As Melissa stared at the paper, Brian said, “I honestly had no idea that this many people were wanting to adopt.”

“Me either.”

“Do you want to put them on the wall?”

“Yes, but I kind of want to ask them a question.”

“What do you want to ask?”

“I wonder if I can call?”

“How? You don’t have any information other than this.”

“I can go through the agency.”

“You really want to do that?”

Melissa smiled at him. They had come a long way from the parking lot of the abortion clinic. How did they get from there to looking at all these letters and choosing who would be the parents of the child Melissa carried?

Melissa picked up the phone.

He wanted to walk out of the room. He didn’t want to hear what might happen in the conversation. But he stayed on the couch.

CHAPTER 7

Laundry was one of Susan’s least favorite household chores, but she always felt a sense of accomplishment when it was done. Plus, it was something that occupied her mind. When she was busy, she could keep the swirling thoughts away—the grief, the questions, the inner struggle.

When Jimmy had asked her to wait on donating the crib to the Millers, she wasn’t sure what his motivation was, but his reticence encouraged her somehow. Jimmy was a deep pool—he kept a lot inside and didn’t divulge his true feelings until prodded. Even now, she could only guess at his thoughts. But his reaction to the crib stuck with her. Instead of talking about it, she let the deep pool settle. He always shared his heart with her eventually, even if it took some time.

The more she thought about the crib, the more she realized she simply wanted the pain to go away. The crib represented all the losses, all the dashed hopes and dreams of her life. As she finished with the sheets and the comforter and moved to the couch to re-cover a decorative throw pillow, the phone rang.

Jimmy answered and she focused on the pillow. There was a way to make the pillows look fresh and new, but she had never figured out how not to make them come out lumpy.

“Sure, just a moment,” Jimmy said.

There was something in his voice that wasn’t quite right.

“Susan?”

She turned to him. He stood with his hand over the receiver, like a little boy who had been caught sneaking a cookie before dinner.

“It’s the adoption agency.”

She couldn’t breathe. Why would they be calling? Before she could formulate a question, Jimmy said, “There’s a birth mother on the line with a question for you.”

“For me?” she said, barely able to get the words out.

She put the pillow down and hurried to the kitchen, unable to think of why a birth mother would call their house. They had stopped the adoption process long ago.