The first fanfics I've written come to me like plays, heavy on dialogue. I decided to try an experiment and see if I could write a story with almost no dialogue. I hope you like it!
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Gillian remembers folding the blanket. Sophie's blanket. The one she knitted. Strands of pink and yellow yarn woven as a border around the yards of white.
How many knitting classes had she taken? How many rows had she ripped out? Knit one, purl two. Drop a stitch. Begin again. Knitting was supposed to be calming. That's what all the books said. But how could she be calm when her baby girl was inside another woman's body? Woman? Try girl. Young girl. Did she remember to take her pre-natal vitamins last night? Did she stay out late at the concert of her boyfriend's favorite band? What did the books say about second-hand smoke? Did anyone understand just how hard it was for Gillian to read "What to Expect When You're Expecting" when the baby she's expecting was under someone else's control? When she was living vicariously through a fifteen year old child who complained that the world's greatest miracle meant she couldn't go to the homecoming dance?
Don't think Gillian wasn't grateful. She had thanked God everyday for Eileen. For Eileen's bravery. So many girls would make a different choice, but Eileen chose her. Chose Gillian. Said she wanted her baby to have a better life than the one she could offer. Gillian was amazed by her generosity and courage. Eileen's only request: if the baby's a girl, please name her Sophie. Eileen saw the name someplace and thought it sounded cool. Alec had hoped to name a little girl after his mother, but Gillian said yes to Eileen. Anything for this angel who was fulfilling her greatest dream.
Fifty seven days. Once a woman joins the club, she never leaves it. She turns her heart over to this child in her arms, and the child takes it with her when she leaves. She takes everything when she leaves. Except her blanket. The blanket that brought her home from the hospital, that swaddled her the first night home. The blanket that hosted tummy time, dried tears, caught spit ups, and kept away chills. The blanket Gillian washed right before she got the phone call from the adoption agency explaining that Eileen had changed her mind. How could she get Sophie's smell back into the blanket in such a short time? So she would be left with something. Anything. But Gillian was left with nothing but memories. And those memories were killing her husband.
Alec stood beside her when they came for Sophie. The police came, too. Apparently they've had problems in the past. Alec took Sophie from Gillian before she could give her that last hug, that last murmured "I love you." He took Sophie from her and handed her to the social worker. The social worker put her in the car seat. She couldn't get the straps together while Sophie was swaddled in the blanket. If she had asked, Gillian could have shown her the trick to make it all work. She didn't ask. Perhaps she felt she had already asked enough of Gillian. Instead, she simply unwrapped Sophie and handed the blanket back to Alec. Was the car seat cold? Sophie let out a short cry, and just like that she was gone. And even though Alec was standing next to her, holding Gillian's empty hand, he was gone, too.
On day fifty nine Gillian called Maggie's Place. They came in a truck. Two strong men and one woman climbed out of the cab. The woman smiled and started to talk, to thank Gillian for her donation, to explain what Maggie's Place was and how much they needed the supplies. But then she took a closer look at Gillian's face and stopped. There were no words. This wasn't a donation so much as an exorcism. Silently they dismantled the crib Alec worked so hard to put together. She could still hear his complaints about the terrible assembly directions. But they weren't really complaints. She remembered the twinkle in his eyes that night, surrounded by papers and screws and crib parts. After Sophie his eyes wouldn't twinkle again; occasionally they might be "chemically enhanced," but they wouldn't sparkle again. Nothing about him would. They loaded the clothes Gillian spent all night packing into a giant box. All night she washed and folded and packed while she waited for Alec to come home. But he didn't. Wouldn't until the remnants of Sophie were gone. He didn't want to hear her name mentioned again. They took the mobile, the cases of infant formula, the diapers, the wipes, the stroller, the high chair, the changing table. She would have given them the mural if it weren't painted on the wall. They stood awkwardly, whispering among themselves. Should they offer a receipt? Thanks? Condolences? Prayers?
A car pulled up to the curb. She should have known. He's always had a sixth sense when it comes to her. He hopped out of the car and then stopped, assessing the situation. He slowly walked up the driveway, analyzing the people standing there. He saw her face, and his blanched. He took the receipt from the woman, said all the niceties that would get them out of her sight. And niceties were not his strong suit. She'd remember to thank him later. If memory serves, he told her to shut up. Families don't have to stand on ceremony. He likes to say that. But Gillian's family was different. They always stood on ceremony.
He studied her face, accepted how much she was willing to show. He took her hand gently and walked her back into the house. He was looking for Alec, but she shook her head. His lips compressed. He wanted to say something, but eventually thought better of it. Gillian walked into the now spare room. He followed her and saw the drop cloth, roller, and paint cans. Whisper white. Time to remove all traces of pink, remove the carousel and horses, the butterflies and flowers. He said nothing, just rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the cloth. He wouldn't let Gillian help. So she walked into her bedroom and found the blanket. She clutched it, smelled it. It smelled like Tide. She didn't have enough time to get Sophie's smell back. It was too late. She wouldn't cry. Couldn't. Some hurts are just too deep for tears. Instead, she meticulously smoothed out the blanket and then folded it. Folded it while she thought about the knitting classes, the baby books, Eileen, fifty seven days with Sophie, and two days without. The rest of her life without. She folded the blanket and carefully stored it in her dresser behind her jewelry box. It's a drawer Alec never opened.
Gillian remembers folding the blanket. Now she unfolds it. Sophie's blanket. The one she knitted. Five years later it still looks like new.
Right after Sophie was taken she tried to give it away, but he talked her out of it. He talked to her a lot that year. Listened. And the year after that. And after that. He recently gave her a locket with four spots for photos. Three are filled. One of him, although he hates having his picture taken. One of Emily, although it is already outdated. One of Sophie. When they moved to their new house, he went through all her boxes and drawers and things until he found the hidden stash of Sophie's pictures. She thought it would be hard to see her photo, but it's not. She is still part of Gillian's life, part of their life together. Once a woman joins the club, she never leaves it.
The last spot? She looks at the locket. She looks at the blanket. She looks at her wedding ring. She hears a voice behind her. She turns. He is there. He sees the blanket and immediately looks to her, reads her. "Luv?" She smiles and he smiles back. Then their attention is diverted. A little hand has grabbed his nose. He nuzzles a little neck, and she hears cooing and gurgling coming from the blanket cradled in his arms. Jack's blanket. The one she knitted. Strands of navy and red yarn woven as a border around the yards of white.
She refolds Sophie's blanket, sets it gently in the box she's packing. A new mom at Maggie's Place will be able to use it. He may try to talk her out of it again. He was right before; it was too soon. But she knows she is right now. It's the right time to let it go. Now she wants to pass it on to another member of the club, one with a daughter. Smiling, she walks to the two men she loves most in her life. They hear the doorbell ring and Emily call for them. The photographer is here. It's day sixty four.
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Just FYI: Maggie's Place is a real organization. It was started by five young Catholic women in Arizona who felt called to put their faith in action. They now have five homes in three states for women who find themselves pregnant with nowhere to turn.