Chapter Seven
Hawkeye watched as the prim, portly social worker took her seat behind her desk, flanked at either side by two identical dark olive filing cabinets, each topped with a potted plant: yellow marigolds on one side, a spider plant on the other. Sitting down, she seemed to gain six inches in height. "So," she gave them another one of her trademark beaming smiles, "what is it that I can help you gentlemen with?"
"I guess that really depends on you," Hawkeye replied, with a smile of his own. It was a smile he dredged up from his boots, hauled past hulking orderlies and snippy agency clerks and one sneering, disapproving old patriarch, and finally plastered onto his face with great difficulty. "Not that I want to start off on the wrong foot or anything, but I've spoken to a lot of people at a lot of different organisations today, and so far nobody's been much help."
"You have to understand, Doctor, a lot of this information is confidential. The service we provide promises the utmost security and discretion to our residents, their families and the adoptive families. I can't break that contract, no matter who you say you are."
"Confidential?" It was BJ who piped up before Hawkeye could inject his usual venom. "When I called your number pretending I was some nosy employer hiring Emily Winters, someone here told me she'd been a resident, no questions asked! How is that 'confidential'?"
Miss Gladstone shot BJ a slightly suspicious look. "What did you say your name was again, sir?"
"I didn't." BJ smiled back.
"Obviously, there are exceptions," Miss Gladstone breezed. "Concerned parties, such as employers, are always at liberty to know who they're hiring."
"I don't get why it's anyone's concern." Hawkeye's calm demeanour was cracking again.
She regarded him with a stern expression and exhaled loudly through her prim little nostrils. "Well, look at it this way," she said. "If you were hiring someone, wouldn't you want to have a fair idea of that person's… moral fibre?
"Of course I would, that's what criminal records are for! But the last time I checked there was nothing criminal about having a baby!"
"I said 'moral', not 'legal'."
"Obviously we have different definitions of what constitutes 'morality'."
Another polite, if slightly curt, smile. Hawkeye wondered if she had some kind of tic. "Obviously."
He was spared further philosophical debate by the timid knock, and a moment later the entrance of, the clerk from the lobby – Hawkeye hadn't caught her name. "The Winters file," she announced, passing a brown manila file to her boss.
Hawkeye's heart leapt into his mouth. It was hard to process that everything he wished to know was, most likely, contained in that slim folder. This wasn't like the medical file BJ had found at San Francisco General, which conveniently omitted the slightest word about her pregnancy and the birth of their child. Here, it was actually acknowledged. It took every ounce of self-control not to leap across the desk and wrestle the paperwork from the woman's hands.
The clerk shot Hawkeye a sympathetic glance and slipped out again, pulling the door closed behind her.
Miss Gladstone perused the file, sliding a gold plated fountain pen down the pages and making feint clicking sounds with her tongue as the contemplated the contents.
"Can I take a look?" Hawkeye asked, clutching at straws.
"I'm sorry, Doctor – residents' files are confidential."
Hawkeye shuddered. There was that word again. Sitting back, the stern-faced social worker tilted the folder upwards a little further so Hawkeye couldn't catch even a glimpse of the contents. Her eyes danced fleetingly across words Hawkeye would have given anything to read. His fingers clasped around the edge of the desk, he inched closer. His knuckles went white. "But I'm the father."
With a slightly exasperated sigh, Miss Gladstone flipped a page in the notes. "Father unknown," she announced matter-of-factly.
Hawkeye blanched. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Miss Gladstone explained patiently, "that either she didn't know or she didn't want to say. Either way, you're not named on the birth certificate, or anywhere on our papers. I'm sorry, dear. There's no mention of you at all."
Those words felt like a knife in Hawkeye's gut. Suddenly, he remembered Emily's promise in her letter: 'I won't name you', and he realised with those awful words that Emily had kept her promise She had protected him. She had kept his name off the records, just like she'd said she would. Horrified, he curled in on himself a little, rocking slightly on his chair. "So what can you tell me?" he asked, his voice tight. "You said you wanted to help! You must be able to give me something!"
"I can really only tell you the basics," she sympathised kindly, "and I am already taking a lot on faith here that you are who you say you are." She scanned through the file again. "The child was placed in foster care on December 28th following a brief stay in the maternity ward at Sacramento General."
"Foster care?" Hawkeye suddenly perked up. "That's temporary, right? That's like a…. halfway thing? That's not adoption!"
"Just a moment, Doctor Pierce!" she berated him, waving her pen at him. "After foster care, the child was indeed adopted out on…" She clicked her tongue again as she scanned the columns of information. "… February 22nd."
Hawkeye broke into a cold sweat. "February 22nd," he murmured. "That's less than a week after I got the letter." His world shattered. He ran through everything he had done in the past two months since that letter had landed on his front porch and turned his life upside down. He remembered how he had procrastinated and agonised over what to do. So many drafts that were screwed up and tossed in the trash. And when eventually he'd written back, he'd waited and waited for a reply that never came. He'd written again, this time more urgently, begging her to contact him. And then he'd waited some more. It had taken a long, eight weeks of waiting and writing and soul searching for him to drag himself out to California.
But it had only taken two days of detective work for him to wind up here, sat at the very desk where Emily had signed the papers. "If I'd got on a plane as soon as I got that letter," he said aloud, "she wouldn't have had to…"
He tried to compose himself. He pushed back the wave of 'if onlys' and 'what ifs' and steeled himself to play his last card. "Mrs Gladstone…" he addressed her formally.
"Miss!"
"Sorry! Miss Gladstone, I have reason to believe Miss Winters signed that adoption form under duress."
Closing the file, Miss Gladstone eyed him dubiously. "That's quite a claim, Doctor," she professed, frowning at him. "What makes you say that?"
"See, I met her father yesterday and he… uh… well, he was a little… let's just say he didn't approve, and he was very… expressive in his disapproval."
"I can't say I'm surprised. His daughter–"
"No – I mean, he was… forceful."
"Threatening, even," BJ chipped in.
"That's right." Hawkeye nodded. "The man was a bully! I don't think Emily wanted to give up that baby. I think he made her sign that paper."
Miss Gladstone was patient, rolling her fountain pen between her perfectly manicured fingers as she watched Hawkeye protest. "I understand your concern," she said airily, "but regardless of your opinion of the man, he made the right call encouraging his daughter to sign the surrender. Single motherhood is no life for an intelligent girl like Emily. She's got her whole life ahead of her. It was the best thing she could have done."
"The best thing she could have done?!" Hawkeye repeated, incredulous. "That intelligent girl is in a mental institute right now because of 'the best thing she could have done'!"
"Oh come now!" the social worker sniffed, looking down her nose at him. "You can't know that has anything to do with–"
"No, but I can take an educated guess! What I do know is that the woman who wrote to me ten months ago was happy to be expecting a baby! And since I got out here, not a single person has uttered a word to me about what Emily wanted. Oh sure, I've heard a lot about 'the right decision' and 'the best thing to do' but nothing about what her decision was. Not a mention of the thing she wanted to do!"
"What call was there to make?" Miss Gladstone asked, her tone overwhelmingly innocuous. "She was a single mother, no husband, no job – you were notably absent!"
"Well, I'm here now! Look, I'm here and I'm sorry it took so long, but this is my child we're talking about – somewhere out there, being brought up by strangers! How hard can this be? It's paperwork for god's sake! Whatever you've done, reverse it!"
The stout little woman stared at him, perplexed, like he was mad. "Sir, do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?"
"I'm asking for a chance to be able to raise my own child! The chance you never gave her!"
Narrowing her eyes, Miss Gladstone inhaled deeply and sat forward, folding her arms across her chest. "Doctor Pierce," she said sternly, looking at him with disdain, "do you drink?"
Hawkeye closed his mouth and pulled away. Suddenly he was right back in his apartment in Maine, his father looking on in concern as he stumbled about the kitchen trying to make coffee, an empty bottle of Scotch on the counter as a testimony to his guilt. He tried, as he had then, to think up an explanation that didn't sound desperate. He knew he had none to give.
With an exasperated sigh, Miss Gladstone pushed the file to one side. "I don't think you fully appreciate our side of things. We are talking about legally binding contracts. Miss Winters signed the surrender herself, and I can't reverse that without a court order. And on top of that, there were the costs of her stay here, the hospital visit, the foster care. All this has to be paid for. Our costs are covered by the adoption fee – without that, the bill would have to be met by Miss Winters herself."
"I'll pay it," Hawkeye volunteered. "Whatever it is, I'll cover it. Tell the adoption agency… something. Tell them new evidence came to light and I want to… uh, what's the word? I want to… contest the surrender!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, decisive, high on adrenaline.
Miss Gladstone gazed at him, calm, almost bored. "But you're not on the birth certificate."
"So put me on the damned birth certificate!" He scrambled to his feet, and with shaking hands, he managed to fumble Emily's letter out of his pocket and thrust it towards the social worker. "Look, this is what she sent me last summer. There's your proof."
Gently pushing the proffered note away, Miss Gladstone shook her head sadly. "Birth certificates are sealed at the hospital," she explained gently. "I can't just add your name after the fact. I'm sorry, Doctor, but in the eyes of the law, you have no ties to this child whatsoever. I can't just tear apart a new family on your say so. These people have been waiting months to adopt! They're very happy, and your child is lucky to have them as parents. Why would you want to spoil that?"
Hawkeye shot BJ a desperate look. He could feel his chance at finally getting to see his child slowly slipping away. All the arguing and all the legal jargon in the world couldn't stop it. They'd both known coming in here that this would probably be the answer, but it didn't make it any easier.
"Look," Miss Gladstone continued, standing and moving around the desk, putting a reassuring hand on his arm, "I know it doesn't seem it, but it really is for the best. What were you thinking of doing? Coming out here, giving up your job, marrying this poor girl? You said it yourself – she's in a mental institution. Now, who would want to marry a… well, you know."
She laughed – a light, frivolous twittering sound. Hawkeye mimicked the noise perfectly in a hollow baritone with a bitter sneer as he continued to look at BJ in helpless despair. "Yeah, who would, right?" BJ cringed on his behalf, shaking his head.
"And without her… well, you'd have been on your own. What kind of life is that for a young man?" She took his hands and gave one a gentle pat as she perched herself on the edge of her desk. Hawkeye found himself following her lead and sitting beside her.
"I could've coped," he said weakly. "My dad raised me on his own – after my mom died – and he did okay."
"Then you must know how hard it is!" Her voice was imploring; tender; almost heartfelt. "Wouldn't you have loved to have had a mother around to cook you dinners and kiss you goodnight when you were little?"
Hawkeye bristled. "My dad did those things."
"It's not the same though, is it?" the social worker murmured. She squeezed his hand. "Not to mention what your child would have to face out there in society. The world can be cruel, Doctor Pierce. Your child would most likely be rejected by others; bullied for being illegitimate; called a bastard. Is that what you want? I don't doubt for a moment that you meant it for the best, but why put a child through that same difficulty just for the sake of your own feelings? I don't believe you fully understand what you'd be taking on here. Look at you – you have a stressful job, you're a drinker, and you're behaving very… irrationally. Believe me when I tell you that this child is receiving the best possible care, in a home with two wonderful parents – far more than you could have offered. Just think of what you would have faced as a single father! You're a doctor – that's a lot of hours to be away from home! What kind of life would that have been for a child?"
"I guess…" When had she started talking in the past tense? Hawkeye couldn't remember.
"And who would have picked up the slack while you were out earning, hmm? Your father? After he raised you all by his lonesome? Would you really want to lay all that on his shoulders?"
Hawkeye couldn't even contemplate that. His father's disappointment already weighed heavily on him. He saw that expression every time he dragged himself into work twenty minutes late. He had watched a little more of the pride drain from Daniel's face every time he had to pick his errant son up from some bar at two in the morning. He hadn't even told him the real reason he'd come to California; he just couldn't face letting him down again. He couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes when he broke the news that his son – his clever, educated son – had got a girl in trouble.
"Look at me," Miss Gladstone instructed him. Hawkeye looked. He didn't have the will to fight any more. Her sweet, imploring gaze went straight through him. "I realise this hurts, I really do, but you'll move on. You're a good-looking man, you have a good career – you'll find another girl, get married, have other children. This is just one little mistake, and you're letting yourself get all upset over nothing."
"But I…"
She hushed him gently, rubbing at his upper arms like she was comforting a distraught toddler who'd lost a favourite toy. Hawkeye stopped arguing. His head dropped and as he relaxed into her comforting, reassuring little touches, he knew his fight was gone. He couldn't keep going. The spirit that Emily's father had failed to destroy with threats and harsh words, Miss Gladstone now quietly snuffed out with kind ones, and he knew at that moment that it wasn't her father who had broken Emily's spirit. Tears welled up and he let them fall, his shoulders trembling. He wept silently, and as he did, Miss Gladstone stepped back and nodded to BJ, who had watched, mortified, from the corner as they had received the exact same news he had anticipated. Somehow, knowing in advance hadn't made it any easier. As if in a daze, BJ did as the social worker instructed him. He got to his feet, crossed the room and held his friend gently as he wept. There were no words he could offer.
"He'll be fine," the Miss Gladstone assured BJ, as Hawkeye disintegrated in his arms. "They always are."
Sniffing, Hawkeye wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked up.
Miss Gladstone smiled at him once more, and opened the office door. "I think we're all done here," she declared in her light and airy tone. "If you wouldn't mind?"
Staring at BJ in shocked, helpless surrender, Hawkeye found himself frozen in place. BJ gathered up his jacket for him and gave him a gentle tug. "Come on," he whispered.
Hawkeye allowed himself to be coaxed off the desk. He glanced around the little room one more time. While some part of him never wanted to remember this place as long as he lived, another, somewhat masochistic part wanted to stamp its memory on his heart forever. He glanced up to the window again. The woman in the courtyard was beginning another lap of the gravel path. Suddenly Hawkeye felt he was invading her privacy, and looked away. His gaze fell instead on the marigolds on Miss Gladstone's filing cabinet, and he noticed for the first time that they were fake.
"Doctor Pierce?"
Hawkeye looked at her.
"I'm really very busy."
They left without further word, Miss Gladstone clutching the file under her arm. They followed her once more through the winding corridors of Fairhaven, her heels clicking on the polished tiles. Once again, Hawkeye could hear the hushed whispers of the invisible women these walls hid from the world, only this time, as they passed though the heavy double doors into the lobby, somewhere in the depths of the building, as the doors banged closed behind them, he could hear someone screaming.
