked through the front doors. It was the place where Brooke and Natalie were first separated; babies were kept in a different part of the building than the older kids.

Gina tried to explain what was happening. She dropped down, squatting next to Brooke, and looked her straight in the eye. “I know it’s hard, sweetie. But believe me, I’m going to do everything I can to help you two replace another home to be in together. Right now, though, you have to be away from each other a bit. You still can see her every day while you’re here. Okay?”

Brooke bit her bottom lip and nodded, slowly. Gina was nice, even if she was the one who took her from her mom. Thoughts of her mother stung like tiny splinters trapped beneath Brooke’s skin. Sometimes she picked at them, trying to dislodge the pain of missing her. Brooke didn’t understand why her mom hadn’t come to get them yet, why her time-out was lasting so long.

Gina led her around the building, and Brooke was relieved to see the cafeteria, where other children sat at long rectangular tables, eating from trays filled with spaghetti and green beans. It seemed like eating was the only thing Brooke could think about since she’d begun having regular meals with Rose and Walter. Now that she was somewhere new, she had worried it might be like living in her mom’s car again, and the gnawing ache in her belly would come back. One of the first things she had done at Rose and Walter’s house was to stand in the middle of the pantry, touching all the boxes and cans of food, counting them. “This is for us?” she asked Rose, her voice edged with wonder. “Pineapple and spaghetti? We get to eat it?”

“Yes,” Rose had said, gently. But after they’d stayed there a few weeks and she discovered that, not for the first time, Brooke had hidden a jar of peaches and packages of cookies and crackers under her bed, Rose got angry. “We feed you more than enough. You don’t have to take it.”

Brooke didn’t know how to explain why she took the food—she only knew that she found herself sneaking into the pantry every night, stealing away bits of anything she could save for later, just in case. After that, when Gina came to get Brooke and Natalie from the house, Brooke knew it was her fault, even though Gina told her it was because Walter’s boss had unexpectedly transferred his job to another state.

She thought it was her fault, too, when two weeks later, Gina had returned to Hillcrest to inform her that her baby sister was being adopted. “We are?” Brooke asked, confused by the way Gina shook her head and frowned.

“She is,” Gina said. “Only Natalie. I’m sorry, honey. For now, you’re going to stay here.”

Thirty-five years later, Brooke recalled the cloudy, fractured moments of that morning at Hillcrest. If she wanted to—if she let them escape—she could still feel the rough sobs that tore at her chest when Gina told her she wouldn’t get to see Natalie anymore. Back then, she didn’t understand that most couples looking to adopt only wanted babies, not older children, like Brooke, who were more likely to have behavioral issues. It was only 1980, and the system was less likely to take into account how important sibling bonds were for healthy development. She remembered the last time she saw her baby sister, in a room not much different from the one where they’d last seen their mother. She remembered Natalie’s big, brown eyes and wispy blond curls, her chubby pink cheeks and the way she grabbed Brooke by the ears and gave her gummy and wet, openmouthed kisses.

“I love you,” Brooke said, just before Gina took Natalie away. Brooke tucked her treasured purple blanket snug around her sister and then, just like their mother, Natalie disappeared.

Thinking of that moment now, Brooke tried to distract herself by heading into the bathroom to shower. She had an appointment at the women’s health clinic at eleven, and it was already nine thirty. As she let the warm water rush over her, she considered her options. It had been a week since she realized she was late, which meant she had plenty of time to figure out her next step, but so far, the only thing she had decided to do was make this appointment to confirm the results of the home tests.

Two hours later, after taking yet another test at the clinic, Brooke sat in a small office with a woman named Jill, who couldn’t have been more than a day over twenty-five.

“So,” Jill said. “You’re definitely pregnant.” Her bright eyes and positive, bubbly demeanor made Brooke think she probably had been a cheerleader. Jill glanced down at the chart in front of her. “About eight weeks along, according to when you had your last period?”

“I think so, yes,” Brooke said, holding her hands together tightly in her lap. Her stomach growled; she’d been too queasy to eat before she came. Now she was ravenous. She wished she’d thought to bring along a snack.

“Have you informed the father?” Jill held a pen with her right hand, poising it over the paper in front of her.

“No.” Brooke purposely hadn’t seen Ryan that week, telling him she had a stomach bug and didn’t want him to get sick, too. Wrapped up in finishing a big job on a high-rise condo project, he hadn’t pushed the issue. “Call me when you’re feeling better,” he said, and later that night, when she came home from an office-cleaning job, he’d had her favorite hot and sour soup delivered from a Thai restaurant down the street. A sweet gesture, to be sure, but a small part of Brooke couldn’t help but wish he’d shown up to deliver it himself. She couldn’t help but feel that if he really cared about her, her germs wouldn’t matter. Having this thought surprised her—she’d never been a needy girlfriend—but something about the idea of carrying Ryan’s baby made her wish that they were closer—that the minute she’d taken those tests, she could have called him and told him the news. She wished she had it in her to admit to how scared she was—to ask him to comfort her and help her make the right decision. Instead, she kept silent, clenching her jaw as she made the appointment at the clinic.

“Do you know who he is?” Jill asked. She kept her eyes pointed down, at her desk.

“Yes,” Brooke said, feeling embarrassed to be having this discussion with a girl fifteen years her junior. Her hair was in a side-pony, for Christ’s sake. She had perfect skin and cherry-pit dimples. She couldn’t possibly know anything about making this kind of life-changing decision.

Jill set her pen down and looked at Brooke. “Well, there are three options. Parenting, adoption, or termination. We can assist with any of them.” She paused. “Have you thought about which you’d like to pursue?”

“I’m not sure.” Brooke shifted in her seat, crossed her legs, and began to bob her right foot as it hung in the air. “I’m thirty-nine, so this could be my last chance to have a baby.”

“That’s true,” Jill said. She waited for Brooke to continue.

“The father is going through a divorce,” Brooke said, quickly. She maintained strong eye contact with the younger woman to show she was not ashamed of her situation.

“Okay,” Jill said, leaning back against her chair.

“And I definitely won’t give it up for adoption.”

“You’re not comfortable with that idea?” Jill asked, with a slight tilt of her head.

“No,” Brooke said. Her voice was hard. “I’m not.” She wasn’t against adoption, per se. Under normal circumstances, she knew it was an incredibly generous act, an amazing gift given to a couple or individual in need. But in her particular situation, with her particular past, it was something she just couldn’t do.

Jill remained silent, waiting for Brooke to say more.

“I can’t keep it,” Brooke said, and her voice broke on the words. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, and she attempted to blink them away. Goddamn it. She didn’t cry in front of other people, especially not strangers.

“Okay,” Jill said, again, pushing a box of tissues across her desk.

Brooke grabbed one and wiped her eyes. “Can I take care of it now, while I’m here?” she asked even as her bottom lip trembled. “Or is there some kind of waiting period?” Her stomach folded in on itself, and without thinking, she placed a hand over her abdomen. Oh, god. What was she doing?

“Not in Washington State,” Jill said. “Let me check the schedule.” She kept her voice soft, her tone neutral. Brooke held her breath as the younger woman typed and clicked her mouse a few times, all the while looking at her computer. “We actually could fit you in this afternoon,” she said, moving her eyes from the screen to Brooke’s face. “Does that work?”

Brooke nodded, pressing a closed fist against her mouth. It was the easiest option, the one least likely to make waves in her life. She wouldn’t have to tell Ryan. She could just get it over with. Nothing would have to change.

Jill eyed her, carefully. “There’s no rush,” she said. “You have some time to think about it, if you want to take a few days.”

“No,” Brooke said. “I want to do it now.”

“Okay,” Jill said, and then turned to type on her keyboard once again. “Do you have any questions for me about the procedure?”

“No,” Brooke said. The less she knew, the better. She just wanted it done.

“There’s someone to drive you home?” Brooke nodded, even though it was a lie. But Jill didn’t have to know that. “You’ll need to get some labs done, and an ultrasound, so I’ll take you to a room and a technician will handle all of that.” She flipped through a few pages from Brooke’s file and raised her eyebrows. “You’ve listed ‘unknown’ for your family medical history.”

“Yes.” Brooke’s pulse pounded inside her head; there was no subject she hated more than that of family. She had told Ryan that she was an only child, that her parents lived in Florida, and they were estranged. Lying to him—to everyone, really—was so much less painful than speaking the truth. She had wondered what it would be like to open up, to tell Ryan about her mother and the sister she’d lost along the way, about the foster homes she’d lived in, and the life she’d learned to tolerate at Hillcrest. She imagined saying the words “My mother decided she didn’t want me when I was four years old, so she gave me away,” and the physical reaction she had—her head spun and her throat closed as though she were choking on something hard and sharp—was so violent, she knew it was better to keep her mouth shut.

But now, sitting across from Jill, she decided to be honest, in the hope that it might put a quick end to the discussion. “My mother gave custody of me to the state when I was four. I have no clue about my father.” Brooke’s cheeks flamed, as though her past was something to be ashamed of. She hated that she had this reaction; if anyone should be plagued by that particular emotion, it should be the woman who’d discarded her as though she were nothing.

“I understand,” Jill said, even though Brooke knew there was no way the younger woman understood anything of what Brooke had been through. “I understand” was just something people said to fill in a blank, when nothing else made sense.

“I have some more forms for you to read over,” Jill said. She pulled open a file drawer in her desk and riffled through it, setting a small stack of paper in front of Brooke. “I’ll give you a bit to review everything, then come take you back to an exam room.” She stood up, pressing her fingertips into her desk. “It’s going to be fine, Brooke. We’ll take good care of you.”

“Thanks,” Brooke said. Jill might have been young, but at least she was kind.

Brooke spent the next twenty minutes filling out the forms that described the procedure and then signed them to give her consent. She also read the detailed aftercare instructions, relieved to note that if she opted not to have the sedative, she should be okay to drive home. She wouldn’t even have to call in sick to work that night, if all went well. She’d pop some Advil and pretend the whole thing never happened.

She tried to relax the tight knot that had settled beneath her sternum with controlled breaths, only to have it spring claws and dig in deeper. She’d be fine, she thought, mentally repeating what Jill had said. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d made it this far on her own. She’d make it through this, too.

As promised, Jill returned to her office and then led Brooke down a long, well-lit hall to an exam room. She put her hand on Brooke’s arm and gave it a short squeeze. “Feel free to give us a call any time, after,” she said. “We’re here to help.”

Brooke nodded as she bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste a coppery drop of blood. After Jill left and she was alone, Brooke changed into a gown and sat on the edge of the exam table, her bare legs swinging. A woman came to take her blood, and after she had left, another woman entered and introduced herself as the ultrasound technician. She was significantly older than Brooke, a little top-heavy, wore no makeup, and her gray hair was cut in a sensible, short bob.

“I’m Linda,” the woman said in the crackling voice of a heavy-duty smoker. She confirmed Brooke’s name and date of birth. “This won’t take long. Can you lie back, with your head on the pillow, please?”

“Why do I need an ultrasound?” Brooke asked, as she complied with Linda’s request. “If I’m just . . . if I’m not . . .” She clamped her lips together, unable to finish the sentence.

Linda stood next to her and placed a reassuring hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “We need to confirm the gestational age,” she said. “Make sure everything’s where it’s supposed to be, and that it’s not an ectopic pregnancy.”

“Oh,” Brooke said. “Okay.” She settled back against the pillow and turned her head toward the wall, where a poster of a tropical, sandy beach hung directly across from her. To let women imagine being there instead of on the exam table, Brooke supposed. To imagine being anywhere but here.

Linda helped Brooke get her heels in the hard plastic stirrups, put a warm blanket over her legs, and then pushed up her gown to expose her stomach. “Sorry, this is going to be a little cold,” she said as she squeezed a clear gel from a white bottle. But even with the warning, Brooke startled when the substance hit her skin. Linda grabbed a wand from the white and gray machine that sat on a cart next to the table. The screen was turned away from Brooke’s view. Linda pressed the end of the wand against Brooke’s abdomen. She was silent as she typed with one hand, maneuvering the wand from one of Brooke’s hip bones to the other.

“What are you doing?” Brooke asked. Her voice trembled, even though she tried to keep it steady. Had her mother thought about doing this when she got pregnant with her daughters? Did she lie in a room like this, and then change her mind, only to ultimately decide to dispose of them anyway? If she had this baby, was she destined to do the same?

“Just taking some measurements.”

The knot in Brooke’s chest pulsed. “Can I hear the heartbeat?” she asked.

Linda didn’t answer, but Brooke saw her flip a switch on the machine next to the table, and a moment later, after Linda moved the wand and pushed it harder into Brooke’s belly, the echoing whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of her baby’s heart filled the air.

“Oh,” Brooke said. Her hands clutched the crinkly white paper between her body and the table. Her eyes flooded with tears. “It’s so fast.” She paused, then turned to look at Linda. “Is that normal?”

“Yes,” Linda said, holding the wand steady. She didn’t say anything else, waiting, it seemed, for Brooke to tell her what to do next.

A whirlwind of indecision spun in Brooke’s mind. This was the best thing to do. She wasn’t equipped to raise a baby on her own. Her health insurance was shit. She didn’t make enough money. Ryan would think she was trying to trap him into finally divorcing Michelle. He’d leave Brooke. And then what would she be? Alone like she’d always been, with no idea how to be a good mother because she’d never had one herself.

“You okay, sweetie?” Linda asked, breaking into Brooke’s thoughts.

“I’m not sure,” Brooke said, much more comforted by the older woman’s presence than she had been by Jill’s. If she had had a grandmother, Brooke would have wanted her to be someone like Linda.

“You’re not sure if you’re okay, or if you still want to go ahead with the procedure?” Linda pulled the wand off Brooke’s belly, and the sudden silence that filled the room poured over Brooke like liquid lead. She found herself wanting to hear the baby’s heartbeat again and again.

“Both.” A few errant tears slipped down Brooke’s cheeks, and Linda reached for a box of tissues. “Thanks,” Brooke said as she took one and wiped her face.

“Of course,” Linda replied, setting the box back on the counter. “Women cry in here all the time. They change their minds, too. It’s one hundred percent your decision.”

Brooke nodded, keeping her eyes locked on Linda’s. “I know,” she said, feeling a tornado buzzing around the knot in her chest. Her own heart pounded, and she suddenly realized the link between her baby’s heartbeat and hers. They were already connected. This thought shot through her in an electric bolt, and shivers raced across her skin. What she’d mentioned to Jill earlier—that at Brooke’s age this was likely the last chance she’d have to become a mother—seemed even more poignant now. This was her chance to break the cycle her own mother had started. This child wasn’t disposable. It needed a mother. It needed Brooke. Whatever it took, however much she might have to sacrifice, she could have this baby and be the kind of parent it deserved. She could give it everything her own mother never gave to her.

Fifteen minutes later, Brooke was dressed and had climbed into her car. It was raining again, a slow and steady drizzle, but the changing leaves on the trees surrounding the lot looked like they had been dipped in fire, their roots plugged in and their volume turned up. Her head still spinning, she grabbed her phone from her purse and called Ryan.

“Hey,” she said. It was the middle of day, and Brooke knew he was on a job site; she heard the banging of hammers and the buzz of electric saws in the background. She tried to think of what to say next, but the words logjammed in her throat. She couldn’t do it on the phone. She needed to see his face.

“Hey, babe,” Ryan said. “Everything okay? You sound stressed.”

To say the least, she thought, then forged ahead with the reason she’d called. “Can I see you tonight? Or do you have the boys?”

“Not until the weekend. I’d love to see you. Are you working? Should I bring the crew by for a beer?”

“Not tonight, okay?” Her voice wavered. “But I’m off around eleven, so I’ll come to your place after that.”

“Can’t wait, gorgeous.”

They hung up, and Brooke started her car, skipping between feelings of terror, exhilaration, and panic from one breath to the next. And then she drove toward home, trying to figure out the right words to tell Ryan she was going to have his baby, wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.