I awaken with a smile on my lips, realizing I actually dreamed. And Stu was there. He’d been in an Elvis-style jumpsuit, swiveling his hips. Elvis rock ’n’ rolled into my dream, too, showing Stu his best moves. Part of me wants to close my eyes to the coming day and drift back to sleep to find that dream again. But a quick glance at the bedside clock reminds me what I have to do.
In the garage Rae has already started stacking and displaying Stu’s sports equipment and Mother’s linens, the things I couldn’t let go of before. “Are you ready?”
“Here goes everything,” I say and punch the garage-door button, which slides open easily. A cool fall breeze brings crusty leaves and rustles Stu’s ties on the table.
Ben’s the first customer to arrive. “You’re selling your George Foreman?”
“You want it?”
“No thanks. I like my chicken juicy.”
I laugh. “Where’s Ivy?”
“She’ll be by later. She wants to show off her new driver’s license.” He glances up at the garage-door mechanism attached to the ceiling. “How’s it working?”
“Perfect.” I raise up on tiptoes and kiss his cheek, surprising him, thanking him for fixing the garage door. And yet I know it’s just an excuse.
He gives me his usual smile, then narrows his eyes at me.
I nod slowly, feeling a warmth sweep over me.
“Doesn’t count.”
“I don’t get points for trying?”
“Not like that.” He grins, his eyes crinkling, his features relaxing. “Try again.”
“But …”
He raises his eyebrow, asking what I’m so afraid of. I’m not sure anymore. My stomach twists into knots.
Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I turn him to face me fully, raise up on my toes and plant a kiss right on his lips. At first I feel awkward, aware of the chilly morning, but the touch of his hands on my waist warms me. I begin to melt into him.
“The lawn mower for sale there?” a customer asks walking into the garage.
I pull away from Ben, feel my face burning. But his hands remain on my waist. He’s grinning.
“Everything,” Rae says. She brushes past me carrying an armful of old records, Elvis included. “It’s about time. Don’t you think?”
I smile at her, feeling her encouragement as I make tentative steps toward a new life.
By midafternoon we’ve sold most of the big items, like Stu’s desk. Someone’s looking at the crib, and I’m hopeful it will sell, too.
Ivy arrives, her belly looking very full. She shows me her driver’s license and the used car Ben purchased for her. Over the summer she’s visited me often, invited me to go to movies, and our friendship has grown along with her belly. She glances at the crib.
One thing we haven’t discussed much is the baby. She’s kept her options open. When she’s mentioned keeping the baby, juggling school, or talked about adoption agencies, I’ve listened. But she hasn’t solicited any advice from me.
“If you want the crib,” I say, running my hand along the wood railing, “I won’t sell it.”
“No, I’m not looking for that.” Her hair has grown even longer during her pregnancy. She now has blond roots showing above the black.
I try to read into her answer. Maybe she still hasn’t decided what to do. But the baby’s birth is approaching, and time’s running out.
Ben’s shared his concerns with me after hours at the office. I’ve been proud of his ability to continue loving Ivy and supporting her without being overly domineering. Sometimes he’s ranted and raved about the situation to me in private. Other times he’s almost wept, grieving for his daughter’s lost childhood.
“I’m looking for—” Ivy moves closer to me “—a mother.”
I stare at her, not comprehending.
“A mother for my baby,” she clarifies.
“So you’re going to … your decision is adoption?” I ask. Ben hadn’t told me. But then maybe he didn’t know yet.
She nods. “I don’t think I’m ready to be a mother. You know, old enough. But I want to pick the mother.”
“And father, right?”
She nods, her gaze sliding over to Ben, who’s helping a customer load Stu’s desk and chair in a truck.
“Are you going to sign with an agency?” I ask.
She mouths the word no. Tears spring into her eyes.
I reach out to her, grasp her hand. She clasps my hand in return. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever you decide. It’s going to be okay. Your dad and I … even Rae will help you.”
She swallows hard, then licks her lips. “I want you …”
I tilt my head to the side. “I’m here for you, Ivy. Whatever you need.”
“I want you to raise my baby.”
“Oh, Ivy,” I breathe, her name barely audible.
“I know you wanted a baby. Once. You have a crib.”
“Don’t you have to have more requirements than a crib?” I try to joke, but tears choke me.
“You have the heart of a mother.”
I hug her close, unable to imagine how difficult it’s been for her to ask me, to honor me with her choice.
“Will you?” Her hard, round belly bumps into mine.
“I don’t know.” Then I feel the baby move between us. And I know. Right then. I don’t have to think about it, contemplate the consequences of my decision. It’s the closest thing to having felt my own baby inside me. “Yes. Okay.”
Through tears, Ivy smiles at me, her face relaxed, her eyes shining. My heart feels full and wide open, accepting of this new possibility. Holding Ivy close, I whisper, “Thank you.” God has answered the cry of my heart before I ever voiced my prayer.