“You’ll pay us rent. Not much, and not until you start working, but after that, we want eighty percent of whatever you make. It’ll go for room and board and to repay the money we sent to Boots. And the hospital bill.”
The full weight of what he expected fell on her like a load of bricks. How many years would it take to pay off her debts-ten? twenty? May Flower Dawn would be grown and gone by then. She could hear her baby crying and wanted to go after her, wanted to grab hold of May Flower Dawn and run.
“Excuse me.” Carolyn stood.
“Where are you going?”
“She’s hungry.”
She didn’t tap at the bedroom door. She walked in. “She needs to nurse, Mom.”
Mom smiled. “Sit here beside me and I’ll give her to you.”
Were there going to be conditions on everything now? Maybe there always had been. She hadn’t understood the rules she had to follow to earn love. When Mom didn’t rise from where she sat on the edge of the big double bed, Carolyn obeyed. Mom handed over May Flower Dawn, but didn’t leave her alone.
Mom put her hand on Carolyn’s knee. “I know you probably won’t believe this right now, but Dad and I aren’t doing this to ruin your life. We’re not trying to make things even harder for you; we’re trying to help you learn how to stand on your own two feet.”
Carolyn looked into her mother’s eyes and saw compassion. She also saw pain, and she knew she had caused it. “I know, Mom.”
She also knew the price they asked: May Flower Dawn.
What her parents demanded wasn’t in writing. They didn’t ask for her signature on any document. But it was a binding contract nonetheless, and Carolyn agonized over it. She could see no way out, nor did she feel she had the right to seek one. For the next six weeks, she pondered what she would have to do to make a way for herself and her daughter. If she went back to Boots, she would destroy a friendship that had weathered more than thirty years. She couldn’t do that to her mother or to Boots.
So Carolyn signed the college application, put May Flower Dawn into the car seat, and drove into Hayward to hand-deliver it. Every course she had completed at UCB would count at State. At least that was something, though she would still have two and a half years of coursework to complete while working part-time. If she went to school half-time, it would take her five years.
Could she do it? She spoke with the employment office. They assured her they would be able to find something for her when the semester began.
Time passed too quickly. She grasped every moment with May Flower Dawn, holding her, playing with her, watching her sleep. When Mom gave two weeks’ notice at the hospital, Carolyn wept.
The first week of separation from May Flower Dawn proved agonizing. Her milk came in when she would have been feeding her, and the pain was excruciating. By the time she returned home, her mother had given May Flower Dawn formula, bathed her, changed her, and rocked her to sleep. Carolyn was left to take a warm shower and watch her milk flow down the drain.
She got a job in the library. She worked twenty-five hours a week, minimum wage. At the end of the month, she signed over her paycheck to her father. Dad had given her an accounting. Most of her check would go toward the hospital bill and Boots repayment, then toward room and board. Once the hospital bill and Boots had been taken care of, Carolyn could chip away at what she owed for tuition and books. He gave her twenty-five dollars to call her own. What she didn’t spend on gas for Charlie’s Impala went into a savings account.
Depressed, driven, Carolyn thought about drinking again. At least drunk she wouldn’t feel the pain, the loneliness. Frightened by the craving, she found an AA meeting in Hayward. It helped to have friends who understood, a place where she could draw hope from others’ experiences. But it took another hour out of her day, an hour she might have spent with May Flower Dawn.
Between classes, work, and AA meetings, Carolyn missed every milestone in May Flower Dawn’s first year. Carolyn wasn’t there when her baby daughter rolled over, learned to grasp a toy, sat up, or began to crawl. She didn’t hear her say
1974
Finally growing weary of her library job, Carolyn used a portion of her savings to buy business attire and applied for part-time work as a receptionist in a real estate office owned by Myrna Wegeman, an attractive, ambitious overachiever, who hired her and started Carolyn at fifty cents more an hour than she’d been earning. Carolyn still had nights and Sundays free to study and attend AA meetings, but hardly any time at all with three-year-old Dawn. Mom and Dad didn’t complain, and Dawn didn’t miss her.
With a constant stream of new listings, Myrna handed Carolyn an expensive camera and sent her out to take pictures of properties. Carolyn studied the houses from every angle before shooting the pictures. Myrna couldn’t have been more pleased with the results.
“I’m getting more calls on the properties you’ve shot than the ones I’ve done. You have a talent for this. Ever think about becoming a real estate agent?”
The more Carolyn did for Myrna, the more Myrna expected of her. When Myrna began asking her to oversee open houses on Sunday afternoons, Carolyn asked for double pay. Myrna reluctantly agreed.
This time, Carolyn ran into resistance at home. Mom balked at the idea of longer hours. “You’re hardly ever home as it is.”
Dad didn’t like the idea either. “Your mother could use a break once in a while.”
“Maybe she should take Dawn with her, Hildie. Give Carolyn a chance to find out how hard it is to take care of a child.”
Mom gave Dad a quelling look. “You make it sound like labor. I love taking care of Dawn. She’s no bother at all!”
Dad gave up on Mom and directed his logic at Carolyn. “You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to be in such a hurry. You’re making good enough headway on your debts.”
Carolyn realized they had no concerns over how much time she’d already lost with May Flower Dawn.
Oma came over early one Sunday before heading to church. She no longer attended church in Paxtown, but drove to a neighboring town. Mom had commented on it once. “Oma can’t stand to be in the same building with Thelma Martin. Not that I blame her. But I’m not letting that gossip drive me away.”
No one ever suggested Carolyn return. Certainly Rev. Elias never did.
Oma set her purse on the breakfast counter. “When was the last time you spent more than an hour with your daughter?”
“I don’t have an hour, Oma. I have classes. I have to study. I have to work.”
Oma watched Carolyn write notes. “Your mom and dad are doing what they think is right. They’re doing the best they can for both you and May Flower Dawn.”
Carolyn looked up from her textbook. “I know. I’m not complaining. It’s just the way things are.” Flipping the page in her text, she tried to refocus on her studies. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ignore you, but I only have a couple of hours to study before I have to leave for an open house.” She could feel Oma looking at her. How long since they had sat on the patio and had tea together?
“Maybe you should speak up about what you’re feeling, Carolyn.”
“Feeling?” Carolyn gave a bleak laugh. Speaking up wouldn’t change anything. It would make things a hundred times worse! Oma didn’t move. Frustrated, Carolyn stopped writing and looked at her. “And you don’t have to say it. I already know. By the time I have a place of my own, Dawn won’t be mine anymore.”
