Walter mulled this while he shaved. “Interesting,” he thought, “but dreams aren’t valid. They have no legitimacy. They’re just strangeness while you sleep. A dream is just your brain with its signalscrossed. Oh well, so there you have it. Another weird dream. It’s meaningless.”
Walter checked out and returned to Maternity, where Diane and Baby Doe, he found, were gone. They’d left the hospital—but that couldn’t be. What was she
thinking
? What was going on? “Oh no, no,
no
,” thought Walter, and called the adoption agency. He was put on hold twice, passed along twice, until the director informed him that she knew already. She’d gotten in touch with the prospective adoptive family, and the prospective adoptive family was opting out for reasons it wasn’t obligated to divulge, but also didn’t mind, in these circumstances, divulging—namely, that the birth mother had had a change of heart, and they didn’t want a birth mother who couldn’t let go, and also, what about the birth mother’s state of mind right now, how was she treating the baby? There were too many danger signals.
The beater car was gone from the hospital parking lot. It was the middle of April—a chilly wind, stirred pollens. Walter scratched his head and weighed his choices. He could just go home and take what fate dealt him, or not go home, never go home, or—“Wait,” he thought. “What am I doing? How many times am I going to do this? What have I gotten from evaluating options? Look where it’s gotten me—to this, right now. God, what a misery it’s been, and what a breath of fresh air it would be if somehow, some way, I could just
live
again, free of all these problems.”
He sat in his car feeling cheated by Diane, and banging his hand against the steering wheel. “I navigated so carefully through everything,” he thought. “I did everything right. I did everything I could. And look at me now, I’m sitting here like an idiot. And now I’m thinking about sitting here like an idiot. And I don’t have a reason to start my car. What would I do? Where would I go?”
Diane, he remembered then, had only a little money—whatever she’d saved from the cash he’d bled. It couldn’t be much. Maybe enough for a few motel nights, but then what? She didn’t have an income. She had a new baby, and—she had Walter over a barrel. “That’s the key,” he thought. “That’s the main thing. She has me on the hook for three hundred a month. Why would she run away from that? She wouldn’t run away from that. No way is she running away from that. Why didn’t I think of this? If I just sit back, I’ll hear from the little minx—she’ll call me at the office and soak me good.” In fact, he saw, she would soak him goodindefinitely, milk him for whatever she thought he was worth. He was going to be paying through his teeth for a long time, that was just the way it turned out.
Walter drove to the final station in his journey: the Northgate Shopping Center, for gifts. For Lydia, Chanel No. 5; for Barry, the Lego Town Plan Set; and for Tina, the Happy Hippo, with a movable mouth and springy tail. Wonder of wonders, he felt buoyant walking the mall, amazed by Planet Earth and its intricacies, and by the singularity in all that had happened, and that night, at home, in bed with Lydia, he performed adequately, maybe even better. Afterward he even felt ready to turn over a new leaf, and prepared to live with himself.
As he’d predicted, Diane called him Monday morning at Piersall-Crane. In a disembodied voice, as though reading from a script, she gave him instructions the way a kidnapper would give instructions: how much money she wanted—250 now, monthly, because of the kid—the date each month she wanted it, the post-office box in Portland where he had to send it, what would happen if he tried to play games or manipulate things or send money late or not send enough money or claim that this or that, an emergency or
Walter checked out and returned to Maternity, where Diane and Baby Doe, he found, were gone. They’d left the hospital—but that couldn’t be. What was she
thinking
? What was going on? “Oh no, no,
no
,” thought Walter, and called the adoption agency. He was put on hold twice, passed along twice, until the director informed him that she knew already. She’d gotten in touch with the prospective adoptive family, and the prospective adoptive family was opting out for reasons it wasn’t obligated to divulge, but also didn’t mind, in these circumstances, divulging—namely, that the birth mother had had a change of heart, and they didn’t want a birth mother who couldn’t let go, and also, what about the birth mother’s state of mind right now, how was she treating the baby? There were too many danger signals.
The beater car was gone from the hospital parking lot. It was the middle of April—a chilly wind, stirred pollens. Walter scratched his head and weighed his choices. He could just go home and take what fate dealt him, or not go home, never go home, or—“Wait,” he thought. “What am I doing? How many times am I going to do this? What have I gotten from evaluating options? Look where it’s gotten me—to this, right now. God, what a misery it’s been, and what a breath of fresh air it would be if somehow, some way, I could just
live
again, free of all these problems.”
He sat in his car feeling cheated by Diane, and banging his hand against the steering wheel. “I navigated so carefully through everything,” he thought. “I did everything right. I did everything I could. And look at me now, I’m sitting here like an idiot. And now I’m thinking about sitting here like an idiot. And I don’t have a reason to start my car. What would I do? Where would I go?”
Diane, he remembered then, had only a little money—whatever she’d saved from the cash he’d bled. It couldn’t be much. Maybe enough for a few motel nights, but then what? She didn’t have an income. She had a new baby, and—she had Walter over a barrel. “That’s the key,” he thought. “That’s the main thing. She has me on the hook for three hundred a month. Why would she run away from that? She wouldn’t run away from that. No way is she running away from that. Why didn’t I think of this? If I just sit back, I’ll hear from the little minx—she’ll call me at the office and soak me good.” In fact, he saw, she would soak him goodindefinitely, milk him for whatever she thought he was worth. He was going to be paying through his teeth for a long time, that was just the way it turned out.
Walter drove to the final station in his journey: the Northgate Shopping Center, for gifts. For Lydia, Chanel No. 5; for Barry, the Lego Town Plan Set; and for Tina, the Happy Hippo, with a movable mouth and springy tail. Wonder of wonders, he felt buoyant walking the mall, amazed by Planet Earth and its intricacies, and by the singularity in all that had happened, and that night, at home, in bed with Lydia, he performed adequately, maybe even better. Afterward he even felt ready to turn over a new leaf, and prepared to live with himself.
As he’d predicted, Diane called him Monday morning at Piersall-Crane. In a disembodied voice, as though reading from a script, she gave him instructions the way a kidnapper would give instructions: how much money she wanted—250 now, monthly, because of the kid—the date each month she wanted it, the post-office box in Portland where he had to send it, what would happen if he tried to play games or manipulate things or send money late or not send enough money or claim that this or that, an emergency or
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