Abby and the Mystery Baby Page 8

  She didn’t come to my father’s funeral. I remembered hearing that she was out of the country at the time. And as far as I knew, she had been totally out of touch with my mom and my grandparents for at least the last few years.

  It was strange to think that I had an aunt I knew next to nothing about.

  It was even stranger to think that Eli might be my cousin.

  But I was jumping the gun, getting ahead of myself. I didn’t know anything for sure, except that I had plenty of questions and I wasn’t going to let my mother avoid answering them anymore.

  I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I barely noticed the train entering the tunnel under the city leading to Grand Central Station. So it was a bit of a surprise when the train ground to a halt and I looked out to see the familiar platforms.

  I’d never paid much attention to how Mom found her way up the stairs and out through Grand Central. Whenever I came to the city with her, I just followed as she led the way. This time, I had to figure it out for myself. I watched to see which way most of the passengers leaving the train were going, and then I followed them up a long escalator.

  Somehow I found my way out of the cavernous building and onto the street. Now all I had to do was find a cab, tell the driver the address of the hospital, and relax.

  As if. There was no way I was going to relax anytime soon.

  I watched the cabs fly by and tried to remember how my mother tells which ones are available for passengers. I knew it had something to do with the light on the roof of the cab, but what? And even if I did know which ones were available, how was I supposed to make one stop for me? Suddenly, I felt like crying. I’d come all this way, and now I was stuck.

  “Need a cab, dearie?”

  I turned to see a tiny silver-haired old woman standing next to me. She was wearing an impeccable navy blue suit and white gloves, and she was carrying a shopping bag from Bloomingdale’s.

  She did not look like a criminal.

  I nodded. I was afraid that if I tried to talk I might start sobbing.

  She put her hand on my arm. “Don’t you worry,” she said. She took off one of her gloves. Then she turned to look out onto the street. A whole flock of cabs was drawing closer. How was this tiny woman going to stop one of them?

  Suddenly, she stuck her thumb and first finger in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. One of the cabs pulled right over, like a dog coming to its owner. She opened the door and ushered me in. “Not very ladylike, I know,” she said with a smile. “But my dear husband, Leo, taught me how to do that, and it works every time. Have a nice day!” She slammed the door shut before I could thank her.

  Only in New York.

  I gave the driver the address of the hospital. He took off fast and drove faster, and we were there before I knew it. I paid him, remembering to add a tip, and headed into the big marble lobby of St. Barnabas.

  Inside, I felt overwhelmed all over again. This was a huge hospital. How was I going to find Miriam? “Use your brain, Abby,” I muttered. I looked around and saw the main reception desk. All I had to do was ask for Miriam, and they’d tell me where to find her.

  Sure enough, they did (after I waited what seemed like hours for the receptionist to page through a huge computer printout). Miriam was in room 401, and I could take the elevator located “down that hall and on the right.”

  I followed directions and found the elevator, but after I’d pushed the button and waited for fifteen seconds, I discovered that I was just too antsy to wait any longer. There was a stairway across from the elevator, and I pushed the door open and started climbing.

  When I reached the fourth floor, I looked carefully at the signs and turned right. Room 401 turned out to be the first door I came to. It was closed.

  I put my ear next to the door, hoping to hear something, but I couldn’t hear a sound. Slowly, slowly, I pushed the door open.

  There were two beds in the room. One was empty. But a woman was lying in the one near the window. And sitting in a chair next to that bed was my mother.

  She was crying.

  “Mom?” My voice came out like a little squeak.

  She looked up and wiped her eyes. “Abby,” she said. She looked surprised, of course. But also not surprised. It was weird. She didn’t ask me any of the questions I would have expected, such as “How did you get here?” or “What are you doing here alone?”

  Instead, she just sort of nodded at me. “Abby,” she said again, repeating my name as if she needed to remind herself of something. She turned to look at the woman in the bed. “Miriam,” she said, “here’s Abby to see you. Do you remember Abby?”

  Miriam smiled weakly and raised a hand in greeting. “Hello, Abby,” she said. “I’m your aunt Miriam.”

  I stepped closer to the bed. The woman lying there looked very much like my mom, only her hair was a few shades lighter. Her face was pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She was hooked up to an I.V. line, and she looked very sick and very tired. “Hello, Aunt Miriam,” I said. Suddenly I felt a wave of emotion. This woman was related to me; she was part of my family. A part I’d never really known. I glanced at my mom and saw that she was crying again.

  “Your aunt is going to be fine,” she told me, in a shaky voice. “She’s been extremely ill, but now that she’s being taken care of properly, she’ll be all right.”

  “And I hear my son’s all right, too,” said Aunt Miriam. “Thanks to some very good care from — from my family.” Tears were welling up in her eyes, too.

  “Eli is your son?” I asked.

  She smiled. “His name is Daniel. And yes, he’s my boy.”

  “He’s wonderful,” I told her. Somehow I just knew that she thought so too — and that she hadn’t really abandoned him.

  “I know. I miss him terribly.” She closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Miriam, would you like to nap?” asked my mother. “We can leave you alone for a bit.”

  She waved a hand. “I’m all right,” she said. “I’ll just be quiet for a few minutes.” She looked at me. “I think Abby deserves an explanation, though. Maybe you can fill her in.” She closed her eyes again.

  My mom turned to me and took my hand. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the windowsill.

  I sat.

  The room was dimly lit, and the blinds on the window behind me were drawn. It was very quiet, even though the hall outside had been full of bustling nurses and patients in wheelchairs.

  It was so quiet that I could almost hear my heart beating as I waited for my mom to start talking.

  “First of all, I want you to know that Miriam and I have put our differences behind us. I hope you’ll accept her as part of our family. I feel awful about all the years we’ve wasted.” Tears began to slip down her face again.

  “Mom,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on. Why is Miriam in the hospital?”

  My mom blew her nose on a tissue and pulled herself together. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  “Miriam has diabetes,” she began. Just like Stacey, I thought. “Only lately she hasn’t been taking very good care of herself.” She glanced at her sister, who now appeared to be sleeping peacefully. “Miriam has never been very good at taking care of herself,” she said softly.

  “Anyway, she had Daniel six months ago — two months after she and Daniel’s father broke up.”

  “Did you ever meet him?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but my parents did. They couldn’t stand him. They made it clear that they didn’t want anything to do with Miriam if she was going to be with him. That’s why they didn’t even know she was pregnant. Nobody knew.”

  “Where has Miriam been living all these years?” I asked.

  “Everywhere,” said my mom. “It sounds as if she’s lived in ten states and three different countries. But after Daniel’s father left her, she decided to settle down in New York and make a new life for herself.”

  “Why didn’t we know she was her
e?” I asked.

  “She didn’t want to call me until she was back on her feet,” said my mom. “She knew I was sick and tired of helping her out every time she found herself in trouble. That’s why we hadn’t spoken in so long.” Mom shook her head and stroked Miriam’s forehead. Miriam didn’t open her eyes.

  “So then what happened?” I asked.

  “She wasn’t eating right. She didn’t have much money, and what she did have, she put toward Daniel’s care.”

  I thought of the well-stocked diaper bag and nodded.

  “She started to become seriously ill, and finally she decided to break down and ask me to take care of Daniel for a while. She didn’t know anyone else in the area. So she used her last few dollars to rent a car to drive her and Daniel out to Stoneybrook. By the time she found our house, she was feeling very faint. And when she knocked on the door and got no answer, she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t thinking clearly, but she knew there was no way she could care for Daniel until she regained her health. So she wrote me a short note and left Daniel on the doorstep.”

  “A note?” I asked. “I didn’t see any note.”

  “It was tucked into the car seat. And it was pretty incoherent. But I figured out that the baby was probably Miriam’s. Especially when I saw the blanket he was wrapped in.”

  I remembered how she’d reacted when she’d first seen the blanket. “That was Miriam’s blanket when she was little, wasn’t it?” I asked, thinking of the picture I’d seen.

  “It was my bankie,” Miriam murmured. I looked over and saw that her eyes were open again. “I took it everywhere with me.” She smiled.

  “Well, I’m glad you still had it,” said my mother. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been sure that Daniel was your baby. Then came the hard part — finding you.” She reached out and took her sister’s hand. “I looked everywhere for Miriam,” she told me. “I told the police what I suspected, and they helped, but I also wanted to look on my own. I called everyone I could think of, anyone who might have heard from her. I called social service organizations all over the country. But nobody knew where she was. Finally, I thought of calling the hospitals. And that’s when I found her.”

  “I’d been here for quite awhile by then,” said Miriam. “But I was so sick when I arrived that I couldn’t tell anyone much more than my name. And then I was in a coma for a while —”

  “A coma!” I said. “That sounds awful.”

  Miriam shrugged. “It can happen when diabetes is out of control. It’s worse for the people taking care of you, though. I didn’t know a thing; it was just as if I were sleeping.”

  “But then you woke up,” said my mother gently.

  “Then I woke up,” agreed Miriam. “And soon after that, you found me. I promise this will be the last time you ever have to help me out like this,” she said.

  “I’ll help you out whenever you need me,” my mother said. “We’re family. I don’t know why I let myself forget that for so long, but now that we’re back together, I’ll never forget it again.” She and Miriam were both crying now.

  Whoa. Deep stuff, and there I was, right in the middle of it. I discovered that tears were running down my face, too.

  Just then, the door swung open and a nurse looked in. “Visiting hours are over now,” she said gently. “I’m going to have to ask you to let Ms. Goldberg rest.”

  My mom bent down to kiss her sister. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised.

  I gave Miriam a kiss, too. Even though I barely knew her, it seemed like the thing to do.

  Then we left the hospital. Mom didn’t say a word as we walked to the parking garage where she’d left the car. In fact, we didn’t start talking until we’d made it out of the city and were on the highway headed home. I had the feeling Mom was worn out.

  Finally, I broke the silence. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “I was going nuts trying to figure out where Eli — I mean, Daniel — came from. And you knew all the time!” I’d realized by then that Mom must have told Sergeant Johnson about the note, which was why we’d been allowed to keep Daniel. But Mom must have sworn him to secrecy.

  “I wasn’t absolutely sure,” she said. “But you’re right. I probably should have told you. I didn’t realize how much trouble and worry I was causing you. It’s just that — well, nobody even knew Miriam was pregnant. I didn’t think I should tell my parents anything until I’d tracked her down and found out the whole story.”

  “But you could have told me and Anna,” I said.

  “I didn’t want you to have to lie to Grandpa Morris and Gram Elsie,” said my mom. “It was bad enough that I had to. And I probably shouldn’t have, but I just didn’t want to worry them. Even though they’ve had very little to do with Miriam lately, she is still their daughter, and they’d be upset if they knew she was missing. It hasn’t been that long since Grandpa Morris’s heart surgery, you know.”

  I realized that this explained why my grandparents hadn’t wanted to talk about the baby with me on the phone that day. Mom had probably downplayed the whole thing so much that they didn’t think it was too exciting. “Will you call them now?” I asked.

  “As soon as we get home,” my mother said.

  Thinking of home reminded me of something. “So, am I grounded or anything?” I asked. “You know, for coming to New York by myself?” I might as well find out what she had in mind.

  She looked at me. Then she looked back at the road. “I can’t say I approve of what you did,” she said. “But I won’t punish you. After all, it was partly my fault, because I didn’t tell you everything I knew. What you did was wrong, but I was wrong, too. I guess we’re even.” She looked at me again and grinned.

  “Cool,” I said, smiling back at her. I think we were both very glad that the secret had been revealed.

  “Pass the cream cheese, please.”

  “Are there any more sesame bagels?”

  “This is excellent lox.”

  “More eggs, anyone?”

  Ahh, the sounds of Sunday brunch. (For anyone who doesn’t know what lox is, it’s yummy smoked salmon. When you add some to a bagel and cream cheese, it’s like heaven on earth.)

  It was exactly a week from the day of my solo-in-Manhattan adventure, and a lot had changed. For one thing, Miriam was out of the hospital. She had come to stay with us for a bit, and seeing her and Daniel together was wonderful. It was obvious to everyone that she loved him very much, and by the way his little face lit up when he saw her, it was clear that the feeling was mutual. I almost felt jealous, but I knew that was silly. After all, Miriam was Daniel’s mother. He still loved me too, but not in the same way.

  I looked across the kitchen table at Daniel, who was nestled in his mother’s arms. He looked totally content, even though he was too young to eat lox. I smiled at him and felt myself growing a little teary-eyed. Then I looked around the table and saw that everyone else was wearing the same sappy smile I probably had plastered across my face.

  Mom wore it.

  Anna did, too.

  Miriam? Definitely.

  And the award for the biggest, sappiest smiles went to Grandpa Morris and Gram Elsie, who couldn’t stop looking at their newest grandchild.

  Their presence at our breakfast table represented the biggest change that had taken place that week. A family reconciliation. Mom had called her parents in Florida as soon as we’d arrived home from the hospital. She’d broken the news gently, concerned about her father’s heart.

  My grandparents had caught the first available flight to New York.

  Somehow, Daniel’s presence made it easy for everyone to forgive and forget. He was such a beautiful, lovable baby. The week had been one big love fest. The only arguments had been about whose turn it was to hold Daniel.

  That was the good news. My family was one again. And now Daniel was a part of my family. I knew I should be happy about it.

  But there was bad news, too.

  We were going to lose Dan
iel. Just when I’d become used to the idea of a baby in the house. He and Miriam were going to live with my grandparents for a while, down in Florida. She insisted that she’d only stay until she was “back on her feet,” but my grandparents told her she could stay as long as she’d like.

  “How can you take him away?” I cried when Miriam first told me they were going.

  “It’s the best thing for both of us, right now,” Miriam had told me gently. “I need my parents, and Daniel needs me. We’ll come back and visit, though. And you should come down to Florida.”

  “Yes, bubbelah,” put in Gram Elsie. “We’d love to have you and your sister any time.”

  “We’ll show you the town,” said Grandpa Morris with a laugh. “Bring some friends if you want. We need more young people down there!”

  Right then and there, I started dreaming up a BSC trip to Florida. I knew my friends and I could have a great time. Maybe this move wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, Daniel would be in good hands. I told myself that he’d be better off with three full-time caretakers than with two thirteen-year-olds and a very busy aunt.

  No matter what, I knew that Miriam and Daniel would always be a part of my life now, and that felt terrific.

  Anyway, back to that Sunday brunch. By the end of it, we’d eaten so much we could barely move. But we had an important event to attend: the BSC Prose Party and Poetry Slam! The whole Goldberg-Stevenson clan was going to be on hand, including Miriam, who was just about ready for her first outing, and Daniel, who would probably sleep quietly through the event.

  The party was going to take place in the main children’s room of the Stoneybrook Public Library, and as soon as we walked in we saw that Claudia had done an excellent job with the decorations. The walls were covered in brightly colored cutouts of letters and punctuation marks, and crepe paper hung in huge swags from every bookshelf. There was a small “gallery” of picture poems, by Claire and other younger kids. And an area in the front of the room had been designated as the stage. Ms. Feld, the children’s librarian, had helped with setting up a microphone so the audience wouldn’t miss a word.