A Necessary End (9 page)

“That's not what a contract is,” Hal says flatly.

I wave a hand. Whatever.

“What if we disagree?” Gabe asks. “Adrienne and me. If I want to approve something and she doesn't. Or vice versa.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, you'll just have to work that out amongst yourselves first, before you present your united front to Leah.”

“Not a problem,” I say. Gabe and I have always been able to come to agreement.

“During that year, either party may terminate the contract. Leah may decide that she prefers to raise the child herself. In that case, she has to vacate the home and all financial obligations will cease. There will be no penalty and no reimbursement.” It suddenly occurs to me that Leah could string us along for an entire year and still take the baby away. There's no way to legally protect ourselves from that. We wouldn't be able to prove that she did it knowingly; she could say she didn't decide until the end of the year.

I don't even know how to ask the question, not in front of Leah. If we're going into this, we're supposed to trust her. I can't give away yet that I don't. What I trust is my own ability to outfox her, if it comes down to that. With Patty, I was lulled by my own happiness; I was off my game. When I'm on, no one's going to beat me.

“Adrienne and Gabe, you also have the right to terminate the contract. You could give Leah a month's notice to leave the premises, after which time all financial obligations cease. But then you forfeit any legal claims to the child.” He watches me intently. “Do you understand so far?” I nod. “Now, if it's for cause—as in, either party has committed a crime or violated the trust and sanctity of the relationship in one of the ways specified on page seven—then it's a different situation. If the baby is thought to be endangered by either party, Child Protective Services must be called immediately for investigation. CPS will make their own stipulations at that time (for example, whether the child needs to be removed from the home and from both parties, or if the child can remain in the home with both parties, or if one of the parties must leave).

“Leah, if you're found to have abused the child in any way, Adrienne and Gabe would be able to petition the court for your legal rights to be terminated and for the adoption to move forward immediately.”

As a teacher, I'm legally required to report suspected child abuse. I've had my dealings with CPS over the years, and I've seen them make mistakes. I've seen them overreact and underreact. So there are no guarantees once CPS gets involved. But the employees are harried and overworked. They could be ripe for manipulation. They could prove to be my loophole, my last resort, if it comes to that.

Leah doesn't need a loophole. All she needs to do is decide she wants to leave, and she takes the baby with her. But if Gabe and I want her out while keeping the baby, we might need a little help from the state.

Not that I'm planning to screw Leah. I intend to honor the contract. But I've learned in life you can never absolutely rule anything out.

“I told you this was going to be messy,” Hal says with an undisguised note of pleasure.

I notice Leah is watching me closely. “It's irrelevant,” I say. “No one's going to hurt this baby.”

Gabe looks like he's eaten bad fish. I just have to hope that he holds it together long enough to initial and sign in a hundred different places.

“Barring any unforeseen circumstances,” Hal says, “on the baby's first birthday, we'll all reconvene so that Leah can relinquish her parental rights and we can write up the open adoption agreement. That will be enforceable under California law. However, it's not binding until it's set forth in a written agreement by a judge—essentially, a court order. It'll spell out how much contact there will be between Leah and the child, whether it's pictures or letters or visits. It'll be specific—how long a visit will be, how often—and it'll state that all communication with the child will go through the adoptive parents, through Gabe and Adrienne.”

“So we can't complete and file all the paperwork now?” I ask. “Even if it doesn't take effect for a year?” It would seem safer that way, somehow.

“We can't petition the court for an adoption decree until Leah's ready to terminate her parental rights. And she's leaving her options open.”

“It's not like that!” Leah exclaims. “It's not that I want to keep my baby. It's that I need him for protection. Otherwise, they can just throw me out whenever they want. I leave a dish lying around, and I have to worry. I can't live like that.”

“We wouldn't do that to you,” Gabe says, and I believe him. He wouldn't.

“But you could. If I sign him over to you right after he's born . . .” She lowers her head, her hair falling forward in a heavy curtain to block her face. It's the most upset I've seen her.

“I was trying to follow your directive from the other day, but I
would recommend a more standard protocol,” Hal says. “Meaning, we write up a document where Leah relinquishes her parental rights immediately after birth (the usual time frame is a few days), and we seek the adoption decree. Then, in a separate document, we have a contract where Leah lives with Gabe and Adrienne rent-free and they pay all expenses, same as I already stipulated. That will be legally enforceable. If we file all the adoption paperwork, Gabe and Adrienne would legally be the parents, with all the rights that entails, and Leah would remain in the home with all the same provisions in place.”

Hal is brilliant. He wrote up the contract as we requested, knowing that hearing it read aloud would make it clear how divergent our interests really are from Leah's. He couldn't divide and conquer Leah and me the other day, but he's taking his shot now. Honestly, it's working.

I put on my most trustworthy face as I turn to Leah. “What do you think? It's still a lot of protection for everyone involved, but it does seem cleaner.” Say yes, say yes, say yes.

Leah doesn't want to look at me.

“Could you say what specific concerns you have so Hal can address them?” I ask her. “I want you to feel completely comfortable before we sign anything.”

I notice she's rubbing her belly almost compulsively. It's a new and disturbing gesture. “Can we take a break?” she says. “I'm not feeling well.”

Before anyone can answer, she's out the door. “Maybe we should take some more time,” Gabe says. “We don't need to get it done today.”

In a low voice, I tell him, “We've already thought it through. We both said we wanted this.” He doesn't answer. “I'm going to talk to her.” I stand up, and Gabe puts his hand on my arm.

“She just needs some time,” he says.

“That's not what she said. She said she's not feeling well. I need to check on her, and on the baby.” I turn to the assistant. “Where's the restroom?”

I follow her down the hall and into the restroom. I glance at the marble floor under the stalls and see only expensive pumps. No scuffed black lace-up boots. No Leah.

I take off down the hall, past the offices and then the cubicles and then the reception desk. In my haste, I almost trip on the thick cream carpet. What if she disappears? What if we've scared her off?

I'm surprised by my next thought: Maybe it's for the best.

I must be channeling Hal. Or Gabe.

What if she's collapsed somewhere? What if I've stressed her out so much she's having a miscarriage?

I find her by the gold elevator bank. She's sitting on a bench, staring out the windows at the skyline, her hands crossed over her stomach.

The panic has stolen my breath. I sit beside her, exhaling loudly. “Hi.” The floor out here is marble, too, but a somber gray, the color of a San Francisco winter.

“Hi.” She continues to take in the view.

“Sorry about that meeting. Sorry about Hal.”

“He's just doing his job. Protecting you.”

“Well, we don't need his protection. We're all on the same side. You, me, and Gabe.”

She smiles a little. “Tell that to Hal.”

“I'm sick of talking to Hal. Aren't you?”

She looks right at me. It's discomfiting, how her eyes are so like my own. “I called Trevor earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“He told me, and I quote, ‘I don't give a shit what you do.'” Now her smile is bitter. “Great guy, huh?”

“So he gets you pregnant, and you're trying to find the baby a good home, and he's mad at you?”

“But the good news is, he's happy to sign away his rights. He can't do it soon enough.” I see pain in her face. She really loved him, still does.

“Sorry about Trevor, and about my part in stressing you out any more than you already are. I can't even imagine what it's like for you right now.”

She looks out the window again.

“Is everything okay, with the baby? You were rubbing your stomach.”

“I don't think I was.”

I recall Gabe's concern about her flying in her last trimester. If we've done anything to harm my boy, I don't know what I'll do. “We need to get you in to see a new ob-gyn. Just to make sure.”

“He's been kicking like crazy. He's fine.”

She's obviously getting irritated. If anyone overheard us, they'd definitely think we were mother and daughter. “We don't have to do this today, if you don't feel up to it.”

“No, I want to get it done. I just needed a minute to myself. Hal's cologne was making me nauseous.”

I laugh. I couldn't really smell him. It must be the pregnancy, sharpening her olfactory sense. “You mean you don't love Eau de Money-Grubbing Lawyer?”

She smiles, like she's humoring me. She doesn't smile that way at Gabe. Then she turns serious as she says, “I'm just trying to have some control. I need that. Don't you understand?”

I definitely do.

It's the most vulnerable I've seen her and it's hard not to feel for her, but I'm well aware it could be an act. If I want this, it's the original contract or nothing. I'm going to have to give Leah control. Well, the illusion of it.

“I understand,” I say.

I
haven't been sleeping for the past week, ever since I signed that contract.

I came pretty close to walking out, leaving Hal's smug face and his contract behind. But then Adrienne and Leah walked in together, and they were actually
holding hands,
and I thought, I've got no choice now. Maybe a small part of me was relieved that the decision was made, which is a feeling I have more than I like to admit, being married to Adrienne. She is a force, remember. Mostly, I love that about her.

Also, I care about what happens to Leah.

I'm learning more about her all the time. We've become insomniac buddies. She said she can't find a good sleep position, since the baby kicks violently at night. She spends her days sleeping. “I'm a big fat vampire,” she tells me.

She tells me a lot of things. There's something about sitting in the half dark at two
A.M
. that inspires confession. We never turn on the overhead, only a dim corner lamp in the living room. By unspoken agreement, we don't want to wake Adrienne.

For one thing, Adrienne doesn't need to know I'm having trouble sleeping. It would prompt all sorts of discussions and persuasions. She'd feel compelled to convince me that what we're doing is right, and I've had enough of that to last me for a while. She would never tell me not to hang out with Leah, but suddenly, Adrienne would have insomnia, too. She'd want to fuck or make hot chocolate, and while there's nothing wrong with either of those things, I kind of like what Leah and I have got going right now. It's peaceful.

We've fallen into a routine. I lie on the couch with my hand under my head, looking up at the ceiling mostly, and Leah sits in the overstuffed chair, her hair up in a bun, her perfect little Buddha belly hanging over her pajama bottoms. We probably look like some warped version of analyst and analysand. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we just drift along together. Not sleeping exactly, not even dozing. It's like some semiconscious state we induce in one another, in between the slats of our conversation.

Tonight, I touched her belly. She said the baby was kicking something fierce and that it was time for me to finally get to know my kid.

She's right, I've been putting it off. I can't say why, exactly. I'm not ready for him to be real, or I'm worried that even after I feel him, he still won't seem real.

It made me laugh, I'll give her (and him) that. It was like the kid's whole foot slammed into my hand, full force. “He's a ninja!” I said, and Leah laughed, too.

But does he feel real now? Not exactly. He's still this abstract concept I can't quite grasp. He's calculus.

I can say that to Leah, and she doesn't get mad or freaked out. She seems to appreciate the honesty. “He doesn't always seem real to me either, and he's pounding me from the inside out all night,” she says.

“How come you're not like this with Adrienne?” I ask.

“How come you're not?”

“I'm exactly like this with her.”

Leah gives me a doubting look.

“What? I am.”

“If that's what you need to think.” Then she smiles sweetly, like, It's all good. “I don't know why I'm different around Adrienne. It's just something that happens. I don't plan it. It's like, the things that come out of my mouth are all . . .”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, nice.” She grimaces. “Who wants to be nice?”

“People in the Midwest, I hear.”

“You can't trust nice.” She rubs her belly. “Do you think it would be okay if I had a little bit of wine? I read it can calm the baby down.”

“Adrienne would flip.”

“Adrienne's not here.” She gives me an imploring look. “Please?”

There's nothing in the contract to cover this situation. It's her body, after all. But what if the kid comes out with flippers or something, and I'll have to wonder forever if it was my fault?

“Okay, forget it. If Adrienne says no.” There's an edge to her voice.

“Hey, that's not it. Maybe you can get clearance from your new doctor, when you meet her?” Adrienne is taking Leah tomorrow.

“Don't you ever find”—her voice is suddenly dreamy—“that you're different people when you're with different people?”

“Huh?”

She laughs. “Like, it's not a decision. It's just, when I'm around you, I'm one way, and when I'm around Adrienne, I'm another, and around doctors or professors, oh and of course around lawyers, I'm someone else. Around Trevor, I was like this fearless version of me.”

“You seem pretty fearless. Coming out to California, striking this deal with us, starting over.”

“Can I tell you something and you won't judge me?”

I nod, then realize she's probably not looking at me. She's probably staring at some fixed point on the floor. It makes it easier to tell things you don't want to be judged for. “I promise,” I say.

“Trevor and I used to break into houses to have sex. We didn't take anything or mess anything up. Well, we'd mess up their sheets, I guess, or their couch. It was this thing he had. It really got him off. And when I found out I was pregnant, I still did it a few more times, even though I couldn't relax. I kept thinking my baby would be born in jail, like I'd be wearing one of those orange jumpsuits, maternity-style.”

I don't know exactly what to say, what she's looking for. Absolution? This is the confession hour. “People get off on all kinds of stuff. You didn't hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought. He could talk me into anything. It's kind of embarrassing. Like, where was my mind?”

“On him. You loved him.” I'm the last person to judge someone for that. She showed me pictures a few nights ago on her phone. He's one of those people who look distinct in each shot. In some, he looked a little like me; in others, we didn't share the faintest resemblance. He could look sweet; he could look cocky.

“When I talked to him about signing away his rights, he told me he still loved me. He said maybe someday, when this is all over, he'd take me back.”

“Like it's a favor?”

“It didn't sound that way at the time. But then a minute later, he's all angry. He said he didn't give a shit what I did with the baby, like it's a sack of garbage or something. I mean, it's our DNA. His and mine, all mixed up together.”

We drift for a while, and then Leah asks if I believe in God. I don't know, and she says she doesn't know either. “I think about it sometimes,” she says. “Like, if there is a God, what would He think about me using my baby like collateral to get a better life for myself? I think, Would He understand? Because if there's a God, I'm one of His children, too, right, just as much as the baby?”

“I'd think so.” Though I'm thinking about the idea of collateral. Adrienne would say that we're in a hostage situation. But she signed us up for it, didn't she? I signed, too. And initialed, over and over.

“Everyone uses everyone. God uses us to do His work on earth; He doesn't just go and do it Himself.”

Something's twisted in her logic, but I'm too tired to point it out. I decide to change the subject. “I miss playing poker.”

She laughs. “I talk about God, you think poker?”

“I must be an atheist.”

“I thought you were the other thing, what do you call it, where you don't know.”

“Agnostic.”

I yawn. I can't think about all this now. But my initial impression is that Leah's right. Everyone uses everyone. We're using Leah to get a baby, she's using the baby and us like a railroad ticket to a new life. If we're all to blame, then no one's to blame. Adrienne would sure endorse that logic; she's always used it when it comes to Michael.

“So let's play poker,” Leah says. She sounds suddenly full of energy. I remember surges like that from when I was younger, being struck by lightning.

But I'm yawning again. “Tomorrow night,” I say, standing up to return to bed. It's the first time either of us has acknowledged that this nightly communion is a routine, one I suspect she looks forward to as much as I do. I tell myself it's not disloyal to Adrienne, even if it goes unmentioned. There are some things she's better off not knowing, not that she'd ever agree with that. I'm no hypocrite: I let her keep secrets for my own good, too.

Crawling into bed beside Adrienne, I reach for her, always. Sometimes she stirs, sometimes she even talks in her sleep. As far as she knows, I've been here all along.