The Hitchhikers, page 33
A baby’s cries filled the room.
CHAPTER 44
ALICE
September 1976
Alice finished icing the second batch of chocolate cupcakes, making sure the swirls were perfect, then added sprinkles. She washed the few dishes she’d left in the sink. It had been raining off and on all week, heralding the beginnings of another damp Seattle autumn, but that afternoon the sun was giving them a glorious encore. The kitchen was getting warm, so she opened the French doors, smiling when she saw Tom on the porch swing, where he’d been since he got home from coaching. He had a coffee, the newspaper, and a plate with crumbs on the seat beside him.
“If you keep eating cupcakes, I won’t have anything left for the kids,” Alice said, while their cat, Pat, jumped off the railing and wound herself around Alice’s legs.
“Finders keepers.”
Alice laughed and leaned against the doorframe. She’d worked at the daycare a few times now, while her leg continued to heal, and was enjoying every minute of it.
Her gaze was drawn back over her shoulder to the letter on the table, propped against the fruit bowl. She looked at Tom. He was watching, his eyes soft.
“Do you want to open it now?” he said.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s from a lawyer! What if there’s something wrong with our statements?” Their mailman had dropped the letter through their slot that morning. They’d agreed to wait until Tom was home to open it, but then Alice had gotten too nervous. So she’d baked and baked and baked.
“Come on,” Tom said. “We’ll do it together.”
She took a breath and stepped inside to get the letter. She handed it to Tom, then sat on the swing as he tore the edge of the envelope, carefully pulled out the paper. It wasn’t the usual thick, creamy paper that lawyers used, but a flimsy sheet that looked torn out of a notebook. As Tom unfolded it, she saw a girlish scrawl in pencil.
She rested her head on his shoulder so they could read at the same time.
Dear Alice and Tom,
I have tried to write this letter many times, but then I get too scared to send it. I know you must hate me. I’m sorry every single day for what me and Simon did to you, and all the people we hurt. I can’t make it up to anyone. I wish I could. All I can do is serve my time.
I don’t have a right to ask anything of you, but you’re the only people who I would ask, the only people I trust. The mothers in here have told me how horrible foster care is and how after the baby’s born, she’ll be taken away. She will be a ward of the government. That means I won’t have a say in what happens to her, but I can decide now, before she’s born. I can choose her parents. I don’t want her to end up like me or Simon. I want her to have the best life.
Alice, I remember everything you told me about your house. The pretty street. The back porch. Your nice neighbor. Your cat. I think of it all the time. I think of my baby growing up in a house like that and it is the only thing that makes me smile. So that brings me to my question.
Will you and Tom please adopt my baby? Can she be yours?
I’m not doing this just because I feel sorry or want forgiveness. It isn’t like that. I’ve never known two people better than you and Tom. When Simon said that I wished you were my mother, it’s true. If I could list everything I would ever want in a mother, it would be you. I had a good father once. Tom reminded me of him. I know they would have liked each other.
I know that Tom will take her to father and daughter dances. He’ll teach her how to throw footballs and build her a tree house. I know you’ll teach her how to make the best tuna sandwiches. She’ll never feel stupid because she got shells in the eggs. She’ll have friends and birthday parties. She’ll be brave because she’ll know that you love her.
I don’t want you to worry that I will change my mind, or that you have to send me letters or photos. You never have to talk to me. My lawyer is a very nice man, and he can do all the paperwork for a private adoption. The records will be sealed. That’s the second part.
If you say yes, then I don’t want her to know who I am. I don’t want her to know anything about what I did, or who her father was. I don’t want her to know that she was created from something so awful. I don’t want her to feel ashamed for something that wasn’t her fault.
Please think about it. It will give me so much peace to know she is safe with you, but I will understand if it is too much to ask. My lawyer’s address and phone number are below.
In hope,
Jenny
Their backyard was quiet, only the twittering of birds and the occasional rumble of a passing car. Pat jumped onto Alice’s lap, kneading the flesh of her leg, her purr vibrating. Alice stroked her soft gray fur. Tom folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
Neither of them spoke as he pulled Alice closer to his side. She stretched her arm across his chest, her fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt, ghosting over the scar on his shoulder.
They swung back and forth.
“It would be insane,” she said, breaking the quiet.
“Unusual, maybe,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s all that crazy.”
Alice stared at their neighbor’s maple tree. The colors were changing. Soon the leaves would fall into their yard, and Tom would rake them all into a tidy pile.
“We don’t have any baby stuff.” They’d donated most of it. She hadn’t been able to bear seeing it all in the room.
He took her hand in his. “We can get more.”
“We still have the crib in the basement.” The one thing she hadn’t been able to give away. She and Tom had put it together. Their son had never used it. He’d never made it home.
“We can repaint the room.”
Powder blue. She’d tried so many samples. Each one in different lights.
“I just started working at the daycare.”
“Yes.” He didn’t say anything else. He knew the daycare mattered to her, so he wouldn’t suggest that she give it up, but she knew it wasn’t a true problem. She was barely working part-time. She could easily take a leave. She might even be able to bring the child with her.
“What if Jenny changes her mind?”
“We’d need our own lawyer.”
“It’s just…” Her voice cracked. “What if the baby’s sick?”
He turned his head so he could look into her eyes. “That scares me too. I can’t say that everything will be fine, but I promise that we will face it all together. Good or bad.”
“It’s too big of a gamble. It’s too complicated.” She buried her face into Tom’s shirt. He used his foot to rock them back and forth in the swing.
“We don’t have to decide right now,” he said. “We can think about it.”
That night, long after Tom had fallen asleep, Alice was still restless. She got out of bed and pulled on her robe and slippers, then tiptoed down to the basement. She found the crib in the corner behind the Christmas decorations. She ran her finger on the edge, blew off the dust.
She dragged the crib up the stairs, banging it on the trim, the walls, gouging the plaster. She was overheating, pulled a muscle in her back, but she couldn’t stop. She finally got it up the last flight. The tiny wheels squeaked as she rolled it down the hall into the room. She wasn’t worried about waking Tom. He was a solid sleeper.
She pushed the crib against the wall. She imagined reaching in to pick up a baby. Soft hair, that dreamy scent of baby lotion and shampoo. Tiny fingers and toes, cooing noises.
She stood in the room for a while, thinking, then slipped back into bed with Tom, curled her cold body against his. She listened to the steady beat of his heart until she fell asleep.
That night she dreamed of a baby being placed in her arms, swaddled in a pink knit blanket. She couldn’t see the baby’s face, but it didn’t matter. Alice already knew who she was.
She was their daughter.
EPILOGUE
August 1991
Jenny took the early Greyhound bus over the border, stared out the window at passing cars and trucks, while her reflection stared back at her. She was thirty-three now, her skin still pale, her blond hair long, and her shape fuller from years of starchy prison food. She was learning how to eat better. She was learning a lot of things. She’d been working on her release for three years. First, day parole, then the halfway house. She’d be on parole for the rest of her life, but at least she’d been granted permission to move back to Vancouver. She had missed the ocean.
It was mid-morning by the time she arrived at the bus station in Seattle. She took a taxi to the address she’d memorized, asked to be dropped off on the corner, then waited on the opposite side of the street, sitting on the grass strip that separated the sidewalk and curb. She was hidden in the shade of a tree but had a clear view of the home through the gap between two parked cars. She sipped water from her thermos.
The house was smaller than she’d imagined, painted a soft yellow, and the front steps, the porch, and the iron gate were all a crisp white. The hedge that ran along the front was trimmed with a flat top. A pretty street, with leafy trees and well-kept houses.
It was afternoon when the door finally creaked open a few inches. Jenny held her breath, staring at the dark sliver of space, until the door widened. Tom, with a sports bag. His hair was streaked with gray, the sideburns gone, but he still looked fit, in shorts and a T-shirt.
He stepped off the porch, walked the brick path to a side garage, and disappeared out of sight for a few moments. The garage door slid up. A blue car backed out and drove away.
Time passed. She stretched her legs, ate her snacks. Someone was mowing. Two teenage girls walked past, listening to Walkmans. They didn’t look at her.
The door on the house opened. Alice came out. Jenny froze, scared to move in case she broke the moment. It had been so many years. But there she was, unmistakably Alice.
Her hair was a lighter brown, longer, and styled in bouncy spiral curls. She looked casual, but elegant, with sunglasses, white shorts, and a gauzy button-down, left open to reveal a striped shirt underneath. A beach bag hung off her shoulder. A rolled towel poked out.
“Katie!” she yelled, with laughter in her voice. “Hurry up!”
A girl burst out of the door—and it slammed behind her. “Sorry!”
She hurried down the stairs. Long black shiny hair. Black T-shirt, black jean shorts with rips. A belt with silver studs. Dark, smoky eye makeup and deep-red lipstick. She was carrying a little fluffy white dog. She set it down and it trotted ahead while she held on to the leash.
Her name was Katie. Jenny whispered it to herself.
Alice and Katie walked down the sidewalk, talking, their voices mixing and layering so much that sometimes Jenny couldn’t tell them apart as she followed farther behind, obscured in a baseball cap and sunglasses. She trailed them through the neighborhood, past more stately homes, glad for the shady trees, until they made it to a beach, where they spread out a blanket.
Jenny watched from a park bench as they shared food, still absorbed in their own world. Katie’s hands were moving in the air, her face animated. Alice tossed back her head, laughing.
Jenny felt a smile dance on her lips. She could see Katie’s features better now. She was beautiful, truly beautiful. Almost fifteen years old. Jenny hadn’t been much older when she’d gotten pregnant. She searched Katie’s face for traces of her own, but she didn’t look like Jenny, or Robert, other than his black hair. She was her own person. Jenny wondered if she liked dancing or sports. She could be a bookworm or musical. She could be so many things.
Katie stood and pulled off her shirt and shorts, revealing a red bikini. She ran toward the water, yelling “Otis!” and the little white dog chased after her. Katie squealed as the cold water hit her feet. Otis barked at birds and chased waves up and down the beach. Katie was now bent over, searching the shallow water. She brought up a handful of stones or shells, picked through them.
Jenny’s breath stuck in her throat, her eyes stinging.
Alice carried a bag down to join Katie. They walked along the shore. Katie would find a stone, or maybe Alice, saving some and tossing others, while Otis tried to catch the splashes.
Eventually they returned to their blanket. They spent another hour there, reading magazines, talking. Sometimes they were quiet, gazing out at the water, or up at the clear sky. Jenny would tip her head back too, wondering what Katie was thinking when she saw the vapor trails from jets, the puffy clouds. Otis was resting between Alice and Katie, little feet in the air.
Jenny wanted to memorize this moment. Like she had memorized the tiny bit of time she’d had with her baby. She’d given her one bottle, admired the perfect dark swirl on top of her head, her pursed lip, her soft cheeks. She’d kissed her and whispered in her ear all her wishes for her.
Alice and Katie were rolling up their blanket, towels, putting their food containers in the beach bag. Otis’s leash was snapped on. She imagined them back in their home, sitting down for a family dinner, their skin still smelling of sunscreen and salt air. Maybe they would look over their shells and stones while telling Tom about their day, and he’d tell them about his.
Jenny waited on the bench for a few minutes after they left. She wasn’t going to follow. She’d need to go to the bus station soon. She walked down to the beach, took off her shoes, and felt the warm sand between her toes. She found the smooth area where Alice and Katie had spread their blanket. She lay on her back and looked up at the sky, soaking in the blue. She smiled. Her daughter was happy. Jenny had given her the best life. She’d given her Alice.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, I would like to thank Jen Enderlin, my brilliant editor. It’s truly been a privilege to be one of your authors for the last seventeen years. There is no one I have learned more from. Your insights are invaluable, you allow me to think things through at my own pace, and your encouragement carries me from the beginning of a book all the way to the end.
My gratitude also to Mel Berger, my agent, who has guided my career and kept me somewhat sane over the years. Thank God you liked Still Missing, even when it still needed work and I didn’t know much about anything except that I wanted to be an author.
Carla Buckley, what can I say? We’ve been walking this path together as critique partners and friends since we published our first books. You’ve helped me out of plot holes and creative slumps, and you always push me to dig deeper. When I need a brainstorming session or just to vent about life, you are there for me—as long as you’ve had enough coffee.
Beth Helms, who shares my love of solitude and long naps. You don’t sugarcoat anything, so when you told me that this book was your favorite after you’d read the first hundred pages, I knew you meant it. Your confidence in my work buoyed me up through the rocky seas of finishing a book and the many stages of editing. Thank you for everything.
There are a lot of people involved in seeing a book out into the world. I’m especially grateful for the incredible team at St. Martin’s Press, Anne Marie Tallberg, Christina Lopez, Brant Janeway, Katie Bassel, Lisa Senz, Kim Ludlam, Tom Thompson, Erik Platt, Erica Martirano, Kejana Ayala, and Mike Storrings and Ervin Serrano for the fantastic cover design.
At William Morris Endeavour, my gratitude to Alex Levenberg, Tracy Fisher, Carolina Beltran, Cashen Conroy, and James Munro.
Raincoast Books, my appreciation for everything you do for me in Canada. I’d also like to thank my foreign publishers and translators, who share my stories around the world.
On the research side, thanks to Corporal R.Jo, Steve Unischewski, Shawn Silva, Murphy Unischewski, and Connel Witzaney. Any mistakes are mine or the result of creative license.
In my personal life, I am endlessly grateful to my friends and family who support my books, keep my spirits up, and understand when I disappear during the throes of editing.
All my love to Connel and Piper. Finishing this book was hard, and it required a lot of understanding and sacrifice. Connel, you made those last few months possible and kept me going when the going got tough. Piper, thank you for the manifesting. No one else does it better.
As always, Oona and Ziggy kept me company every day. We might be getting older and our walks shorter, but I savor each minute. Time is a rare and precious thing.
To my fans, thank you for your patience, your kind emails and messages, and allowing me to keep doing what I love.
Also by Chevy Stevens
Never Let You Go
Those Girls
That Night
Always Watching
Never Knowing
Still Missing
Dark Roads
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chevy Stevens lives on Vancouver Island with her husband and daughter. When she isn’t working on her next book, she’s spending time with her family and their two dogs. Her books—including Still Missing, a New York Times bestseller and winner of the International Thriller Writers Award for Best First Novel—have been published in more than thirty countries. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1. Alice
Chapter 2. Jenny
Chapter 3. Alice
Chapter 4. Alice
Chapter 5. Alice
Chapter 6. Alice
Chapter 7. Alice
Chapter 8. Alice
