The Dance Begins by Diane Chamberlain Read Free Book Online Page B

feel about vaccinations?”
    “Bring ‘em on,” Aidan says, and I nod.
    “It’s hard for me to understand not protecting your child if you can,” I say, happy to be off the questions about my family.
    The rest of the interview goes smoothly, at least from my perspective. When Patti finally shuts her notebook, she announces that she’d like to see the rest of the house and our yard. Aidan and I had spent the morning dusting and vacuuming, so we’re ready for her. We show her the room that will become the nursery. The walls are a sterile white and the hardwood floors are bare, but there is a beautiful mahogany crib against one wall. Aidan’s parents gave it to us when I was pregnant with Sara. The only other furniture in the room is a small white bookshelf that I’d stocked with my favorite children’s books. Aidan and I had done nothing else to the room to prepare for our daughter, and I’m glad. I never go in there. It hurts too much to see that crib and remember the joy I felt as I searched for those books. But now with Patti at my side, I dare to feel hope and I can imagine the room painted a soft yellow. I picture a rocker in the corner. A changing table near the window. My arms tingle with an uneasy anticipation.
    We walk outside after showing her the bedrooms. We live in a white two-story Spanish-style house in Kensington, one of the older parts of San Diego, and in the bright sunlight our well-maintained neighborhood sparkles. Our yard is small, but it has two orange trees, a lemon tree, and a small swing set—another premature gift from Aidan’s parents. Exploring our little yard, Patti says the word awesome at least five times. Aidan and I smile at each other. This is going to happen, I think. We are going to be approved as potential adoptive parents. Some birth parents will select us to raise their child. The thought both excites and terrifies me.
    Patti waves as she gets into her car in the driveway. Aidan puts his arm around me and we smile as we watch her drive away. “I think we passed with flying colors,” Aidan says. He squeezes my shoulder and plants a kiss on my cheek.
    “I think we did,” I agree. I pull a big gulp of oxygen into my lungs and feel as though I’ve been holding my breath all afternoon. I turn to him and circle my arms around his neck. “Let’s work on our portfolio this weekend, okay?” I ask. We’ve been afraid to take that step, afraid to pull together the necessary photographs and information about ourselves in case we somehow failed the home study.
    “Let’s.” He kisses me on the lips and one of our neighbors honks his horn as he drives by. We laugh, and Aidan kisses me again.
    I remember how I’d wondered if our daughter would have his brown eyes or my blue. His brawny athletic build or my long, slender arms and legs. His easygoing nature or my occasional moodiness. Now our child will have none of those things—at least not from us—and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Aidan and I have too much love for just two people. Sometimes I feel as though we’re bursting with it. At the same time, I pray I’ll be able to extend that love to a baby I didn’t carry. Didn’t give birth to. What is wrong with me that I have so many doubts?
    *   *   *
    That night, Aidan falls asleep first and I lie next to him, thinking about the interview with Patti. There was nothing there to come back to haunt me, I assure myself. Patti’s not going to search for my mother’s obituary. We are safe.
    The lies I told Aidan when we were first dating—my dead mother and her breast cancer, my cold relatives—had been accepted without question and set aside. He knew I meant it when I said I’d laid the past to rest the day I left North Carolina at eighteen. We never revisited those lies. There’d been no need to, until today. I hope the interview with Patti will be the end of it. I want to move on. We need to create our own healthy, happy, sane, and loving family.
    I think