Chapter 23
“So, what are you having? A girl or a boy?” Isobella pulled out her crochet needle and two balls of yarn—a pink one and a blue one. Even though the daycare kids didn’t need to understand what they were saying, she still spoke in English.
Celia wrinkled her nose in confusion, using her best English to respond. “I don’t know.” It was naptime, and the children lay upon their blankets in Isobella’s front room. Soft, soothing music played on the radio. Celia held the baby, though there was almost no room on her lap for him. Her belly took up half the space.
“They should have told you by now. You’re due in less than three months . . . Don’t tell me you haven’t been to the doctor.”
“I went to the doctor in North Carolina. He said the baby is fine.” Right now, the baby was kicking up a storm in her belly—there wasn’t much to worry about, certainly nothing that made her want to bother with another doctor’s appointment.
“Well, dear, we’ve got to get you a doctor up here. You don’t expect to go back to North Carolina to have the baby, do you?”
Celia shuddered at the thought. “No.”
Isobella pulled her phone from her pocket. “It’s important for your health to go to the doctor regularly. Not only will it keep you both safe, the people there will tell you whether the baby’s a girl or a boy. Then I’ll know whether to make pink booties or blue ones.”
Celia’s knee bounced up and down, not so much to calm the baby she held, but to calm herself. Another doctor’s appointment. That meant she’d have to find the medical clinic. She might have to take a bus there. Then she would have to try to understand what they were telling her.
“You look like I just sentenced you to a year of prison,” Isobella said, chuckling. “Don’t be afraid. Della and I will help you.”
Right as she said it, Della came through the door. “What are you afraid of, Celia?” Della asked, bending forward to brush flakes of snow out of her hair.
Isobella began crocheting from the pink ball of yarn. “Going to the doctor.”
Though her belly had been growing, Celia hadn’t thought much about becoming a mother since she’d left André and, along with him, her dream of having a happy family life in America. She had told herself that the birth was a long way off and that she’d figure things out when her time grew nearer. Now, with only two-and-a-half months until her due date, she had to face the fact that this little boy or girl was coming. She needed to be ready.
At this point, she didn’t have clothes, a blanket, or a bed for the baby. She also wasn’t sure if she could continue to stay at Theo’s house after she delivered. The baby would keep Vicki awake at night with its crying. The poor girl didn’t get enough sleep as it was. Her parents stayed out late, working every night, and they woke early before the sun rose to get her to school on time each day.
She supposed Theo’s family was the ideal American family—successful and with many friends—but they were so much busier than Celia ever wanted to be. Was this the way it was in America? You just hurried from one thing to the next with hardly any time to sit down for a meal with family.
She missed the slow, quiet hours of sitting around with friends while they washed and hung clothes by hand. Here, she worked by herself, cleaning the kitchen or cooking meals that Theo and his family ate in a rush.
She listened while Isobella made an appointment for her at the nearest medical clinic, and she heaved a grateful sigh when she found that her appointment wouldn’t be for two more weeks. “I’ll be on my Thanksgiving break from school that week,” Della said. “I can go with you if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Celia said, “but I can go by myself. I’ve been studying English every night.”
Now that Della was home, it was time for Celia to go back to Theo’s house. There’d be plenty of cleaning and cooking this afternoon, in preparation for tonight’s party.
She slipped into the wool coat that someone had placed on Theo’s front porch last month. Whoever it was had taped a note to it, which read “For Celia.”
She had spent many hours re-reading the handwriting on the note and trying to guess who might have sent the coat. It was written in all capitals, as if the person didn’t want her to know who he or she was. She couldn’t let herself hope that the coat was from Manny, though that was the first person who sprang to mind. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night he found Flora at the party.
She had dreamed three times now that Manny was with her during the birth. He drove her to the hospital. He carried her suitcase in and held her hand while she labored. When the baby came, he looked just like Manny. He was supposed to be the father all along. Each time she woke from the dream, she had to remind herself why that could never work. She was still married to André for another two months. She had to wait until January until she could even think about dating another man, and even then, no way would Manny want to raise someone else’s child. He probably didn’t even think of Celia anymore. He was too busy spending all his spare time with Della.
Probably Isobella or Della gave her the coat, or even Yvonne and Theo. She supposed it also could have come from one of Theo’s many friends who came to his parties, not that she interacted with any of them much. She preferred to spend her time in the kitchen.
The kitchen where she’d seen Manny. A thrill ran through her before she squelched it. She’d expected, after seeing both him and Flora, that Joana would have come to visit her. That would have been the proper thing, and Joana always did the proper thing. All Celia could think was that Joana must feel that Celia was in the wrong. Celia had been the one to hurt Manny, and Joana didn’t take kindly to anyone who mistreated her children. It all went back to the lost phone number. Celia had lost the phone number Joana had given her, and now she could never hope to get back in her good graces.
There was no use saving money for a false tooth or nice clothes. The only place for her was back on the island. She would save every penny she earned for a plane ticket home.