Page 38 of The Wandering Season

“Are you going to be okay?”

Avery said over my cell as the cab pulled in front of the restaurant. “I wish I were there with you.”

I appreciated the sentiment but feared her presence would have only served to further heighten my anxiety. “Yeah, definitely. If things get awkward I’ll text you and beeline to the coffee shop you recommended and wait a bit before heading home in a cab.”

Like any good sister, she was going to have her phone at the ready, poised to act if anything went awry even from three thousand miles away. We had backup plans and contingencies enough to make Stephanie proud. And if things went disastrously wrong, she had friends prepped to be able to rescue me within a quarter of an hour. I ended the call.

The restaurant Tara chose wasn’t a particularly posh restaurant. Of course I’d googled immediately when she’d suggested a place and was happy to see it wasn’t going to be a quiet white-tablecloth sort of establishment. Reviews claimed it served solid Mediterranean fare and had a good reputation. It wasn’t necessarily a serious foodie’s first pick, but not one they’d snub either, so we might have some common ground.

I sent Avery a hug emoji before sliding out of the cab and onto the busy sidewalk. I caught my reflection in the restaurant window, and I was impressed by Avery’s handiwork. She had an outfit messengered from her contacts to her apartment two hours after I’d told her about the dinner meeting. She selected well-made pieces that played up all my best attributes and downplayed my flaws. There was nothing fussy about the chocolate-brown, wide-legged wool pants or the coordinating overcoat she’d chosen, and the emerald-green, soft angora sweater was definitely a luxury I could learn to live with. The low-heeled, brown leather ankle boots were comfortable enough I couldn’t gripe, and they finished off the outfit nicely. I looked put together enough to meet my birth mother, even if I didn’t feel it.

And that was a start.

At a table in the corner sat a petite red-haired woman who appeared to be in her mid to late forties. Her resemblance to me was nothing short of uncanny. She stood when she saw me, just as certain of who I was.

She was quaking a bit as I approached her table.

“Th-thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”

She stammered her words but gestured for me to sit, then reclaimed her own chair.

“I can’t say I didn’t consider bailing, but I didn’t know when I might ever get the chance to meet you again, so . . .”

“I don’t blame you. I’ve been a bit of a mess for two days since our DNA matched. I honestly never thought I’d get to lay eyes on you after I gave you to your parents.”

Your parents. That’s how she saw them, and I suppose it made it easier for her. I was glad she acknowledged that they were the ones who had earned the title.

I reached for the carafe of water on the table, trying to keep my hands from shaking. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Our first thing in common,”

she said, clearly trying to keep the mood light. “I suppose the first thing I ought to say is that I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you.”

I found I couldn’t meet her gaze. Logically I could think of a million reasons why a mother would have to put her child up for adoption. Poverty being the first of those. But the woman who sat across from me was wearing a well-tailored suit, fashion-forward and probably from a designer Avery would have been able to recognize without a glimpse at the tag. Her hands were perfectly manicured, and her hair was in a sleek bob annoyingly similar to my own but probably maintained at ten times the cost. She wasn’t poor.

My hands began to tremble in earnest, and I couldn’t focus on the words leaving her mouth. Maybe she had been twenty-six years ago. Maybe there was a different explanation altogether. She must have had her reasons, but right then I was in no state to hear them.

“I—I need to go.”

I stood abruptly and grabbed my bag. I felt myself trembling from head to foot and felt every bit a fool. “This was a mistake; I should never have agreed to this. I’m sorry.”

I left Tara, open-mouthed and blinking at her table. And perhaps I should have felt bad about it, but it wasn’t until I exited onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant that I was able to take a proper breath.

I gave myself two minutes for my heartbeat to stabilize and texted Avery:

Me: On my way to the coffee shop . . .

* * *

I wandered awhile after I’d hidden away in the predesignated coffee shop and indulged in comfort food: grilled cheese, fries, and the best chocolate cheesecake of my entire life. I’d kept up a steady stream of texts to Avery, who reassured me both that I was perfectly normal in my flight response and probably safe enough to go about the rest of my evening once my meal was over.

I’d considered taking in a show, but that was already on the docket for the weekend. A movie seemed like a waste of time in the city. I decided just to put a few miles on the new boots and take in the sights of the city as it tumbled into night.

I walked until my feet ached, and when a light drizzle grew more insistent, I decided it was time to call a cab and head back to Avery’s condo. Rather than getting myself soaked on the sidewalk, I ducked into the lobby of an apartment building to pull up the e-hail app Avery had instructed me to install when I’d arrived. Before I was able to pull my phone from my purse, I realized this had to be one of the premier addresses in the city. A bronze placard read The Mercury. I’d never heard of it, and I guessed it was because the residents were the “quiet money”

sort that liked to keep their affairs private. The lobby was a marble showpiece to make an Astor turn emerald with envy and a throwback to the Gilded Age that engraved those families indelibly into the New York annals of history. I began to worry the doorman would chew me out for venturing in when I wasn’t a resident or a guest of one, but apparently some unobtrusive taxi hailing during a rainstorm wasn’t enough to raise his ire.

As I was waiting for the app to load—likely strained from a zillion other New Yorkers trying to hail cabs—I saw the profile of a young woman in smart business attire nod to the doorman as she strode to the elevator. The woman was slight and red-haired like I was. Tara.

But when I tried to focus my eyes on her, I realized she bore the same glimmering quality of the echoes I’d seen on my travels. Tara wasn’t wearing the same clothes she’d worn to our failed dinner, and she appeared quite a bit younger—a few years my junior even.

She turned her head, and unlike the rest of the apparitions, she beckoned for me to follow her. I glanced to the doorman, who didn’t seem to register my existence. Perhaps I was invisible too, and I hoped that I hadn’t been the victim of a car accident and was now on my way up the elevator to the pearly gates or whatever lay beyond. As I slid into the elevator just before the doors closed, this echo version of Tara pressed a finger to her lips and kept her eyes on the doors.

The woman produced a key, turned it in the control panel, and pressed the now-illuminated button for the top-floor penthouse. It was just as well she couldn’t hear me, because I wouldn’t have been able to resist asking myself questions. How on earth was she able to afford rent in a building that had a penthouse at all, let alone live in the penthouse itself at that age? If she could have afforded such luxury, certainly she could have afforded some diapers and Gerber. I stilled those thoughts, giving this echo Tara the chance to show what she wanted me to see without a prejudiced heart.

The elevator reached the top floor with a ding, and Tara exhaled as she stepped out onto the thick carpet into the hallway. She rapped three times on the apartment door until heavy footsteps sounded.

The man who opened the door, handsome and tall and who appeared to be in his sixties but was incredibly well-maintained, blanched at the sight of her.

“Tara, you can’t come here unannounced. We have our code for a reason. My wife is coming in from Connecticut tonight to spend the weekend in the city.”

“I know. She had me arrange her train tickets, remember? She had me book a later one so she could stay with your grandson while your daughter-in-law took your granddaughter to a checkup earlier this afternoon. She won’t be in for another two hours yet.”

His color lifted with the corners of his lips. His blue eyes grew steely with intensity. “In that case, come in, kitten. Stay awhile.”

He gestured for her to enter, and I hurried to slip in before he closed the door behind him.

She stood in the middle of an expansive living room, lavish but tasteful, decorated with minimalist lines but softened with buttery-rich upholstery and drapes in shades of ivory and bright navy with the occasional splash of burgundy for an added visual pop. And this wasn’t the work of a talented interior designer. Every piece had been painstakingly curated by his wife.

The man approached Tara, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“God, you always smell so good, baby. I’m glad you decided to surprise me. It’d be a shame to miss the opportunity if she’s going to be late . . .”

She stiffened at his touch. “I didn’t come for that. Not tonight.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

He continued kissing the side of her neck down to her collarbone. “You enjoy our time together, don’t you?”

She turned so she was facing him. She opened her mouth to speak, but his mouth covered hers before she could utter a word. She didn’t melt against his frame but seemed to wait for him to come up for air before she gently pushed back.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

He groaned as she took a step back.

She shook her head. “I’m pregnant, Wally.”

He took two steps back from her like she’d sucker punched him in the jaw. He even wobbled his head as if trying to bring the room into focus.

“How?”

he muttered at last.

“Do you need me to explain it? Birth control isn’t perfect. Mistakes happen.”

“God. I was careless and stupid. But this was bound to happen to me eventually.”

He sagged onto a nearby sofa and buried his head in his hands.

She looked downcast at the implications of his words. From his reaction, I sensed Tara was one in a long line of interns, and she’d been the first to be unlucky. Or at least the first to tell him she was. She cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to be a snit about this, but it’s happening to me too. Arguably even more to me if we want to be precise.”

He finally turned his eyes upward. His expression was soft, and he patted the sofa cushion next to where he sat. “Of course. I don’t mean to be unfeeling. I was just overwhelmed for a moment. It’s a lot to take in.”

She crossed to join him. She took his proffered hand in hers and rested her head against his shoulder. “It is. I’m still in shock.”

“How long have you known? Are you sure?”

“I realized I was late this morning. I took a test during my lunch break. Two blue lines.”

He rested his head against the back of the sofa. “It’s still early, then?”

Tara folded her hands. “Yes. I’m only a few days late. But paired with a bit of nausea . . . I was worried. And apparently for good reason.”

“Smart girl. The sooner we know, the more time we have to plan.”

She sat up straighter. “Plan?”

“Naturally. Whatever you decide, a plan will have to be made.”

“I decide?”

“Of course you. Your body, your choice. Isn’t that the slogan these days? I won’t decide for you, but I will do what I can to facilitate your choice.”

Her tone grew serious. “Elaborate.”

“If you decide to end the pregnancy, I’ll make arrangements myself and make sure everything is handled discreetly for both our sakes, and that you are comfortable and given world-class care.”

“I’m not sure I could—”

He patted her knee with a twinge of reluctance. “I didn’t think so. If you prefer to find a family for the child, it will be a bit more complicated but not impossible. You’d probably be able to take courses in the fall, but I’d need to find you a suitable situation for the spring. Somewhere neither of us is known. Out west, probably.”

He shuddered as if he was vaguely repulsed by anything west of the Hudson River.

Tara looked at him expectantly, as if willing a third option to tumble from his lips.

“I’m sorry, kitten, but keeping the child isn’t a viable option. I stand to risk too much if word got out. It’s not like in Hollywood where an illegitimate child doesn’t even merit a mention on the scandal sheets. Being in nonprofit is like being a politician. Reputation is everything.”

She paled. “I understand that. I just can’t imagine handing off our baby to strangers. I don’t know if I have it in me.”

“Tara, you’re going to make a wonderful mother someday. To another child. Because you’re strong enough to make the right decision for this child and make sure he or she is cared for by two loving parents who will do right by the little one. I can’t be a father to this child. Considering the inheritance complications for my son and the future of the foundation alone just took two years off my life in the space of a few seconds.”

He was trying to keep the tone jovial, but his eyes were as serious as any seasoned contract lawyer who was trying to manage a tricky negotiation.

“I wouldn’t expose you.”

“Not at first. But what about when the child is old enough to start asking questions? And think, how will you provide for the child without a degree in hand?”

“If the baby comes in early April, I’d be able to study right until the baby is due and take incompletes. I could finish my final papers over the summer.”

“And what about your scholarship? How will the committee feel about an unwed mother receiving their funds? The twenty-first century may be upon us, but not everyone is as enlightened as you might think.”

“They don’t need to know. I’ll wear baggy clothes and make excuses.”

“These things always get out. And if there is a mark on your record with these people, it will make gaining employment in the nonprofit sector more than a little . . . challenging. But if you allow me to quietly intervene, you’ll find your scholarship will allow you a semester’s deferral. A year if you wish. And perhaps additional opportunities will arise for a graduate program or assistance finding a job with another firm. Both, if you want. Anything might be possible with a few simple phone calls.”

There it was. The veiled threat. If she went along with his plan and kept quiet, he’d use his influence to make her future bright. If she didn’t, there would be no job in any major nonprofit, maybe ever. No scholarship. Perhaps no degree at all.

In the space of a few minutes, he’d entrenched the ball so firmly in his own court, there would be no retrieving it.

Quiet tears streamed down Tara’s face as she absorbed his offer.

“I know this is unfair, Tara. But you’ve learned the first rule of nonprofit. Never put yourself at the mercy of someone with far more influence than you have. It rarely comes to good outcomes.”

“A sad lesson to learn from a man who purports to wield his influence for the common good.”

“Ah, to see the world through such innocent eyes. I’m sorry to be the one to jade you.”

“Are you really?”

Tara’s eyes flashed in anger. “It seemed to me you rather enjoyed it.”

A mischievous grin tickled at his lips. “I certainly did enjoy showing you the ways of the world in a few respects, even if this result isn’t what I’d have hoped for.”

“So if I go out west in the spring . . .”

“I’ll manage everything. And find the best possible family for the child.”

“I’ll want to meet them myself,”

Tara pressed.

“I’m not sure that’s wise. It would make you easier to identify. And if they associate you with the foundation . . .”

“Would you rather take your chances with a grateful adoptive family blabbing, or me going to the Times? You may have more influence than I do, but people are happy to believe a naive young intern who was taken advantage of by a slimy CEO three times her age. Even with all your influence and money, you won’t come through it unscathed. Your wife and family will know, and your reputation will be sullied.”

“My, my. You are a quick study, aren’t you? If my own neck weren’t at stake here, I’d be prodigiously proud of you. Very well, you can meet the family if you insist. But be forewarned, there will be so many nondisclosure agreements, your fingers will bleed from signing them all.”

“I’ll run the risk.”

She extended a hand to him as if their negotiations had come to an end. “I’ll go west after Christmas, but if you pull anything to harm me or the baby, I will make sure all of New York knows what you are. If anything mysterious happens to my scholarship, if my review from my internship is anything less than glowing, or if I have the slightest inkling you’ve blackballed me, I will eviscerate you. And that goes triple if I think you’ve done anything nefarious with the baby’s placement.”

“You are a marvelous creature, aren’t you? I feel like a modern-day Henry Higgins face-to-face with Eliza Doolittle in her moment of triumph, but with sex, manipulation, and threats rather than grammar and comportment.”

He checked his watch. “We might have time for a quick lesson before my wife arrives. And we wouldn’t have to bother with precautions.”

Tara removed her hands from his. “As tempting as that sounds, I think your tutelage has taken me as far as your abilities will allow.”

“Now, kitten, there’s no need to show your claws.”

“Isn’t there? You’ve made it clear we’re adversaries, not allies. I won’t let your next lesson be about letting my guard down.”

“And this is usually how these lovely trysts end. The young lady a little wiser and a little sadder. But I’m no monster, my dear. I’ll ensure you have the best of care, and the child too.”

“I hope for all our sakes you make good on that promise, Wally. I don’t want to have to make good on mine.”

Tara—rather this version of her—left the apartment with a self-assurance I admired in a barely twentysomething who was facing off with a much older, far more powerful man. I followed her down to the lobby, where she disappeared with a shimmer into the inky black of night.