Free After the Reunion by Rona Jaffe

baby, the little girl who would be another Daphne, the one Richard had persuaded her to have even though she was afraid she was too old, too tired, had pressed their luck too far. But Elizabeth was not epileptic like her mother. Elizabeth was retarded. And Richard, who had so begged and cajoled for her arrival, had with the same sweet reasonableness made Daphne put her into a very nice home for “special” children.
    Richard always gave away anything that wasn’t perfect.
    That’s why I was always afraid he would give me away .
    How many hugs and kisses she had stored up for her daughter, the only one of her children she was still allowed to cuddle.… Daphne lit up another of her too-frequent cigarettes. Her boys were “little men” now, and hugs and kisses were reserved for reunions and farewells. Sometimes she allowed her hand to linger for a moment on Teddy’s silky hair, her youngest boy, or touched Matthew’s broad shoulder lightly when she gave him money to go out with his friends and told him to drive carefully in her borrowed car. But Elizabeth would always be a baby; her feelings open, her needs direct, and her understanding limited to the world she knew, which did not include the tall, kindly woman who called herself Mother when she came to visit and bring presents. To Elizabeth, Mother was Jane, her cottage mother; the woman who took care of her at the home and showed her the most kindness. Other children sometimes were adopted, or went to foster homes, but Daphne would never allow that. Elizabeth would stay in this very expensive place, and when she was eighteen she would go to a group home with her friends. That time was so far away that Daphne could not even allow herself to imagine it.
    The home looked like a large country estate, with a main house and several small ones, painted in pale, cheerful pastel colors. They were expecting her; Elizabeth was wearing one of the many party dresses Daphne kept bringing. Jane had cut her blonde hair in bangs. Daphne felt a stab of resentment. I didn’t tell her she could cut my child’s hair . But Elizabeth looked so cute. She was small for her age now, and the dresses Daphne chose, decorated with flowers or ducks or rabbits, were always for a child much younger. Since the physical therapists had trained her to hold her tongue in, it sometimes occurred to Daphne in a flash of optimistic madness that Richard would accept her. You could see she was Daphne’s and Richard’s child. The coloring was the same. There were Daphne’s slanted cornflower-blue eyes, but the telltale eyelid flap made them not really Daphne’s eyes at all, but a sort of sad parody of them. Years ago, in the hospital when she was born, Richard had asked angrily if Daphne thought normal meant being toilet trained at eight. Well, Elizabeth was toilet trained at nine, and could feed herself with a spoon, drink from a cup, and spoke in short phrases. To Daphne, who had seen the way she had been at the beginning, it was a miracle of progress. But Richard would find nothing to take pride in.
    “Look, here’s your mother!” Jane Baldwin said happily.
    “Say what?” said Elizabeth, and laughed.
    “Her favorite TV program,” Jane said. “Don’t you think she sounds like George Jefferson?”
    “I don’t know,” Daphne said, embarrassed. “I don’t watch much television.”
    “She’s become addicted to reruns. Do Mork. Elizabeth, what does Mork say?”
    “Na-noo, Na-noo!” Elizabeth said.
    “Good God,” said Daphne, and gathered her into her arms.
    The small body was soft and warm. Elizabeth wriggled away after a moment and pulled Daphne off to look at her dolls. They were perched on the pillow of her neatly made bed, and lined up on the bookcase filled with picture books. “Doll,” she said, as if patiently explaining, slowly putting her finger on each one. “Doll.” It was still difficult to understand her speech.
    “I know. They’re so pretty. I gave them to you, do you