Page 126 of The Hitchhikers
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 withour 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.”
