Not My Mother Miranda Smith (chromebook ebook reader .TXT) 📖

“I had a difficult pregnancy and had to spend most of the time on bed rest,” she continues. “Bruce and I had already been trying to get pregnant for over two years. It rarely took. Sometimes it did, but nothing ever came of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I had about accepted the reality we wouldn’t get pregnant before you came along.” She looks down, clawing the sand with her hands, letting it fall. “Of course, I was nervous the first several months. By the time we entered the third trimester, it really hit me. It’s happening. I’m going to be a mother.”

I remember having the same feelings about Ava. In fact, most of Amelia’s story resembles mine. I can remember the gnawing uncertainty of whether or not motherhood would ever happen for me. It almost felt like trickery, knowing something I wanted so intensely was finally on its way.

“Every mother says this, I know,” Amelia continues, “but you were the best baby. All the books try to prepare you for a newborn, and people almost scare you out of it with their horror stories, but once you were here, you were just… perfect. You rarely cried. All you needed was a few cuddles to make you happy again. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were. You were worth the wait in every aspect.

“You were three months old when it happened. It was one of those perfect summer days. I can still remember how clear the sky was, how the breeze seemed to slice through the heat. I remember being so happy.” She pauses, her smile fading. “Sarah showed up at the house. I hadn’t seen her in months, not since I left the center. I had no idea she knew where I lived. She told me she had a gift for you. For the baby. I told her she needed to leave, that her arriving unannounced made me feel uncomfortable. When she refused, I threatened to call the police. Sarah forced her way into the house and followed me to the backyard. I’m not sure what happened. She must have hit me, and I blacked out. My next memory was waking up and finding Bruce. Then I went searching the house, but you—Caroline—my baby was gone.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to react to her story. I imagine the sudden shift from an idyllic day to a tragedy. Amelia’s confusion, then fear as she struggled to find her child. Of course, as she tells the story, I’m picturing Ava, how my world would be entirely lost if someone took her from me.

“I’m sorry.”

They are the only words I can muster. Beneath the sadness, is rising anger toward Mom. How could she do it? There’s not an excuse in the world that could justify putting another person through such pain. And Amelia, of all people. A woman who struggled so hard to have a child in the first place. Nothing about this is right or fair or tolerable.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says, placing a hand on my knee.

It’s warm and soft, and I feel a bit better knowing she’s here to comfort me, even though she’s the one who has lost so much.

19 MarionNow

We wander away from the beach, back to the lot where both our cars are parked. An awkward silence falls between us. Where do we go from here? I’m not sure what either of us wants.

“Thank you for meeting with me today,” Amelia says. She leans in for a hug, which I slowly accept.

“Thank you for telling me what happened.” I realize that’s what I’ve wanted most since Mom’s arrest. To understand the truth about what occurred that day.

We exchange phone numbers, but don’t make plans to meet again. Our relationship to each other still feels fresh. I think we’re both aware of the boundary between us; we don’t want to push the other away.

Amelia seems stoic about the whole thing, but I know that’s a front she’s putting on for me. How couldn’t she be devastated by what she has been through? Her daughter stolen. Her husband murdered. It’s unbelievable she’s had to live through such things, and it’s equally incredible to ponder how different my own life could have been.

Instead of the two-bedroom and shared bath I grew up in above The Shack, I could have lived in a house. I could have gone on vacations and visited other parts of the country, other parts of the planet. Amelia wouldn’t have been scared to let me explore what was out there; she wasn’t hiding from the world, unlike Mom. I could have had cousins. Cousins! Maybe even a brother or sister, had Amelia’s life taken a happier turn. I remember all the other extras I asked for over the years: violin lessons and summer camps. Mom denied me all these things, blaming finances, when in reality, it was probably just another way to keep me unseen, keep me hidden.

I got over the limitations of my childhood years ago. I accepted my mother and the life we lived, tried to focus on the positive things she gave me instead of everything I lacked. But now I realize, maybe, I shouldn’t have accepted it. I should have pushed for more. Pushed for answers. It wasn’t that Mom couldn’t provide them. Mom took those opportunities away from me, stole them from me, just as she stole me from Amelia.

By now, it’s late afternoon. Des told me Carmen picked up Ava once she got out of court, giving her more time to work at the restaurant. As usual, my body leaps at the idea of seeing Ava, but I still can’t shake my conversation with Amelia. I’m disgusted, still in disbelief over what my mother has done.

I exhale, puffing out my cheeks. I can’t seem agitated when I walk inside. I don’t want