“You’re exactly right,” Jake said. He pushed some papers across the desk to Ruby. “Basically, these are parental consent forms that say you, as the mother, are willing to give your baby to Olivia.” As he talked, Jake pointed to the paragraphs that illustrated, in legalese, what he was explaining. “That you’re not being paid to do this, or blackmailed, or otherwise coerced, but that you’re doing this of your own free will.”
Ruby nodded. Olivia had never seen her face so serious. Olivia felt it, too, the importance of these papers, of this moment. She looked from Ruby’s face down to her stomach. Ruby’s hands were folded over her belly. In there, Olivia thought, is my baby. It was fully formed by now, perfect. Together, Ruby and Olivia had studied the book Rachel had sent. They watched as the fetuses in the photographs grew larger and clearer, how the ears and the fingers and the toes all took shape. “This is freaking me out,” Ruby had said, but Olivia could only trace the shape of that baby in the picture and marvel at its development.
“And this section is for the father to sign, agreeing to all the same things,” Jake was saying. “I need to ask you if you know who the father is.”
Ruby nodded solemnly.
“Does he admit he’s the father?” Jake asked.
Ruby nodded again.
“Okay. Good. Well, he needs to sign right here. And then you get the whole thing notarized, and then you have your baby and hand it over legally to Olivia.” Jake turned his attention to Olivia.
“I have adoption papers being drawn up for you. It’s all routine really.”
Olivia nodded, too. It was as if some force greater than she or Ruby had taken their voices. In no time, she would have this baby with her. She would hold it, swaddle it, take it home with her to New York. She and Winnie would push their strollers side by side through the Village. Go to story hour at Tootsie’s and buy baby ice cream cones at Moon Doggie’s.
“You should read this yourself,” Jake told Ruby.
“No,” she said in a quavering voice that Olivia did not recognize. “I believe you.”
He slid the papers across his desk, toward Ruby. “I’ve marked where you need to sign,” he said, and placed a pen on top of the papers.
Ruby’s lips moved as if she were talking. Talking herself into this? Olivia wondered. Or out of it? Ruby picked up the pen, hesitated, then put it back down.
“There’s a provision here,” Jake said, pointing with his pen, “that gives you the right to change your mind within sixty days.”
Olivia looked at him, startled. How could he have left out such an important detail? Hadn’t he said this was pretty routine? Hadn’t he made it sound practically finished?
“You mean I can take the baby back?” Ruby asked him.
“You have sixty days,” Jake said. “But it’s highly unusual.” This last, he seemed to add for Olivia’s sake.
“I want to talk to Ben first,” Ruby said, getting up. “I need to talk to him.”
“Ben?” Jake said.
“The father,” Olivia said miserably.
“I’m afraid he won’t sign,” Ruby said.
Olivia looked at Jake, desperate, as if to say, She has to sign.
“Well,” Jake said, “can we call him in here now?”
Ruby shook her head. “He’s in New York.” She grabbed Olivia’s hand and held on tight. “I just want this over with,” she said, and Olivia was relieved.
The other teenager in childbirth class had her baby, a girl, six pounds, twelve ounces.
“Hillary Jane,” Nikki announced. “Isn’t that pretty? Everything went smooth as pumpkin pie. No drugs!”
They all groaned. The pressure was on for a smooth, drug-free delivery.
Ruby whispered to Olivia, “I want drugs. I’m telling you right now. I don’t want to remember any of it, and I just want to hand you the baby and go home.”
It was time for creative visualization. The pregnant women lay down, with their heads on fat red pillows, their partners kneeling beside them. Ruby and Olivia had problems with getting the breathing right, when simply to pant, when to hee-hee-hoo. Hopefully, they would do better at this.
“I mean it,” Ruby said. “Tons of drugs. Whatever they’ve got.”
“Okay,” Olivia said. But she couldn’t shake something Ruby had just told her: She wanted to go home. Where did she mean? The girl had no one, no place to go. Olivia thought of that small house on Strawberry Field Lane, of the red-faced mother—“A bedpan cleaner,” Ruby had said. And what lay beyond that door that the woman had held so protectively closed? Olivia imagined scenes from B movies, from cheap novels. But perhaps those scenes were really Ruby’s life, her home. Somehow, Olivia hadn’t thought past getting this baby. But now she wanted Ruby to have something better, too. Something good. What would happen to Ruby?
Nikki was telling the mothers to close their eyes and imagine something peaceful. Olivia tried to do the same, but she kept getting ugly pictures instead, images of Ruby alone in that fraternity basement, in that A&W parking lot, on the street somewhere.
“The most peaceful thing you know,” she said in a hypnotic voice.
“A handful of Quaaludes and a big fat joint,” Ruby whispered to Olivia. “That’s what I intend to do.”
“Sssshhhh,” Olivia said. “Close your eyes.” But she took hold of Ruby’s hand and held on tight.
“Hey,” Ruby said, “lighten up.”